The Last Debutante

by Julia London

  “I should go,” she whispered.

  He pressed his lips together and nodded. His hand slipped from her elbow, and the tide ebbed between them.

  She turned away and walked, then ran, to the keep’s entrance, slowing as she rounded the corner and saw the polished black-and-red post chaise coach, and the coachmen standing attentively around it.

  That was not her parents’ coach.

  Daria walked cautiously forward.

  “There you are, Miss Babcock, and looking quite bonny, I say. It would seem Scotland agrees with you, aye?”

  Daria whirled around. Captain Robert Mackenzie was standing just outside the small entry to the castle’s keep. He was dressed in a fine coat over an elaborately and richly embroidered waistcoat. His dark hair was combed away from his face and his jaw clean-shaven. He looked different than he had the few times Daria had seen him at Tiber Park. He looked like a wealthy English lord, not a sea captain with a reputation for running blockades.

  He pushed away from the wall. “You are a wee bit surprised to see me, aye?”

  “Yes—did Charity send you?”

  He smiled and the warmth of it, the pleasure in it, was striking. His blue eyes shone as he said, “She didna send me, no. I brought her here. I’d no’ allow her to make a journey into the Highlands alone.”

  “Madainn mhath.”

  Captain Mackenzie shifted his gaze from Daria to Jamie as the laird strolled into their midst. “Madainn mhath,” the captain answered easily. “Captain Robert Mackenzie at your service, Laird,” he said, and bowed low. “I’ve come to fetch the wee one.”

  “Did you think it necessary to bring an army to do it?” Jamie asked, eyeing the men around the chaise.

  “One never knows what one will find in the Highlands, aye?” Captain Mackenzie said cheerfully.

  “Spoken like a Lowlander,” Jamie muttered. “Come in,” he said, gesturing to the keep.

  “Where is Charity?” Daria asked breathlessly.

  “She’s just inside, lass. Waiting for you.”

  Daria flew past him.

  Charity was standing in the middle of the small foyer with Duff and a young woman in a drab traveling grown. Charity was dressed in a lilac gown and coat with a matching bonnet. Her blonde hair was fastened artfully to the back of her head with crystal pins that winked at Daria.

  “You came!” Daria exclaimed as she burst into the foyer.

  “Of course I came,” Charity said. “How could I allow my dearest friend to be held for ransom?” She held out her arms.

  Daria hugged Charity tightly to her. “Thank God you’ve come. I worried no one would ever hear from me again—”

  “Nonsense. Had you not come to Edinburgh when I expected, we would have searched for you.” Charity took a step back to study Daria closely. “Hmmm. It seems Mr. Duff is right. He assured us that you were in excellent health, and that you’ve been well treated.”

  “I have,” Daria agreed. “My parents—have you sent word?”

  “They arrived in Edinburgh only yesterday. They had some . . . financing to arrange,” she said carefully. “But I expect we shall see them any day. One of Mackenzie’s men is waiting to bring them here.” She looked past Daria and smiled.

  Daria turned; she hadn’t heard Jamie and Mackenzie enter the foyer. They were conversing in Gaelic, their polite smiles gone.

  Mackenzie gestured to Charity and Jamie paused, bowed his head. “Madam.”

  “Miss Charity Scott,” Captain Mackenzie said. “The sister of Lord Eberlin of Tiber Park.” And to Charity he said, “Laird Campbell.”

  “How do you do,” Charity said, sinking into a graceful curtsy. “I hope you will forgive our unannounced arrival, but my dear friend’s letter made it seem rather urgent.”

  Jamie looked at Daria and said, “It was. You are most welcome, Miss Scott. If you will excuse us?” He said something to Mackenzie, and the two of them began to walk down the narrow corridor leading to the throne room.

  Charity watched them go and then smiled at Daria. “Captain Mackenzie has graciously offered to negotiate the terms of your release, then we may be on our way.”

  Daria felt a physical pain at the mention of leaving. “We can’t leave without Mamie.”

  “Of course not. We’ll fetch her straightaway tomorrow.” Charity smiled at Duff in the way she had of smiling at her brother to get what she wanted. “We’ve come such a long way, sir. Is there a place we might rest and talk privately?”

