Highlanders

by Tarah Scott

  “Rubbish,” Lady Rushton said. “He would never do that.”

  “How was I to know?” How could she know now?

  “Given Rush’s reputation, I can see how you would think him a bad candidate as a husband,” her ladyship said. “Sadly, neither your ignorance nor the fact that he was innocent of your sister’s accusations will change the reality that you are compromised beyond repair.”

  “Grace was compromised—at least in the eyes of Society,” Eve said. “It is just as likely that she will marry his lordship.”

  “Do you think your sister is a more likely candidate?” Lady Rushton asked.

  Eve was startled by the question. Did Lady Rushton know something? “Grace would make a fine countess, and she wants to marry him.”

  “I do like your sister.”

  “Really? I am relieved to hear that.”

  “Is there a reason I shouldn’t like her?” the marchioness asked.

  “None at all. But you never know which way the wind will blow in such matters.”

  “So true. I was petrified to meet Justin’s mother.”

  “How did you find her?” Eve asked.

  “Quite amiable—despite the fact I am English—and I vowed I would be the same to my son’s wife, if at all possible.”

  “That is kind of you.”

  “I like you as well,” she said. “You would make a fine daughter-in-law.”

  “But I would make a terrible wife.”

  “I think it isn’t so much that you would make a terrible wife, as it is that you would make Rush a terrible wife,” her ladyship said.

  “That is true,” Eve said, surprised by her understanding.

  “Do you feel this way because he said he would leave you in Scotland?” the marchioness asked.

  Because he said he would go on with his pleasures as he always had, Eve thought, and, truth be told, she would care. Eve released a sigh. “Perhaps it is better I say no more.”

  “I see. Your reasons do not flatter him.”

  Or herself, for that matter. What bubble-headed woman cared about a man who competed for the title of London’s worst rake? “I am afraid not,” Eve said.

  “Do you plan to take lovers?”

  Eve blinked. “No, of course not.”

  “Then you would make a good wife,” Lady Rushton said.

  Eve thought of Grace’s plan to take lovers, and asked, “Is that the only requirement for a good wife?”

  “No, but is it one in which a woman often falls short.”

  “I could spend all his money,” Eve said.

  Lady Rushton laughed. “Not unless you have a weakness for gambling. Do you play cards?”

  Eve grimaced. “Too tedious.”

  “Marvelous. Then you cannot condemn Rush to the poor house.”

  “I could harangue him mercilessly.”

  “Many a wife has done just that to her husband, but if you succeed you will, indeed, be rid of him.”

  “Does the earl share these same philosophies?”

  “Certainly not about being nagged into an early grave, and I imagine that if he truly thought you were spending too much money he would leave you here on Mull.”

  The idea gave Eve pause. Grace believed it was a woman’s duty to spend her husband’s money. Lord Rushton hadn’t batted an eye over the clothes they purchased in Belfast, but the truth was, they hadn’t spent a great deal of money. Grace had no idea what a budget was. Eve had realized that the earl and Grace were a lot alike, but men didn’t want a woman who was like them. Men might view marriage as a business, but they expected their wives to view them as their masters.

  “Many wives take lovers and spend their husband’s money frivolously,” Eve said. “It is the way of Society.”

  “Indeed it is,” Lady Rushton replied. “But Rush would not tolerate it.”

  The door unexpectedly opened and Eve jumped before realizing the newcomer was a maid and not her father or the marquess. The girl scanned the room and when her eyes lit on the marchioness, she started toward them. Grace rose and she too crossed to their seats.

  She arrived as the maid did, and the marchioness said, “What is it, Adrian?”

  “The laird says not to wait up for them.”

  “Is everything all right?” Grace asked.

  “I am sure everything is fine,” her ladyship said. “Thank you, Adrian.”

  Grace stared after the girl as she left the room. “I cannot understand what could possibly be taking so long.” Grace’s gaze shifted to the couch where Lord Rushton slept.

  “How are you doing at cards?” Lady Rushton said. “Are you winning?”

  Grace looked at her and smiled. “I think Lord Somerset is letting me win.”

