Still, he did not speak much during dinner. Only the occasional mumble of appreciation for the garlic in the potatoes or the sage to spice the peas.
“Very clever, that is. Very clever,” came out of his mouth more than once to express his opinion. Isabel and Ezra both seemed confused by the idea of sage on peas, but it was of no mind to her father.
Finally, Isabel could not handle it. She had to think of something worth discussing.
“Uncle, the Season is about to begin, yes?” she inquired.
London’s Season was never as fun for the siblings of those who held a title, but it was still a joyous time for any who indulged in parties.
“Indeed. Very soon,” he replied.
“Will you be attending any balls? I am sure there will be many lovely young women present,” Isabel said.
“Likely there will be. I will perhaps attend toward the end of the season. For now, I must remain here to care for your father,” Ezra replied. He said it quite matter-of-factly, though Isabel wondered if he felt the martyr in doing so. If he did, it did not read on his face. Rather, he seemed quite content to care for the Duke. It warmed Isabel’s heart.
“You are still quite young. And I do recall that the Dorrit’s and the Minkoff’s are presenting their eldest daughters this year,” Isabel said.
London gossip was always enough to distract one’s attention. For women, it was time to indulge in fantasy, the dream that she might be swept away by a dashing young man. Perhaps the son of a Duke or a Lord.
Isabel already held the titles of her father, so she did not need to marry for status, but she would likely be forced to marry for money. Title and wealth were often considered the best matches.
For men, the London Season was a time of showing off. Whose family was better off? Whose wife was prettier? Who had managed to acquire the best collection of brandy?
Ezra was nearing an age in which most men had found a young bride. Still, he was attractive and youthful enough that it would not be difficult for him to ensnare a girl whose family was searching for the status of having a Duke for a relation.
“The Minkoff’s you say? What is their daughter’s name again? Pippa, is it?” he inquired, fingering the scruff of his fashionable beard. She had piqued his interest.
“Yes, Uncle. And you recall she is exquisitely beautiful,” Isabel said, smiling to herself.
“Indeed, I believe she was quite when I saw her last,” he said, lost in thought.
It had worked. She had managed to broach a conversation.
“And are you wishing to discuss the Season merely for my sake? Or is it your desire to return to society again this year?” Ezra asked.
Isabel’s breath caught short. She was greatly disturbed at the thought of having to be a part of society this season.
“Oh, no, Uncle. Not at all,” she said.
“Why ever not? Are you worried of what will be said of you amongst your peers? It was quite a struggle to hide your whereabouts when we had to create an army from England’s elites just to try and rescue you,” Ezra said.
“Yes, Uncle, I am aware of that. But it is not the gossip I fear. It is the thought of being married off when I am not…ready,” she said. Isabel had no way to explain that her heart was in Scotland.
When she had entered society the year before, she had received the advances of many men. James, however, knew most of the young men and deemed them too immature for marriage. Her father knew most of the older men and deemed them unworthy.
But now, would they keep such high standards for her? Or would Isabel be married off to the first man willing to take her off their hands?
“I find it amusing that you would think any man would be willing to take you now. Rumors spread, dear niece. No one knows what happened to you, truly. But some believe you ran away to be with a Scotsman. Others believe you were kidnapped and then…ruined. You think the son of any lord would have you now?” he asked.
Isabel was reminded of the shame she had brought on her family from society. She was an embarrassment to them all.
“Yes, well, I am very sorry for that. I am aware that I brought a great deal of unpleasantness upon you both,” she apologized.
“Worry not, Isabel,” Ezra said. “We shall take you off and away to Italy perhaps, this season. You can experience the culture, be taught by a governess about the ways and the language of that country. It is always a good idea, you know, to go abroad for a season after experiencing shame of any sort,” Ezra said.
Isabel thought his words echoed perfectly an English nanny. It was true though, she had seen it happen before. Even the daughter of a viscount had found herself with child after her first year in society. A year abroad and instead of rumors, she was always of interest at parties for her discussions of great portraits and the strange ways of other peoples.
Isabel had always wondered what became of the child, but it was never discussed. She thought it must be terribly difficult to go to parties and pretend to be merry when your baby was just ripped from your arms.
“Yes, perhaps a year abroad would do me well,” Isabel conceded, romanticizing a walk through an art gallery.
In her mind, she wondered if it would help her to think of anything other than Edan. And if, perhaps, when she returned, she might go and see him. Would a year be enough time for him to forgive her? She wasn’t sure. But she had to try.
Dessert was served as the final course and each one quietly indulged in the pudding. There were few types of pudding that Isabel was fond of. This one was alright, she supposed. It was not like the delicious one she had tasted in the castle.
