The Last Debutante

by Julia London

  “It’s positively medieval,” Charity muttered.

  Daria made herself look away from Jamie and to the room. The people gathered to dine were laughing loudly, eating game, and drinking barley-bree and beer. “I find it interesting,” Daria said with a shrug. “It’s not as stuffy as a formal supper in England.”

  Charity gave her a look. “It’s easy to see why you are an Original here. You are the most beautiful woman here.”

  “No, m’annaschd, you are,” Mackenzie said. He leaned around Charity and smiled at Daria. “You, lass, are the only one who might compare,” he added smoothly.

  Daria rolled her eyes at him. The gown Charity had brought her was stunning—a summer-green silk with an overlay of a sheer silver silk. When she walked, she looked as if she were moving in water.

  “You should have seen the laird’s face when you walked in,” Charity whispered. “You could not see him, as every man in this room was standing before him, eyeing you like a sweetmeat.”

  “They were eyeing you.” Charity was dressed in a simple white silk, but with diamonds glittering at her throat and her ears, she looked as elegant as a queen.

  “No, you silly goose, it was you. Think of it, someday you will be seated in a grand ballroom—your own ballroom, darling—surrounded by fine things. You will think of this old castle in the wilds of Scotland and be thankful you escaped.”

  “Will I?” Daria sighed. “I rather think I shall miss it.”

  “At first you will,” Charity agreed. “But the memory will fade away once you are back where you belong. I know; I have experienced something quite similar.”

  A young footman placed a large platter of fish and potatoes before them, then bowed low before hurrying off. Mackenzie graciously took Charity’s plate and filled it, then Daria’s.

  “Look there, aye?” Mackenzie said, nodding up at the dais. Geordie was scribbling something on his slate, handing it to Jamie. “I saw him earlier today, scratching on that thing. Was he born mute?”

  “No,” Daria said. “He was injured in a duel.”

  Mackenzie’s eyes lit with interest. “Ach, if that’s what it is, I know a surgeon in Edinburra who might help him. One of me deckhands was hit right across the gullet by a rogue boom. Cut him deep, it did. Dr. Elgin gave him back his speech.” He suddenly put down his fork. “I’ll have a word,” he said, standing.

  “Now?” Charity asked.

  “What better time? We’re in Scotland, lass. We donna make much of social rules, aye?” He leaned down and said softly, “Tha gaol agam ort.”

  Charity smiled as he sauntered off.

  Daria tried to remember where she’d heard that phrase. It sounded rhapsodic to her. “What did he say?” she asked.

  When Charity didn’t answer, Daria looked at her. The woman who could always be trusted to have the most inscrutable demeanor was suddenly blushing. “Charity! What did he say?”

  A soft smile brightened Charity’s face. “He said, ‘I love you.’ ”

  Daria gasped.

  Charity’s blush deepened and she said, “Did you truly not suspect it? Yes, Daria, he loves me. And I love him.”

  Of course Daria had suspected it, but that was not the reason for her gasp. It was because she had heard that phrase in the arms of Jamie Campbell. Jamie had said that to her.

  Daria’s heart began to flutter. Her gaze flew to the dais, but Jamie was listening intently to what Mackenzie was telling him.

  She drew a shallow breath. He’d said that he loved her. Not in English, the way she could understand it, but he had said it—and Daria allowed herself to believe that he did. Or hoped that he did. She hoped so fiercely that her head hurt.

  “He was right glad for the information,” Mackenzie said when he returned. “He said he’d send his brother as soon as he was able, but that he had business with the Brodie clan on the morrow.”

  Daria’s pulse began to pound. That was it, then. He would accept their terms. What other option did he have? Her heart ached. It was really no different here than in England—he loved her, but duty called. Duty always called.

  She had no right to interfere in the course of his life, of this clan’s life. She had no right to try to persuade him to turn his back on Isabella for her. She had no business in Scotland, and once her parents arrived, she would be gone.

  Charity was right—her future was in England. It was obvious.

  So why did it hurt so badly?