  She would not charm Duff, judging by his dark expression. “Never mind, Duff,” Daria said, linking her arm with Charity’s. “I’ll show her around.”

  “Lydia, dearest, be a help to Mr. Duff in bringing the bags in,” Charity said to the girl, and if she heard Duff’s grunt of displeasure, she gave no sign of it.

  “This way,” Daria said, escorting Charity up to the suite of rooms she’d lived in for more than a fortnight. She was grateful to find it empty and closed the door.

  Charity walked into the middle of the suite and looked around. “My. This is rather quaint, isn’t it? Very . . . castleish.”

  Daria lost her train of thought for a moment as she looked around, too. She rather liked this room. It was cheerful.

  “You seem quite at ease here,” Charity remarked as she tossed her bonnet and gloves onto the chaise and sat beside them. “Perhaps you like being captive,” she said, and arched a brow over a devilish smile.

  “Don’t be ridiculous, Charity,” Daria said sternly. “What was I supposed to do, curl into a ball and sob day in and day out? You abandoned me to this fate.” She stalked to the sideboard, poured two tots of barley-bree, and handed one to Charity.

  “I didn’t abandon you.” Charity’s second brow rose to meet the first. “What is this?”

  “Barley-bree. Some sort of whisky. I know only that it is quite soothing.”

  “Oh,” Charity said, and lifted it to her nose. “Do you need to be soothed?”

  Daria looked at her friend with astonishment. “Wouldn’t you, if you were held for ransom?”

  Charity shrugged. “If I were held for ransom by a man as virile as the laird? I am not certain. Tell me, how in heaven did you come to be held for ransom? Your letter was lacking in details.”

  “There were too many to write.” Daria sat next to Charity. She was relieved to be able to speak about it at last to someone she could trust completely. “It is quite a fantastic tale. It began with that wretched coach ride from Nairn.”

  “Wretched! The ladies seemed very nice.”

  Daria gave Charity a withering look. “They dropped me on the side of a road. The only living being was a dog, who followed me through the forest to Mamie’s cottage.”

  “Then you found it easily enough?”

  “Oh, I found it,” Daria said, nodding. “A rather charming little cottage in the woods. Nothing around for miles. Well hidden from the road. And Mamie wasn’t there. But do you know who was?”

  Charity shook her head.

  “An unconscious man. An utterly naked unconscious man.”

  Charity blinked. She put aside her glass and leaned forward. “I’m all ears.”

  “He’d been shot.” Daria told Charity what had happened then. That Mamie had returned to the cottage and claimed she’d found the poor man. That she didn’t know who he was but had saved him. She told Charity that Mamie had seemed anxious and erratic, and really, a bit mad, but that she’d attributed it to the devastation of finding the man in such a state.

  “The man was the laird?” Charity asked, her eyes lighting with delight. “Goodness, Daria! What an education for you!”

  “Quite,” Daria said.

  “That causes my heart to race—”

  “Mine as well.”

  “Well? Go on!”

  Daria told her how it appeared that Mamie was not trying to save the poor man’s life, but perhaps trying to hasten his end. “She’s mad,” Daria said flatly.

  “Or hiding something,”
Charity offered.

  “That’s precisely what Jamie said,” Daria said thoughtfully.

  “Is that indeed what Jamie said?” Charity echoed, nudging Daria with her shoulder.

  Daria frowned at Charity. “Your imagination is working far too hard. Every person you see here is a Campbell. It’s impossible to distinguish them if one does not use given names.”

  “Or ‘my lord,’ ” Charity said with a shrug.

  “Not lord. Laird—” Daria sighed. “May we please return to the reason I am held for ransom?”

  “Yes, please do,” Charity said.

  Daria told Charity how Mamie had finally admitted that she’d shot Jamie, but quite by accident, and Jamie had accused her of stealing from his addled uncle Hamish. She related how Mamie had adamantly denied it but finally admitted that perhaps she did indeed owe the Campbells money, but she did not have it. Then Jamie had threatened to have the authorities brought round, but had settled on the ransom instead, and brought her here.

  “Perhaps she’s gone barmy from living in solitude, do you suppose?” Charity asked.