Edan had called it ‘sticky toffee pudding’ and it was only there that she had ever tasted it. She wondered what might happen should she request a Scottish dish from the kitchen.
Oh, I am sure no one would be any the wiser. So long as I don’t ask for haggis, I suppose, she thought to herself. It brought a slight smile to her face in the otherwise dour room.
Chapter 42
“Edan, come with me. Ye need to unwind, get yer mind off things,” Robert urged. He grabbed Edan’s arm and began to pull him down toward the village.
“I dinnae ken, Robert. It isnae all that fun to me. Going to the pub and getting smashed? I have other things I need to be worrying about right now,” Edan replied.
“Right, like yer English lass? Listen, me Laird Edan. Ye have to get yer mind off her. A good bit of drink will help ye with that,” he promised.
Edan succumbed to Robert’s insistence and walked with him, making their way to the pub run by Morven. It was a general favorite in the village, despite there being six other pubs. Many said it was because of Lorna’s figure that all the men liked to drink there, but Robert protested, determined that he would marry her.
“Ah, me Laird!” Morven exclaimed upon seeing Edan. The old woman’s bosom swayed in a way that convinced him he would flash the hash if he drank too much and then watched them.
“Beautiful Missus Morven, might the Laird and meself sit out back?” Robert asked in a charming voice, hoping to gain her affections. He was constantly trying to please her.
Morven glared at him, still having not warmed up to the fact that he was after her daughter.
“Right then. If it’s for the Laird, then ye may,” she conceded.
She led them to the back where a few logs and tree stumps acted as chairs. It was a clear night, though a bit chilly. Edan wrapped the tartan around his shoulders. Morven returned with pints of ale.
“Do ye really think this will help me forget?” Edan asked, wondering if he was getting himself into a whole heap of trouble.
“Aye, it’s good for the broken-hearted soul,” Robert replied.
They clinked their mugs together and each took a large gulp. It was not long before Robert was calling for another for each of them.
“How is it?” Robert asked.
“A delight,” Edan replied. “Here’s hoping that it will bring me delight beyond the taste.”
“Oh, I imagine it will. Ye ought to drink up though. Delight will come soon enough. Ye’d best be ready for it,” Robert replied.
“What does that mean?” Edan asked.
“Dinnae worry about it,” Robert said with a wave of his hand.
They did not speak much else, but there was little to be said. Both were wrapped in their separate thoughts, distracted by the women they could not get off their minds.
But it was not Morven who brought the fourth mug of ale for them. It was Lorna. With her, came a petite, raven-haired girl. She was thin with only the gentlest of curves, but she had a pretty, upturned nose and fairy-like features. She blinked her blue eyes and gave Edan a smile.
Lorna, on the other hand, took a bolder approach. She straddled Robert and leaned the mug of ale toward him. He opened his mouth and allowed her to pour it in. After swallowing it, the two engaged in a passionate kiss.
Edan’s mind had grown blurry. He caught himself watching them for a moment too long. The movement of their bodies reminded him of what he no longer had. There was such a longing in his heart to have Isabel back with him, to feel her hands upon his body and her lips on his lips.
He missed her tongue being in his mouth and the way it felt to hold her sturdy hips. He missed tracing kisses along her pale skin. He missed the way she felt when they came as one. It was a shame he had only been able to experience it with her once.
Lorna moaned, and it snapped Edan back from his fantasy. He looked at his friend again and saw that Robert’s face was buried in Lorna’s bosom.
The fairy-like creature encouraged Edan to drink more from where she sat by his feet. He took another long swig of ale, guzzling it down to forget. He hoped that Robert’s methods of relaxing would work for him as well, although at this point he was simply overwhelmed by a thickening fog of thoughts.
Before Edan knew it, the young woman was finding her own boldness, running her hands up his thighs and bringing her tiny fists to rest in his crotch, waiting for him to encourage her to take action with them under his kilt.
He did not expect the way his body responded, a visible encouragement for the girl to continue. She stood and copied Lorna’s position, straddling Edan on the stump of a tree.
He felt as though he were swaying under the spell of the drink. His arms were locked at his sides, but the girl did not need him to make any moves. She simply began kissing along his neck.
A chorus of moans came from Lorna and Robert again and the girl continued her trailing lips that grazed his skin, expecting Edan to respond at any moment.
Edan felt his body’s desire for a woman, for anything to ease his loneliness. And yet the image of Isabel was a strong force. His bitterness against her was not enough to allow him to relieve his desires.
“Drink,” whispered the girl in his ear. She could tell he was not going to take advantage of her unless he became far more incapacitated by the alcohol. This was what she had been asked to do by her friends and for a man like the Laird, she was more than willing.
