Once Upon a True Love's Kiss

by Julie Johnstone

  "I was too weak to put up a fuss about entering a whorehouse," Mistress Gallagher said. "Even if I could have argued, I don't know if I would have. I had a roof over my head and a place to sleep. My first week at the brothel, Lavinia spooned broth into my mouth and cared for me as if we were family. When Madam Montgomery found me in Lavinia's chambers, she ranted and threatened to toss us both out with the rubbish, but she'd invested too much in Lavinia. Madam Montgomery loves nothing more than money, and she wanted a return on her investment."

  Fergus growled. "Women like her are a menace to society. Taking advantage of young women down on their luck is deplorable."

  "Yes, I suppose they are no angels of mercy, but I cannot fault Madam Montgomery for escaping her own unfortunate circumstances by becoming a madam." Mistress Gallagher rested her head against his shoulder. "The woman has lived a hard life, and as it turned out, she had a heart after all. She had a bed made for me in the kitchen pantry so I could benefit from the warmth of the kitchen hearth. She said as long as I remained out of sight and promised to earn my keep when I was better, I could stay."

  "Earn your keep how?" He spoke through clenched teeth, imagining her trying to fend off unwanted attentions.

  "Not in that way. Madam Montgomery's girls are touted as the most beautiful in London. I was never a candidate to become one of Madam Montgomery's girls."

  "Why no'?"

  "Madam Montgomery made those decisions. I didn't question her." She pressed her lips tightly together, obviously still hurt by whatever the woman had said about her, even though she'd been spared the indignity of being one of the madam's girls.

  Was she not pretty enough? Missing an air of innocence? Madam Montgomery could go hang.

  "When I was healthy again," Mistress Gallagher said, "I cleaned the girls' chambers, helped with laundry, mended what needed mending—I was a seamstress by trade and a blasted good one." She held her head higher as she revealed her hidden skill.

  "Where did you learn to sew?"

  "My mother tried to teach all the girls in my family, but I was the only one to take to it. A modiste took me on for a while, but the arrangement didn't work out." She sighed, leaving the impression there was more to the story, but he didn't press her. "I also assisted in the kitchen at the brothel. I was busy and happy to have a place to stay. It didn't trouble me what went on in the house. I kept to the shadows, worked hard, and closed my eyes when needed."

  Miss Gracie had stopped wallowing in the snow and was trudging back up the hill. They didn't have long to finish their conversation.

  He hugged Mistress Gallagher against his side before releasing her. "For what it is worth, lass, the madam was wrong. You are of the best quality. She was just too blind to notice."

  Mistress Gallagher rolled her eyes. "I think you are doing it up brown, Mr. McTaggart, but thank you." An endearing blush stained her cheeks.

  "I am wet and cold," the little lassie bemoaned as she topped the hill. Her cheeks and nose were bright red, and her teeth clacked together.

  "Oh, dear." Mistress Gallagher hurried to gather her charge in a hug. "We should return to the castle before you catch a chill. You need dry clothes and something warm in your stomach."

  "My cottage isna far," Fergus said, "and it willna take long to have a fire roaring in the hearth. The embers should still be glowing from my morning fire."

  "That doesn't solve the problem of wet clothes."

  He hadn't planned a stop at his cottage, but he was warming to the idea. In his own domain, no McTaggarts would be eavesdropping. "The lass can wear one of my shirts and wrap a tartan around her shoulders. Her clothes will dry by the fire." He ushered them toward the sleigh.

  Mistress Gallagher surprised him when she didn't argue and climbed up beside Miss Gracie, settling the blanket around the girl. Fergus joined them in the sleigh and signaled Molly to continue along the ridge. His cottage lay in the next valley, close to a stream and protected by a grove of silver birch. A thin line of smoke rose from the stone chimney jutting from the center of the pitched roof.

  "Very nice," Mistress Gallagher murmured as Fergus drew the horse and sleigh to a halt outside the rock wall.

  "Aye. The cottage has served several generations of McTaggarts weel. It appears a bit barren now, but come summer, flowers of every kind grow in the gardens. My grandmother planted the garden before I was born."

  His home was simple and functional, and wouldn't make a rich man jealous, but it was his. He'd saved enough to purchase the deed from his former employer five years ago, and he took pride in taking care of what was his.

  He assisted his companions from the sleigh, retrieved the picnic hamper with his mother's treats from the backseat, and handed it to Mistress Gallagher. "See Miss Gracie inside while I tend to the horse. I willna be long."

