Grandfather had called him “Sergeant,” she recalled, and surmised they must have served together. Certainly he had the look of a battle-hardened soldier, and there was a cold, menacing air of danger about him that made her grateful he was not her grandfather. Had she attempted such a ruse on him, she had no doubt he would have sent her packing back to London without so much as a flicker of remorse. Ah, well. She dismissed the memory of his tall, muscular form with a shrug. She had more important things to think of at the moment than some arrogant stranger.
Her grandfather soon returned, accompanied by a maid pushing a cart laden with food. They chatted while the servant laid out the food, but the moment they were alone, her grandfather turned abruptly serious.
“Now tell me what that rakehell son of mine has been about,” he said, his directness taking Caroline by surprise. “Not really attempting to force you to the altar, is he?”
Caroline lowered her gaze to her hands, doing her best not to squirm. What she knew as fact and what she could prove were not the same thing, and she struggled for the right words.
“He informed me yesterday I am to accept the viscount’s offer of marriage,” she said, deciding it would be best to start with the truth. “I told him I hate—am afraid,” she amended, deciding that sounded better, “of Sir Gervase, but it does not seem to matter. Uncle Charles says I will marry his friend, or he will have me locked away.”
“I see.” The duke steepled his fingers together and looked grave. “Have you any idea why he has set upon such a course of action? You must be all of twenty now, and it seems to me that if he was determined to see you wed, he should have done so by now.”
“I am one and twenty, Grandfather,” Caroline corrected, feeling a sharp pang that he did not even know her true age. “And as for why he has now decided to marry me off, I think I know the reason for that as well.”
“And what reason might that be?”
“My fortune. I’ve recently discovered that although the majority of the money is entailed directly to me, Uncle Charles has still managed to steal several thousand pounds from my funds. He has also been affixing my name to various documents granting him further powers, and he was attempting to gain possession of some properties belonging to my mother when I was warned of his actions by my man of business. It was shortly after I began my inquiries that Uncle Charles announced I would wed Sir Gervase or pay the consequences.” Her lips twisted in a bitter smile. “It would seem if he cannot obtain my fortune one way, he is determined to obtain it in another.”
There was a long silence before her grandfather finally spoke. “I greatly esteemed your grandmother,” he said, a look of resigned pain crossing his face. “But it is at times like this that I cannot help but wonder if she played me false all those years ago. I find it incomprehensible that such a devil’s spawn should have sprung from my loins.”
Caroline’s fingers twisted together. “Then you believe me?” she asked, cautious hope stirring in her breast.
“Alas, knowing my son as I do, I fear I have no other choice,” he replied with a heavy sigh. “It sounds precisely the sort of thing he would do, and in all fairness to the wretch, it is clever. By marrying you to his friend, a man I assume he controls completely, he will have all of your fortune rather than the bits of it he has managed to grab. Yes,” he went on, nodding his head with reluctant admiration, “it is most clever of him, I vow.”
Caroline was not certain how to take that. “But you will help me, won’t you, Grandfather?” she pleaded, wondering if she ought to squeeze out another tear or two just to be safe. “You will not allow Uncle Charles to marry me off to Sir Gervase?”
“Eh?” He gave her a blank look, and then his blue eyes, so very like her own, began to sparkle with excitement. “Of course I shan’t allow such a thing!” he said, sending her a reassuring smile. “In fact, I have in mind the perfect plan that will put an end to your uncle’s evil designs once and for all. Yes, yes, it is the very thing.”
“What is it, Grandfather?” she asked, all but weak with relief. “Will you petition the courts to become my guardian?”
“That is one way, to be sure,” he agreed, frowning thoughtfully. “But given my advanced age, I fear it would be a temporary solution only. Were I to die before you were safely wed, your uncle would be upon you like a crow on a rotting piece of carrion before I scarce cocked up my toes.”
“Then what shall we do?” Caroline demanded, horrified as she accepted the truth of what he was saying.
In answer, he folded his hands and leaned back in his chair. “Why, the solution is as plain as a pikestaff,” he said, looking smugly pleased with himself. “We shall marry you off to someone else as quickly as it can be arranged.”