In the swirl of thoughts, Edan tried to grasp one from the other before they all flitted away and were replaced by new thoughts. He briefly realized that Robert had set this up from the start to help him ease his pain. But the thought was quickly gone.
The only thing that managed to capture his brain strongly was the thought of Isabel. Nothing else lasted, nothing else remained. Only the portrait of a green-eyed, blonde-haired English woman who felt the passion of justice, and who had given him her body.
Apparently, the thought of her body had caused his to respond in some way and the girl began grinding her pelvis against Edan’s. He was still confused and unsure of what was happening, but he knew he didn’t want this.
“Go…” he said in a drunken drawl.
“Go faster?” she asked, moving more rapidly.
“No!” he moaned louder. “Go away from me.”
The fairy stood quickly, humiliated. She bit her lip and stared at Edan for a moment.
“Sorry,” he mumbled.
Robert looked over at Edan while Lorna continued to kiss his cheeks and forehead and nose.
“What’s the matter?” he asked Edan, clearly drunk himself.
“Why did ye have her come to me?” Edan asked, batting away the fog with his hands as if it would help him to think more clearly.
“It’s for yer own good, Edan,” Robert replied. “She clearly wants ye. Take her!”
Edan was unconvinced. The girl had been set up for this just as he had been. Surely, she was not so willing to give herself over?
“Ask her!” Robert called. Edan kept his lips closed. “Fine then, I’ll ask her. Abigail, do ye want him?”
“Aye, Robert. What woman wouldn’t want him?” she asked with a smile that Edan couldn’t quite decipher. It was either devious and calculated or filled with desire.
What he was now convinced of was that she truly did want him. Not in order to kill him, but to be with him as a man and woman. It felt so good to be wanted that way.
And he wanted it too.
But not with her.
He wanted only one woman. And she was far from here.
Edan stood, wobbling to his full height. He tried to lay a hand on the fairy’s shoulder, but he missed.
“Sorry,” he mumbled. “But ye arnae her.”
“Pillock,” Robert whispered.
The fairy sat down on the tree stump and rested her chin on her fist in evident disappointment.
But Edan did not look back again. No, it was to his great misfortune that Edan continued forward where he stumbled through the bar and saw the swinging of bells of Morven’s chest.
Holding his hand over his mouth, he ran from the pub and vomited out on the quiet street.
It had not been an evening that would make a Laird proud. Edan felt lost, anxious, and disgusted with himself. There was nothing of the night that he deemed respectable.
He would discuss this with Robert at another time, ensuring there would be no such event as this again. It had not eased his sadness, but rather intensified it.
Refusing the pretty little creature reminded him of his loneliness and the hopelessness that he might ever move on.
Isabel was lost to him, gone home to the ones she called family. She had tried to murder him, but instead, she left him.
And all he could do was stumble home, ignore the guards, and climb to his bed to collapse and forget about the world…until tomorrow came.
Chapter 43
Despite the warnings that she should stay in her room except when called for dinner, Isabel made her way through the halls to pay two visits. The first visit was to the room that had belonged to James.
She walked in the room and saw the heavy burgundy drapes were shut to all light. It was clear that her father had wished to forget the existence of this room.
On the dresser, Isabel found small carved trinkets. Mostly sheep. She knew that he must have gotten them whenever he had visited Edan in Scotland.
She opened his desk drawer and discovered a letter written in Edan’s hand. It was a brief note, just something to invite him to the next round of Highland Games. It was dated two years before.
The rest of the room was purely English. As was her brother. His shoes were polished and flawless, the closet filled with fantastic coats of the best fashions.
It was as though James had simply gone out to pay a call to a friend and would return soon.
Drawn to his bookshelf, Isabel ran her fingers across the titles. Most of them were on themes of medicine, but she did find one book of Scottish legends. That, too, warmed her heart. Perhaps it was in her blood, after all, to have an interest in the northern kingdom.
James had no appetite for fighting and did so only as necessary to uphold the family honor. He was learned in archery and swordsmanship, but purely for sport.
His true loves were science and medicine. Isabel wished she could listen to him drone on and on about chemical reactions within the body.
It was something she had found insufferable before.
She stayed only a short time before it became too overwhelming for her. Isabel then made her way up to the next floor to the room that had once belonged to her mother.
Isabel could not remember the Duchess. She had died shortly after childbirth but had left Isabel a great many things for a growing daughter.
Her room was painted a light, sky blue. It was bright and welcoming. Here, too, the curtains were closed, but Isabel still felt as though she were in a familiar place.
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