  “I don’t know,” Daria said morosely. “But something is very wrong with her. No one here will believe it, of course.”

  “At the very least, Jamie Campbell sounds to be a chivalrous man. That is, taking debutantes for ransom aside.” Charity smiled coyly.

  “He is,” Daria agreed. “He’s really been very kind, considering what my grandmother has done to him.”

  Charity put her arm around Daria. “Don’t fret, darling. Your parents are on their way, and I am here to help you. Now then, tell me what happened after you came to this charmingly rustic castle.”

  Daria thought back to the days she’d been here. “Nothing, really. I taught them to waltz.”

  Charity’s face lit with a rare smile. “To waltz?”

  “They were not the least bit familiar with it!” She told Charity about the dancing, and how she’d demanded a suitable occupation and made a match for the blacksmith. She told her about Peter, and how eager the lad was to learn. She talked about Geordie, about Bethia and Duffson. About the muffins the cook made her, the dogs who followed her, the children who sang songs about spring.

  Charity was rapt, listening to every word, smiling at some things, frowning at others. When Daria had told her everything, Charity studied her for a moment. “You’ve not said a word about the laird.”

  Daria averted her gaze. “What is there to say?” She stood up, moving to the sideboard. “He’s to be married soon.”

  “Is he? That’s unsettling, as I think you’ve come to esteem him,” Charity said.

  “That’s not it at all, Charity,” Daria said impatiently. “You’ve misunderstood me completely.” But maybe it was impossible for anyone to understand her. The Daria who had set foot on that ship so many weeks ago was nowhere to be found.

  “I hope I have,” Charity said. Surprised, Daria glanced at her friend. “While he may be a man to be respected and esteemed, he is a Scotsman yet.”

  Why did the hair on the back of Daria’s neck stand up? She turned slowly around to face her friend. “What are you trying to say?”

  Charity rose. “Only that I hope you have not come to esteem him too greatly. Your future is very bright. But your future is in England.”

  “I did not say—”

  “No, you said not a word. But I know you rather well, Daria. I see the look in your eye when you speak of him. I would not like to see you compromise your future because of a charming captor.”

  Daria couldn’t help but laugh. “Perhaps you should take your own advice. Your feelings for Mackenzie are quite obvious, Charity. Worse, you willingly went off to Edinburgh with him. What do you think that will do for your happy future?”

  She regretted the words the moment she’d said them. Charity’s future had been compromised beyond repair years ago, when she’d borne her daughter out of wedlock.

  But Charity merely smiled with deep satisfaction. “I may have found my happy future,” she said. “But if I have not, it is hardly the same case, is it? I was never capable of making a great match. But you are, Daria. You could marry a titled man.”

  Daria shook her head. “I doubt that is true. I have been kidnapped and held for ransom.”

  “But don’t you see?” Charity said, crossing the room to take her hands. “That makes you exciting! The circumstances were beyond your control. One cannot dare to question your character in being kidnapped. When word reaches Hadley Green, you will be quite sought after to tell the tale of your adventure. Women will envy you and men will admire you.”

  Daria thought of all the lords in London she had long wanted to attract, but felt no stir of excitement.

  “Shall we go and find what Lydia has done with the bags?” Charity asked. “I brought you two new gowns from Edinburgh that are very lovely.”

  Twenty-four

  CAPTAIN MACKENZIE WAS the antithesis of who Jamie imagined would come for Daria. He was a Lowlander and, Jamie suspected, something of a scoundrel. Nevertheless, Jamie liked him; he had a certain charm. Yet he did have one habit that Jamie found vexing, and that was his insistence on naming Daria’s highborn connections.

  Jamie thought it entirely unnecessary, as Mackenzie had readily agreed the ransom ought to be paid and did not question the facts surrounding the kidnapping. He was a fellow Scotsman, after all. So why, then, did he feel compelled to present to Jamie that Daria was a “close and personal confidante” of Lord Eberlin of Tiber Park, as well as Lord Ashwood, and therefore, by extension, of the powerful Duke of Darlington?

  Darlington was the only name familiar to Jamie in the list of lords who would, to hear Mackenzie tell it, take up arms against Dundavie if a Campbell so much as gazed in Daria’s general direction.