Chapter 3
Hugh was surprised to find a message from General Burroughs waiting when he came down to the taproom the following morning. He’d steeled himself to be kept dangling a good day or more, and the note ordering him to report to Edward Street at one in the afternoon was welcome news indeed.
To his surprise the slovenly innkeeper personally fetched his food, bowing and scraping as he set the plate of beefsteak before him. The food was even hot, and Hugh was hard-pressed to hide his cynical amusement as he tucked into his breakfast. Corresponding with a duke had its unexpected benefits, it would seem.
As it was scarcely ten of the clock, he decided to while away the rest of the morning exploring the city. He’d been too long in the out-of-doors to relish the thought of returning to his cramped, airless room, and in any case, he thought it might be worth his while to visit the Pump Room. Aunt Egidia had told him it was the best place in Bath to see who was in town. Before his conversation with the general had been interrupted by the pretty blonde, General Burroughs had mentioned that Colonel Margate was also in Bath. The affable man had been his last commanding officer, and Hugh was most anxious to see him again. The more power he had behind him, the safer he would feel.
The Pump Room was crowded when he arrived. At Angus’s insistence he’d left his sword at home, a fact for which he was most grateful when he saw the notice posted beside the door banning the wearing of all weapons. He thought about the dirk he had tucked in the pocket of his fine coat, and gave brief thought to surrendering it. A man was a fool to go anywhere completely unarmed, though, and unless he was attacked, none would ever have cause to know he was carrying it.
After purchasing his tea and biscuits, he joined the crowds circling the elegantly appointed room. There were easily three times as many people as there were tables and chairs for them, and Hugh shook his head at the folly of it. Trust the English to turn the taking of medicinal waters into an excuse to pack as many people into a place as possible, he mused, wincing as a lady in a hooped skirt squeezed her way past him.
While walking, he took the opportunity to surreptitiously study the well-dressed throng, paying special note to what the other men were wearing. For himself he cared not a whit whether they rigged themselves up like a group of painted macaronis, or went about as naked as a band of savages, but for the sake of Loch Haven he knew he had best care. He wouldn’t risk the future of his clan because some self-important prig of a magistrate didn’t care for the cut of his coat.
To his relief he noted that his new coat and breeches were more than acceptable, and he felt the touch of more than one admiring glance from the ladies as he moved past them. He was also relieved to see he wasn’t the only man in the room who had foresworn the wearing of a wig, nor was he even the only one with unpowdered hair. He heartily disliked the ritual, although as a soldier he’d been required to keep his hair meticulously powdered, a practice he’d considered impractical and even dangerous. White hair made a far easier target for American marksmen than plain hair, and in any case, he’d never seen the sense of a young man trying to look like an old one.
By his third turn about the room he decided he’d had enough, and was about to leave when he saw General Burroughs entering. At his side was his gr
anddaughter, looking even more beautiful than before in a stunning ensemble of French blue silk and blond lace. Hugh admired her beauty, even as he cursed her presence. How was he to conduct his business with the general in private if the chit meant to cling to him like a limpet? he wondered crossly. None of these dark thoughts showed on his face, however, as he crossed the room to make his bows before them.
“Your Grace,” he said, inclining his head with grave courtesy. “It is a pleasure to see you again.”
“Ah, Sergeant, what a delightful surprise to find you here!” the general responded, looking genuinely pleased. “Did you receive the note I had sent round to your lodgings?”
“Yes, Your Grace, and I am looking forward to our meeting,” Hugh answered, noting the blonde had gone rigid as a pole. Evidently her aristocratic sensibilities were offended at being introduced to a common soldier, he decided with dislike.
“As am I, Sergeant, as am I,” the general replied, a mischievous light dancing in his blue eyes. “As a matter of fact, I have a rather interesting proposal to put to you that I think you may find worth the hearing.”
To Hugh’s surprise the blonde gave a jerk, her face first growing pink with color and then paling. She swiftly lowered her gaze, but before she did Hugh thought he detected a flash of resentment burning in her eyes. What the devil? he wondered, giving her a questioning look in return.