  “Then he is a true gentleman. Are you tired? Do you wish to retire? Or would you prefer to continue playing a little longer?”

  She glanced at Lord Somerset, who waited at the card table. “We are in the middle of a game…”

  “Then you should finish,” Lady Rushton said. “It would be rude to leave a gentleman in the middle of a game.”

  Grace glanced again in Lord Rushton’s direction, then said, “You are right, of course. We shall finish this game, then I will retire—if that is all right with you?”

  The marchioness smiled. “Quite all right.” Grace returned to the game and the marchioness said to Eve, “What of you, my dear? Should you retire for the evening?”

  “I should like to see my father before I go to bed.”

  Lady Rushton’s gaze shifted and Eve followed her line of sight. Lord Rushton approached.

  “Erroll.” His mother’s eyes lit with pleasure and she extended her hands. He caught both hands, brought them to his lips at once and kissed her fingers. Eve didn’t miss the squeeze he gave her fingers before he released them or the delight in his eyes.

  He pulled one of the chairs from the nearest card table and placed it near Eve’s side of the settee. “Getting nervous, Miss Crenshaw?”

  She scowled. “Do not goad me, sir. You will make me look bad in front of your mother, which will only force me to make you pay later.” Eve looked at the marchioness. “Forgive me, ma’am. I have no doubt he is a paragon of a son, but he is a beastly suitor.”

  “Suitor?” he repeated.

  “It is not a compliment,” Eve said.

  “I admit, we got off to a bad start,” he replied. “That part was not my fault.”

  “Yes it was.”

  “She is right,” the marchioness said.

  “Really?” he said, as if surprised his mother agreed.

  “You entered her room uninvited.”

  “I was only defending myself,” the earl said placidly.

  “You went there to browbeat Grace,” Eve retorted.

  “I went there to confront my accuser.”

  “A gentleman would have faced the lady’s father instead of accosting her in her bedchambers.”

  “She has a point,” Lady Rushton said.

  “Guilty as charged.” His eyes darkened. “I am no gentleman, and I have not been innocent since—”

  “Erroll,” his mother admonished.

  He grinned. “I am not that much of a cad, Mother.”

  “Beware,” she said, “you do not want to face my wrath later.”

  His eyes widened. “Quite right.”

  The marchioness turned to Eve. “Did you have a chance to see any of the castle today?”

  “Only the great hall, which your son showed me after Lord Burns left.”

  “Lord Burns? He was here today?”

  “Yes. Did Lord Rushton not tell you?”

  She looked at him. “What happened?”

  “Nothing of consequence. Burns was concerned that Hilary was paying too much attention to his son.”

  “He is right. She was.”

  “Really?” Lord Rushton’s brow furrowed. “Since when did Hilary become interested in men?”

  “Since she turned seventeen.”

  “Se
venteen?” Surprise shown on his face. “She grew up while I was away.”

  “I shall speak with Hilary.” The marchioness regarded him. “Actually, I think you should speak to her.”

  “Me?”

  Eve saw genuine alarm in his eyes.

  “What do I know of seventeen year old girls?”

  “You were once a nineteen-year-old boy, which I believe is the boy’s age.”

  “Mother, I do not think I—”

  “No arguments,” she cut in. “Hilary adores you. With David gone she could use a little guidance from a brother.”

  “Burns mentioned David was gone. How long?”

  “Two years.”

  “I’m surprised his father let him go. He is the only heir.”

  “You know David. He was insistent.”

  “Young fool,” Lord Rushton muttered. “He could easily have avoided the madness.”

  “Young fools seldom avoid madness,” the marchioness remarked.

  Lord Rushton’s expression cleared. “You wouldn’t by chance be referring to me?”

  “You are, without a doubt, a young fool,” she said.

  Her tone was light, but Eve was startled to detect a note of melancholy.

  Lord Rushton straightened. “Mother, I—” He stared for a long instant, apparently forgetting that Eve was there, then broke off and leaned back against his chair. “Forgive me. I am worse than a fool.”