  He led Molly toward a small stable while the lasses went inside. Once he'd wiped down the horse, checked her hooves, and given her fresh water, he returned to the house to build a fire. Mistress Gallagher was already seeing to it, however. She was bent over in front of the kitchen hearth struggling with the bellows to ignite the coals. She had added kindling and probably would have a decent fire going in time, but Miss Gracie's shivers were racking her small body and her lips had a blue tint.

  "You can help Miss Gracie change in my chambers, and I'll get the fire going," he said.

  "Oh!" Mistress Gallagher startled and spun around to face him.

  He hitched his thumb toward his chambers off the kitchen. "Let me find her something dry to put on."

  Mistress Gallagher took the girl's hand in hers and followed him to his room. He could feel her gaze on him as he retrieved a shirt and plaid from a rustic wardrobe and tossed them on the bed. "The shirt might swallow the lass, but it is better than standing 'round in wet clothes."

  "Thank you," Miss Gracie said as he closed the door behind him. While the womenfolk saw to their business, he built up the fire and swung the kettle over the flames in case Mistress Gallagher preferred tea to the lukewarm chocolate he'd pulled from the hamper.

  When the door creaked open, Miss Gracie tromped from the room with a wide smile. His shirt hung all the way to her ankles and a pair of his woolen socks that were four times too big flopped against the floorboards as she crossed the kitchen.

  Mistress Gallagher exited the room with the lass's wet clothes and laid them out close to the fire. His plaid was draped over her arm. "I hope you don't mind I borrowed a pair of socks for her."

  "You were rummaging in my drawers, eh?"

  Her face flushed pink, and she held up the plaid to inspect it, successfully blocking his view of her. "What an interesting pattern."

  "It's the McTaggart clan colors," he said.

  She wrapped it around Miss Gracie's shoulders without meeting his gaze. "Your family has its own colors. Imagine that. If the Chapmans had colors, it would be different shades of gray. The colors of poverty."

  "Who are the Chapmans?"

  "Oh!" She smiled sheepishly. "I'm not supposed to tell anyone—it is part of the agreement with Lord Thorne—but Lady Thorne trusts you, so… Gallagher is not my name. My father was a Chapman."

  Fergus's brows dropped low over his eyes. "Why do you call yourself Gallagher?"

  "It's a long tale, but the shortened version is Lord Thorne chose it when he made arrangements for mine and Gracie's names to appear on the manifest from the ship arriving from Dublin. Lord Thorne didn't know my family name, so I suppose he chose something Irish."

  The story of Miss Gracie arriving from Ireland with her chaperone, Mistress Gallagher, to live with Lord and Lady Thorne was a fabrication. There was no socially acceptable way to explain the girl had been living with a courtesan prior to bringing her into the Thornes' home, so Lord Thorne had found another way to account for her presence.

  "I want to travel on a real ship," Miss Gracie said, "not a pretend one."

  Mistress Gallagher smoothed her hand over the lass's golden curls. "The ship is real,
and if anyone asks, we sailed from Dublin. Some secrets aren't to be shared with anyone except family."

  The lass cocked her head to the side, her gaze traveling back and forth between him and Mistress Gallagher. "I think we make a good family—Helena, Sebastian, you, and Fergus." She smiled at Fergus. "But you should marry Edith so she doesn't have to be a Gallagher anymore."

  "Gracie!" Mistress Gallagher snatched the picnic hamper from the floor where he'd placed it and carried it to the kitchen table. "What is in here?"

  Fergus's gaze remained on her as she made a show of unpacking the food his mother had prepared. Her rigid back was to them as she mumbled to herself. "We have bread, cheese… Oh, this looks good."

  Miss Gracie crossed her arms and raised her brows at him. "You know it is high time you chose a wife and began filling your nursery."

  His grunt of surprise turned into a chuckle. "You've been spending too much time in the kitchens, lass. Yer beginning to sound like my mother."

  The prospect of making Edith Gallagher—eh, Chapman—his wife didn't fill him with horror, so he didn't pretend otherwise. It wasn't anything he'd given thought to, but perhaps the lassie recognized something he and Mistress Gallagher hadn't yet. She wasn't hard on the eyes. She was bright. And she wasn't a relation. He couldn't say the same about many lasses.

  "Fruited nut cake!" Mistress Gallagher's voice was filled with wonder. She glanced back over her shoulder. "Did you tell your mother I like fruited nut cake?"

  He shrugged, warmth stealing into his face. "I dinna believe I mentioned yer fondness for it, so much as suggested she should bake the cake."

  "Suggested?" She slowly spun to face him. "Why do I have a feeling your suggestion resembled a demand?"

  "I cannae say, lass. Perhaps yer a touch too ready to label me a ne're-do-well."

  She frowned. "That isn't true. At least, you've never impressed me as one."