  THE EVENING HAD grown raucous, thanks in part to an endless supply of barley-bree, courtesy of Ian Campbell, who had made it his life’s work to perfect the brew. After supper they’d retired to the great hall, and Jamie’s injured leg was stretched out before him, aching a little, even after a few tots. He watched Daria across the room. She was with Geordie and her friend Miss Scott, the three of them engaged in some sort of diversion having to do with Geordie’s slate.

  He’d hardly spoken a word to her this evening, other than to ask her how she enjoyed the meal. He was brooding, pondering what, if anything, he ought to do about her. But he’d come to the painful conclusion that he had no other option than to marry Isabella.

  He could not marry Daria, as much as he desired to. The clan would not approve of his taking an English wife. And in truth, there were so many things to consider beyond that. She didn’t meet any requirement that had guided the matches of Campbell lairds for years. She couldn’t bring him wealth, or an alliance of any sort. She couldn’t stand in his stead should something happen to him, since she was English. And there was the matter of what her grandmother had done to Hamish.

  Yet Daria brought him joy and happiness.

  Wasn’t that what a man should desire? But he wasn’t free to follow his heart. He was laird. He was the sum of all the people gathered tonight. They owned him.

  He stood. To hell with the clan.

  He walked across the room to where Daria was writing on Geordie’s slate. “Miss Babcock, a word?” he asked.

  She looked up with surprise. “Of course,” she said, and handed the slate to Geordie.

  He offered his arm and led her away from the ears of the others. “I have news,” he said.

  “Oh?” Her smile suddenly disappeared.

  “We have found your grandmamma’s acquaintance. He is also English.”

  “English!” she exclaimed, and smiled again. “What in heaven are so many English doing here, I wonder?”

  Jamie couldn’t help but laugh. “If you determine what, you must promise to enlighten all of us poor Scots.”

  She fixed her gaze on him and absently bit her bottom lip. “It appears I should have ample opportunity to survey all the English travelers. Charity says I shall be in high demand when I return home.”

  “Will you?”

  “Mmm,” she said. “I’ve had a very grand adventure, apparently, and everyone will want to hear about it.”

  “Aha. Diah, leannan, where will you begin?”

  “That is a very good question, sir,” she said with mock seriousness. “I rather doubt I will have the time I need to tell it all. I shall touch upon the highlights. An unconscious, naked man.” Her smile broadened. “The kidnapping, of course. That was dramatic at the time, but naturally I shall endeavor to make it seem very dramatic.”

  “I think you must. Daggers drawn, that sort of thing.”

  “Yes! Thank you!” She laughed. “I shall make myself appear brave and courageous.”

  He covered her hand with his and squeezed it. “You should,” he agreed. “You were.”

  Her eyes softened. For a moment, she looked sad.

  He stroked the back of her hand with his thumb, running over delicate bones and silken skin. Diah, how he would miss her. “I can well imagine your return to England with the tales of your great adventure. And before you know it, you will no longer lay claim to being the last debutante.”

  Tears filled her eyes, but Daria smiled. “Do you know that I’ve not even thought of it recently? Things are so different
here, Jamie. Things that I thought were of great importance now seem to have no importance at all.”

  “Aye,” he said. “I’ve noticed the same.”

  “I’m going home, aren’t I?” she whispered.

  She was not asking if the ransom would be paid or if he would release her. She was asking if he would keep her. To love, to cherish.

  Jamie swallowed down a lump of bitterness and looked at her hand.

  She continued, “If I don’t have the opportunity to thank you before I go—not for kidnapping me; it seems rather ridiculous to thank someone for holding one for ransom. But for being so kind about it—well, I don’t really mean that, either,” she said, frowning. “I realize of course that things could have been much worse than they were, and for not making them worse, I thank you.”

  He brought her hand to his lips before she could say anything else that would destroy him. “Perhaps it is best if you donna speak of it, aye?”