  Eve suddenly understood the byplay was due to the lady’s sorrow in losing her youngest son. Eve grasped the marchioness’ hand and gave it a gentle squeeze. “I’m sorry, ma’am. I…” Eve released a sigh. “There is no consolation, is there?”

  Lady Rushton looked at her, clearly surprised, but a gentle smile touched her lips. She returned Eve’s hand squeeze. “Nothing else is needed.”

  Eve nodded, unable to speak through a lump in her throat. She became aware that Lord Rushton was watching her and removed her hand from Lady Rushton’s. Perhaps it was time for her to retire, after all.

  Chapter Seventeen

  “Eve.”

  Something jarred her—hard. Her head swam.

  “Eve, wake up.”

  She burrowed deeper into the surrounding warmth.

  “Eve, the marquess is calling for us.”

  Eve’s eyes popped open and she bolted upright in bed. The room swam around her for an instant, then Grace snapped into focus where she knelt on the bed beside Eve. The fire in the hearth had burned to coals and no light shone through the colored glass window.

  “What time is it?” Eve croaked.

  “Three thirty in the morning.”

  “Holy God,” she breathed. “Whatever can they want at this hour of the morning? Do you know what has happened?”

  Grace shook her head. “Lady Rushton came to me. She asked that I wake you. She will return presently and take us to the marquess’ library.”

  Eve sat for a moment, unable to move. “I cannot imagine why they would call us at this ungodly hour. Why not wait until the morning? Papa must know we are all right. Surely, he didn’t have us wakened just to see us.” And he wouldn’t. She threw back the covers and stood for a moment at a loss as to what she was looking for, then realized she wanted the dress she had draped over the corner chair. She started toward it, but stopped upon realizing Grace hadn’t moved, nor was she dressed. “You had better dress.”

  “What if Papa is angry?” Grace said.

  “You only just now realized he might be angry?”

  She looked at Eve, eyes wide. “I thought I would be married by the time he saw me and that would soften the blow.”

  “Nothing will soften the blow.”

  Grace paled and guilt stabbed at Eve. Despite her woman’s body, Grace was only nineteen, and Eve, after all, had gotten her into this mess. Grace would never have thought of kidnapping Lord Rushton, and Eve couldn’t blame her for readily agreeing to come to Mull. After all, Lord Rushton would have tossed Grace into the carriage just as easily as he had Eve if she’d balked.

  “This is what you have been waiting for, Grace.”

  “Not exactly. I was waiting for Lord Rushton to whisk me off to visit a magistrate.”

  “That might yet happen. Now, we had better dress.” Eve would rather find the closest mouse hole and crawl inside, but kept the sentiment to herself.

  Fifteen minutes later, Lady Rushton appeared at Eve’s door.

  “Can you tell us nothing, ma’am?” Eve asked as Grace closed her bedchamber door and the marchioness started forward with them.

  “I am as much in the dark as you,” she said. “The marquess woke me and told me to bring you both to his library.”

  “So you did not see our father?” Grace asked.

  “I have not yet met him.”

  They fell into silence until they reached the library door, which stood open. The marchioness entered first, and Eve almost lost her nerve when she glimpsed her father sitting in a wingback chair with a small table between him and another chair where the marquess sat. Neither man wore cravats, their shirts were open at the neck, and a nearly empty decanter sat on the table between two partially filled glasses. Had they been discussing the situation all these hours? Eve caught sight of Lord Rushton and Lord Somerset sitting on a couch and she slowed when she saw that a stranger sat on the couch with them. He, like Lord Rushton and Somerset, seemed to have dressed in as much haste as had she and Grace.

  “Papa,” Grace cried, and hurried to him.

  He rose and she practically fell into his arms. He hugged her close and to Eve’s relief, Grace didn’t cry, though she feared she might.

  He pulled back from Grace and looked at her. “You are well?”

  “Quite well,” she said. “Lord and Lady Rushton have been very kind.”

  He nodded and looked at Eve. “And you, Eve?”

  “I am well, sir.”

  “Sit down,” he instructed them.