As if just recalling her presence, the general turned to his granddaughter and drew her forward. “You must forgive me, my manners have gone to lack,” he said, smiling at Hugh. “Allow me to make you known to my granddaughter. Caroline, my dear,” he said, giving her arm a paternal pat, “this handsome young gentleman is Hugh MacColme, the laird of Loch Haven, and the man to whom your grandfather owes his life. Sergeant MacColme, this stunning creature is my granddaughter, Lady Caroline Burroughs.”
A lady, Hugh thought with a derisive sneer; he might have known. He made an elegant bow, and acting on the hope of disconcerting her, reached out to take the hand she had stiffly offered.
He captured it in his, his fingers curling about hers with just enough strength to have her eyes flying open. Their gazes met, and when he was certain she wouldn’t glance away, he raised her hand to his lips for a mocking kiss.
“My lady,” he drawled, his mouth curving in a slow smile at the anger he could see flashing in her eyes. “It is an honor to make your acquaintance.”
“Mr. MacColme.” Her voice was every bit as rigid as her posture as she jerked her hand free. “My grandfather has spoken of you.”
“Has he?” Hugh wondered what the older man might have said to have put that note of loathing in her voice. It had always been his impression the general held him in some esteem. But what did he care what some well-born chit thought of him? He turned his attention back to the duke.
“I was hoping I might see the colonel, sir,” he said, ignoring Lady Caroline. “But he hasn’t arrived as yet.”
“No, no, quite the opposite, in fact,” the general said, starting toward a table that had just been vacated. “He and I were here earlier to take the waters as befits a pair of old relics. I daresay he is at home on Gay Street, being cossetted by his wife by now. You recall Mrs. Margate, I trust?”
Hugh remembered the middle-aged, heavyset woman who had bullied her husband and his troops with equal ferocity, and remembered as well the way she had searched the battlefield following an engagement for the wounded men of the company. More than one man, himself included, was alive today because of her. “Aye, that I do, sir,” he said, genuine pleasure softening his voice. “I trust the good lady is well?”
“With a city filled with invalids and fops to bully?” The general gave a laugh. “Dear boy, she is in alt. I daresay she will have half of Bath cured and the other half beaten into fighting shape by the time she is done.”
They continued chatting as a servant brought them coffee and a plate of Bath buns. After a few minutes of exchanging reminiscences with the general, Hugh’s manners got the best of him and he turned to Lady Caroline.
“Are you long in Bath, ma’am?” he asked politely, noting she hadn’t eaten a single bite of the sugar-crusted roll.
“I am not certain, sir,” she replied, her gaze fixed firmly on her plate. “As you know my arrival yesterday was somewhat unexpected, and there is much that has to be determined.”
From that, Hugh surmised the general hadn’t yet agreed to become her guardian. “It is my first visit here,” he continued, deciding it could do him no harm to be polite. “And a most lovely place I find it. The buildings on the Royal Crescent are especially beautiful, do you not agree?”
That won him the courtesy of a look, as she raised her gaze to his face. “I am afraid I have not had much opportunity to take in the sights,” she said, her voice filled with wary civility. “And like you, this is my first visit to Bath. But from what I have seen, I agree it is very lovely; far cleaner than London.”
“A stable is far cleaner than London,” General Burroughs observed, eating his roll with obvious relish. “But you must make an effort to see something of Bath while you are here, my dearest,” he added. “Perhaps after our meeting this afternoon, Sergeant MacColme will agree to show you about, eh, Sergeant?”
Hugh had served with the general long enough to recognize a command when he heard one. “I should consider it an honor, Your Grace,” he said, dredging up a thin smile. “Providing, of course, her ladyship has no objections?” His gaze flashed hopefully to her, although he was certain she was too polite to refuse his offer outright.
“No, I have no objections, Mr. MacColme.” Her stiff reply confirmed his suspicions. “It sounds most enjoyable, in fact.”