  “Right you are,” she muttered. She pulled her hand free from his, as if she intended to walk away, but then suddenly poked him in the chest. “Promise me you will see to it that Peter has someone to talk to. And Duffson. You must keep an eye on him, for he is far too enamored with the young ladies at Dundavie.”

  Jamie smiled.

  “Well,” she said, squaring her shoulders, “I should get some rest. I suspect a visit to Mamie’s will be grueling. Good night, Jamie.”

  “Good night, Daria.” He bowed low and watched her walk away.

  She was far braver than he.

  He was ready to quit this feast himself and turned about, almost colliding with Geordie.

  Geordie held up his slate. Donna low drea go.

  Jamie squinted at it, sounding it out. “Donna low drea go—” He suddenly looked up at his brother. “Donna allow Daria to go,” he said.

  Geordie nodded.

  But Geordie knew as well as he did that he had no choice.

  Twenty-five

  DARIA SPENT ANOTHER night tossing and turning in anguish, her heart breaking. But she was smiling the next morning as she waited for her horse to be saddled. God help her, she would be brave and courageous. She would not allow anyone to see how her heart had shattered.

  Only she, Mackenzie, and Robbie would ride to Mamie’s. Charity had declined to join them. “I refuse to wear trousers,” she said, gazing down at Daria’s.

  “They’re really very comfortable.”

  Charity shook her head. “I think your parents will arrive today, and I will be here to explain to them that all is not lost. I think I’ve never been so eager to see anyone leave a place as I am to see you leave Dundavie. I fear if you don’t leave soon, you will be shearing sheep.”

  Shearing sheep sounded almost idyllic to Daria this morning. She strode out in her pantaloons to ride with the men.

  On the way to Mamie’s cottage, she discovered why Charity was taken with Captain Mackenzie. He rode with Daria, chatting easily, complimenting her profusely. She was one of the bonniest women he’d ever met, et cetera, and he’d long thought so. He enumerated the various bachelor gentlemen he had met through Lord Eberlin and assured her that she would be found quite desirable by them. “I can make the necessary introductions, if you’d like, lass.”

  “You?” Daria asked laughingly.

  “Aye, me,” he said confidently. “You might be amazed, then, how many men have a secret desire to be a sea captain. I am well-regarded company in most circles.”

  Daria laughed at him. “How modest you are, Captain!”

  “I know my worth, Miss Babcock. Perhaps you are no’ as certain of yours, aye?” he asked jovially, and rode ahead.

  His words echoed in Daria’s head as they made their way to Mamie’s cottage.

  When they reached the cairns and started their descent into the little glen where Mamie lived, Mackenzie had another piece of advice for Daria. “It is my experience that a man who spends weeks on a ship will do what he must to be free of the sea, aye?”

  “The sea?” Daria repeated, confused.

  “What I mean, lass, is that your granny might very much like to be free of her sea. Go in there, then, lock the door, and donna let her out until she tells you what she’s hiding, aye? The truth may pain her greatly, but it will set her free of her sea.”

  Yes, Daria could see why Charity was taken with Mackenzie.

  When they reached Mamie’s cottage, Daria was alarmed to see the door standing open. The flowers that used to grace the windows were gone. There was no smoke at the chimney. Panic began to spread through her—the cottage looked abandoned.

  Daria threw herself off her horse and hurried to the gate.

  “We’ve the right cottage, have we no’?” Mackenzie asked.

  “Aye,” Robbie said gruffly.

  Daria pushed through the gate. “Mamie!” she called out.

  “Daria?” Mamie’s voice filtered out from the back room.

  Daria strode to the dark room where Jamie had spent a week.

  Mamie met her at the door, looking slightly dazed. “Oh dear, is something wrong?” She rubbed her hands on her dirty apron. She was entirely disheveled.

  “What are you about, Mamie?” Daria asked, peering past her into the darkened room.

  “Just sorting things,” she said absently.

  Daria whirled about and went to the front door. She waved to Mackenzie and Robbie, then shut the door and bolted it. When she turned around, Mamie was staring at her warily.