  Jamie wasn’t intimidated by Mackenzie’s remarks; they amused him. “Do you honestly think your words strike fear in me, man?” he asked, after Mackenzie had talked about Darlington’s power in the House of Lords.

  Mackenzie chuckled. “I had hoped,” he admitted. “In the event you have any thoughts of keeping her,” he added with a sly smile.

  Jamie’s gut tightened and he looked down at his tot. “The lass will be free to leave Dundavie when her ransom is paid.”

  “It will be paid,” Mackenzie said as he helped himself to another tot of whisky. “If her parents haven’t raised it, Miss Scott and I are prepared to remit.” He offered the decanter of whisky to Jamie, who shook his head. “But there is one condition,” Mackenzie said, returning the decanter to the table.

  “Aye? And what is that?”

  “I should like to accompany Miss Babcock to her grandmother’s house. To see with me own eyes that she is well.”

  Jamie considered that. “My man will accompany you.”

  “Aye, of course,” Mackenzie said with an easy smile. “But you need no’ waste a good man on us. I give you my word as a fellow Scot that she will be returned so that you may collect what is owed to your family.” He inclined his head as if he had just offered something very noble.

  Jamie grinned. “Then you will understand, as a fellow Scot, that I donna trust you completely.”

  Mackenzie laughed heartily and lifted his glass in a toast. “Aye, that I do.” He tossed the whisky back.

  DUFF HAD SPENT the better part of the day finding the mysterious man Mrs. Moss had met in the glen.

  “English,” Duff said, his distaste obvious.

  “Another one.” Jamie sighed.

  “Aye. Lives in the old MacKreegan fortress. I had thought it long abandoned, but he’s done a bit of repair to make it habitable.”

  Jamie had thought the place long abandoned, too. Once a military outpost, it was far back in the hills. There was nothing else there, and the land was unsuitable even for cattle. “Anyone else?” he asked curiously.

  “Didna see another.”

  “How long has he been there?”

  “That, he wouldna say. He was no’ the welcoming
sort, aye?”

  An Englishman who kept to himself. Jamie thought of Hamish and his claims of befriending an English earl. Was it possible? When his guests had left, he’d ride over and have a look himself.

  “And what of the Brodies, lad? What do you intend to do about their offer?” Duff eyed Jamie closely as he awaited his answer.

  But Jamie didn’t have an answer for him. He felt as if he’d left something unfinished in the hothouse today. It wasn’t the physical satisfaction, although he had felt that rather keenly. No, it was something else, and Jamie was at a loss to understand it. He looked away. “I’ll call on Isabella on the morrow, aye?”

  That seemed to satisfy Duff.

  It did not satisfy Jamie, however. He couldn’t shake the restlessness in him. Later, in the throne room, as he listened to the complaints of his clan, that feeling of something missing grew, pushing against his thoughts. As Gwain Campbell presented the latest complaint—his neighbor had stolen a goose—Jamie stared at the rafters, trying to find his bearings.

  “Well then, Laird?” Gwain demanded. “What say you?”

  The two men stood below him, waiting.

  Jamie looked at the both of them. “I’ll tell you what I think. I think that this is an awful lot of bother for a goose.”

  The two men exchanged a look of surprise.

  “Let us delay judgment until next week, lads. I’ve no patience for it now.” He came off the laird’s seat and walked through the small crowd, ignoring their looks of astonishment.

  He didn’t realize Geordie was hurrying after him until his brother caught him by the shoulder and forced him around. He held up his slate. Il?

  “Ill? No,” Jamie said.

  Geordie wiped the slate and wrote, Mad?

  Everyone waited for his words, and yet Jamie couldn’t find them. He knew only that the words he needed to say, to hear, were missing.

  IN HONOR OF the English guests—or, as Robbie said to Aileen, to keep an eye on them—supper was served in the formal dining room.

  “I am waiting for King Arthur to sweep in with his mighty sword at any moment,” Charity said wryly. She and Daria, along with Mackenzie, were seated across from Robbie and Aileen Campbell and some other Campbells Daria had not met before tonight. Geordie, Hamish, and Duff flanked Jamie at the head of the table. The laird was looking a little glum, Daria thought.