“Excellent.” General Burroughs beamed at them both. “Now that we’ve settled that, do let us enjoy our coffee and the excellent music. I vow, it has been a good many years since I last enjoyed Haydn in such convivial surroundings.”
A silence then descended upon the table, both Hugh and Lady Caroline having acquiesced to the general’s bidding. And it was no great hardship listening to the music, Hugh thought. The bright and delicate notes put him in mind of the wild brooks of the Highlands—although to his way of thinking, the pretty music in no way compared to the sound of the pipes. Now there was a sound to stir men’s souls, he mused, raising his cup to his lips. Mayhap when he returned to Loch Haven with the castle once more in his hands, the clan would have a feast day to celebrate.
He was envisioning the great hall strung with victory pennants and ringing with the sound of laughter and the wail of the pipes, when the general gave a sudden exclamation.
“Upon my soul, is that Lady Hanfield?” he said, setting his cup down with an eager clatter. “I did not know her to be in Bath!”
Hugh glanced to his right, spying an ancient lady in a gown of pink silk, her frail frame all but bent under the weight of her towering wig. She was accompanied by half a dozen footmen, who were doing their best to help lower her onto her chair. A rather difficult task, Hugh noted, since the wig looked near to toppling her over. It was two feet in height, if not more.
“I must go over to her.” General Burroughs was rising to his feet. “Her late husband was one of my dearest friends, and I should be remiss did I not bid her hello.” He scurried off, leaving Hugh and Lady Caroline alone.
Hugh was expecting a stiff silence, and was surprised when she suddenly leaned forward. “I must speak with you,” she said. “At what hour do you call upon my grandfather?”
Hugh arched an eyebrow at the urgent note in her voice. “One of the clock,” he replied coolly, wondering what she was about.
“Come at twelve-thirty instead,” she instructed, her gaze flicking to the nearby table where the general was bowing over the elderly lady’s hand. “Have the butler conduct you to the drawing room; I shall be waiting for you there.”
Hugh hid his astonishment at her command. To be sure his knowledge of English noblewomen was scarce, but he was fairly certain they
did not normally arrange clandestine meetings with strange men. Certainly he would never permit Mairi to do such a thing, and his cautious nature stirred to life.
“Will you?” he asked, his accent deepening along with his suspicions. “And what might you be waiting for, I wonder?”
Her gaze returned to his, the dark-blue eyes flashing with annoyance. “Not for the reason you appear to be thinking,” she informed him with a proud lift of her chin. “I have something I wish to discuss with you, and it is something best done in private. Will you be there, or will you not?”
Tempting as it was to toss her arrogant demand back in her face, Hugh managed to resist. It would do him no harm to hear what she had to say, he reasoned—and a MacColme never fled from a challenge, but faced it head on.
“Oh, I shall be there,” he drawled, his mouth curving in a mocking smile. “Indeed, I would not dream of missing it. Only mind you make it worth my while,” he added, taking a small satisfaction in seeing her cheeks pinken with anger. “I’ve no patience to have my time wasted by some schoolroom miss bent on making mischief. Keep that in mind, my lady, and we shall get along fine.”
Schoolroom miss, indeed! Caroline fumed less than an hour later, the full skirts of her gown flaring about her as she paced the elegant confines of her bedchamber. And how dare he accuse her of attempting to make mischief? It was beyond all enduring, and for twopence she’d keep the arrogant Scot waiting in the drawing room until he died from hunger! Grandfather might think the sergeant the perfect solution to her difficulties, but for herself, she would as lief bargain with the devil. Heaven knew he couldn’t make a more dangerous adversary, she brooded, pausing to glare at her reflection in the mirror.
The past two sleepless nights had left her pale and wan, and far more emotional then she could like. She felt as delicate and brittle as the glass figurines she had collected as a child, and feared that the slightest pressure would shatter her into a thousand pieces. It wasn’t right, she told herself crossly. All she wanted was to live her own life as she saw fit. Why should she be forced to wed either a disgusting mound of flesh or a dangerous and mocking devil, to have control over what was rightfully hers? The unfairness of it all made her want to take her fist and smash the mirror.
Rose In Scotland Page 5