  Her grandmother looked so small and so . . . old. Daria grabbed her up and held her tightly, burying her face in her neck. “Mamie, what has happened to you?” she asked tearfully.

  “I am glad you have come, darling.” She pulled away and tried to smile, but Daria scarcely noticed it. She couldn’t look away from the dark circles beneath Mamie’s eyes.

  “I’ll just put the kettle on,” Mamie said, and moved to the hearth.

  Daria watched her. Something seemed different about the kitchen. She glanced up at the shelf. “Where are your china plates and the crystal?”

  “Only things,” Mamie said, with a dismissive flick of her wrist. “Tell me, darling, how have you been at Dundavie?”

  That was Mamie’s way of deflecting questions, Daria realized. The moment Daria asked her something she didn’t want to answer, Mamie would respond with a question for Daria. She wanted the old Mamie back, the grandmother who had taken her for long walks in the garden, and had ladies to tea, and allowed Daria to play dress-up in her silk gowns and pearls. She wanted to tell Mamie about the knots in her belly, the butterflies in her veins. “Actually, I . . . I have come to esteem the laird very much,” she blurted.

  Mamie whirled about, her eyes wide, her mouth gaping in shock. “No, Daria! No, you mustn’t! God help me, when will my daughter come?” she cried to the ceiling.

  “What is wrong?” Daria cried, taken aback. “What have I said?”

  Mamie lurched forward and grabbed Daria’s face between her hands. “Daria, listen to me! You must leave here! You must go to England as soon as you are able, do you understand? You should never have come to Scotland! I don’t care if that man has granted you a kingdom, you will not ruin your life with such talk!”

  Daria pushed her grandmother’s hands away from her. “Stop it,” she said angrily. “There was a time when I could speak to you about anything, Mamie.”

  With a groan, Mamie sank onto a chair and pressed her hand to her forehead. “Dear God, I am so weary. I have done all that I could—I swear that I have. But I cannot keep you from ruining it all.”

  Daria’s heart began to beat wildly. “You are mad,” she said, her voice shaking. “My parents will be here today or tomorrow and my ransom will be paid, and they must deal with you. For I swear, I cannot bear this a moment longer.”

  “Then please, do not bear it,” Mamie said, lifting her head. “Just promise me you will return to England at once. I want your word that you will! I want your word that you will not be charmed by that
Scotsman and ruin everything I and your parents have tried to do for you!”

  Daria’s heart had been beating so hard that she could scarcely catch a breath, but those words stopped it altogether. “What you and my parents have done for me? What have any of you done for me, Mamie? I have put myself into society! In spite of all of you, I have done all that I could to make a decent match. Even my debut was at the behest of Lady Horncastle, and yet my parents brought me home from London as soon as the debut was made! For what? So that I might spend my days watching my parents create orchids?”

  “You cannot imagine how difficult it has been,” Mamie moaned.

  “Then tell me!” Daria pleaded. “For God’s sake, Mamie, tell me something that is the truth. Tell me why you dislike the laird so, or why you would shoot him, or why you didn’t tell me that the man you met in the glen that day was an Englishman! Do you truly expect me to believe you don’t know him? That you hadn’t gone to meet him?”

  Mamie burst into tears, covering her face with her hands. Daria hurried to her side and fell to her knees, her hands on her grandmother’s knees. “Please, Mamie—what is happening?”

  Mamie gulped back her tears. Her hands shaking, she wiped the tears from her face. “I have tried to spare you, darling. Oh, how I have tried. But I always knew you would learn the truth one day.”

  “The truth,” Daria repeated. “So that man is known to you?”

  Mamie nodded.

  Daria stood and pulled a chair close, sitting directly in front of Mamie. “We will not leave this cottage until you have told me everything, do you understand? Begin with that man. Who is he?”

  Mamie drew a deep breath. “It’s quite an involved tale—”

  “I don’t care! For God’s sake, tell me!”

  Her expression pained, Mamie said, “Do you recall when, a few years ago, the old Earl of Ashwood went missing?”

  “Yes,” Daria said. “He drowned. But what has that to do—”