  “You, too, if you will, my dear,” the marquess said to his wife.

  The three of them sat on the sofa to the left of the marquess.

  “We have been many hours sorting out this mess,” the marquess said. “Tolland and I considered each taking aside our respective offspring and dealing with them separately, but the task is too daunting—not to mention, we will take no chances this time that the three of you might scheme behind our backs.”

  “Four of them,” their father said. He pinned his stare on Eve. “Oscar isn’t present, but he is as much a party to the situation as you are. Eve, you kidnapped an earl. You are lucky he and his father didn’t have you thrown into prison.”

  “The earl fought a duel,” Eve said. “He is as guilty as me.”

  “Indeed, he is.” Her father turned his stare onto Lord Rushton. “The only reason I did not chase after you to Gretna was because I assumed Eve was getting married.”

  “Me?” Eve blurted. “Why would you think that?” Then she knew. “My God, you told him to kidnap me.”

  “I would have kept that bit of information to myself, if I were you, Tolland,” the earl muttered.

  “Oh, this is rich.” Eve couldn’t believe it. “How can you possibly convict me of the very crime for which you are guilty?”

  “I can,” her father said in a dark voice that cut off any further retort.

  “As can I,” the marquess said. “But as a marriage contract has been signed, it would seem the matter is settled.”

  Fear rendered Eve speechless, but Grace spoke up. “What marriage contract?”

  “The one I drew up in Manchester, signed by me and the earl.” He nodded to a secretary against the left wall and Eve spied several sheaths of folded paper.

  Grace looked from her father to Eve in confusion. “But who is the bride?”

  “Grace,” the earl said in a gentle voice, “I did say I was going to marry your sister.”

  “But Eve doesn’t want to marry you,” she protested.

  “Signed in Manchester?” Eve cut in. “You signed the c
ontract before going to Gretna?”

  “No,” her father answered. “He had his solicitor sign for him, then sent it to me, along with the letter he posted from Gretna, which instructed me to meet you on Mull.”

  “Miss Crenshaw,” the earl said. He rose, walked to where she sat, then squatted eye-level with her and took her hands in his. “Let us be honest. Things were bad enough when I came into your room at the inn. There might have been a way to redeem ourselves at that point, but once we ended up at Gretna…well, even I knew there was no turning back.”

  “You neglected to tell me you had signed a marriage contract,” she said.

  “It made little difference at that point. There was going to be a wedding. You cannot doubt that.”

  “It is unfair.”

  “Yes,” he agreed.

  “Not completely unfair,” her father said.

  “I’m sure you do not think so,” she snapped. “You are simply relieved to have me married off.”

  “Did it occur to you that Lord Rushton made sure the contract was dated and signed for the day before you left for Gretna in order to save your reputation?”

  “What possible difference could it make when the contract was signed?”

  “Eve, don’t be an idiot,” Grace said. “The fact the contract was signed the day Lord Halifax kidnapped you, tells the polite world that Lord Halifax did, indeed, kidnap you, and that Lord Rushton defended your honor because you were to be his wife. Even my reputation is unscathed. It is just as I said, only you are the bride, not I.”

  “I am sorry,” Lord Rushton said.

  “It is your loss, I assure you, my lord,” Grace said in an airy tone. “Though Eve is a fine catch, and you would do well not to forget that.”

  Eve stared at her sister. She had expected tears, shouts, perhaps even the stamping of feet if Lord Rushton didn’t marry her. Instead, she was acquiescing with poise and refinement befitting the marchioness she one day hoped to be. This was all wrong.

  Eve looked at the earl. “And if I don’t sign the contract?”

  “You have no choice,” her father boomed. “The earl owned up to what transpired between you two.”

  Lord Rushton shoved to his feet. “Tolland, leave well enough alone.”

  “I will not. Eve, you have gone too far this time.”

  Eve recalled the night in the ship’s cabin a little over a day ago when she and Lord Rushton were alone. In truth, allowing the earl to touch her as he had was enough to warrant that they marry. But no one knew about that. Did they?