  "Aye, now we have the truth. I've never impressed ye." He laughed as he scooped Gracie from the chair and carried her to the table. "Enough quarrelling. I'm famished."

  Mistress Gallagher remained standing even after he retrieved three plates and cups and joined Miss Gracie at the table. After he'd piled food on his and the little lassie's plates, they dove in without waiting. Eventually, Mistress Gallagher pulled out a chair across from him and sank onto it.

  "I wasn't quarrelling," she muttered. "And you have impressed me—once or twice."

  "Och. I havena even been trying to impress ye, lass. Now that I know it is possible, prepare to be amazed." When he winked, she answered with a smile.

  Kissed by a Scottish Rogue: Chapter Five

  EDITH STOOD BEFORE THE WASHSTAND IN her chambers and scrubbed the stubborn chocolate stain setting into Mr. McTaggart's shirt. When Gracie tipped over her mug at Mr. McTaggart's table earlier that morning and splattered the front of the garment, Edith had insisted on bringing it back to Aldmist Fell to clean.

  "I do my own wash, lass," he had argued, but while he was readying the sleigh to bring them back to the castle, she had shoved the shirt in the picnic hamper and grabbed it to carry inside Aldmist Fell before he could.

  "Blasted stubborn Scot," she grumbled to herself.

  When she held up the shirt to check her progress, rivulets of water ran off it and landed in the basin. Edith could see from the worn places in the fabric, his method of doing the wash probably involved the stream outside his house and pounding his clothes with a rock. It was fortuitous he planned to find a wife once she and the Thornes returned to England. Mr. McTaggart needed one.

  A hurried knock sounded at her door, but before she could respond, the door flew open and Gracie bounded into Edith's chamber. "They've arrived. Lavinia and Pearl are here."

  Forgetting her manners, Edith squealed with delight and dropped the shirt into the basin. She dried her hands on a cloth then bustled from the room to go greet her dear friend. Gracie raced her down the curved staircase, their slippers making a pitter-patter sound against the stone.

  "Helena took them to the drawing room," Gracie said.

  "And Lord St. Ambrose and Mr. Mason?"

  "They went off with Sebastian."

  It was just like Lord Thorne to orchestrate a private moment for his wife and her sisters. He was a good man.

  Gracie linked arms with her as they crossed the foyer. "I think the men are in the billiards room. Do you want to greet them first?"

  Edith shook her head. It had been months since she'd seen Lavinia, and although Edith had nothing but gratitude for Lord St. Ambrose, she did not have a close connection to him.

  Her friend saw her as soon as she crossed the threshold and shot from the chair to meet her. "Edith!" They embraced, holding on to each other for a moment. When they drew apart, Lavinia's smile stretched across her pretty face. "Your hair is down, and you've discarded the spectacles. How lovely you look. I think Scotland agrees with you."

  Edith scrunched her nose. "It is beautiful, but it isn't home."

  "Please, do not tell me you miss the soot and noise. I'll never believe you." Lavinia's blond brows arched slightly. "Why, if you never returned to London, I would not be surprised."

  "Hmm." Edith offered a bland smile. It appeared Lady Thorne had been bending Lavinia's ear. Once she and Lavinia were alone, she'd set her straight on the matter of Mr. McTaggart and remaining at Aldmist Fell. Edith made a promise to watch over Gracie, and she wouldn't abandon her young charge for any reason, especially not for a man. Surely, Lavinia knew her better.

  Lavinia turned toward the modestly dressed young woman seated beside Lady Thorne. "Pearl, come meet my dear friend, Edith."

  Edith held up a hand when Lavinia's younger sister scooted to the edge of the settee. "No, don't get up on my account. You must be fatigued from your journey."

  Pearl stood anyway and came forward with a bright smile on her round cherub face while Gracie scrambled to take her vacant spot on the settee.

  "I am only tired of sitting," Pearl said. With her chestnut hair and soft features, she looked nothing like her elegant older sisters, more adorable than stunning. She took Edith's hands in hers. "What a pleasure it is to meet you at last. Lavinia has been on pins and needles the whole journey in anticipation of seeing you again."

  "Pins and needles?" Edith's gaze shot toward her friend. It wasn't like Lavinia to be anxious about anything.

  Lavinia gave an almost imperceptible shrug and returned to her seat. "Helena was just telling us Gracie has an eventful stay planned for us: ice skating, caroling—"

  "And roasting chestnuts," Gracie interjected.

  Lavinia smiled at her indulgently and patted her lap. "We will all have a wonderful holiday with you in charge, dearest. Now, do come here so I can snuggle with you."

  The young girl popped up from her seat and went to her sister to throw her arms around her sister's neck. "I'm happy you've come."

  "How could I stay away?"

  As Gracie settled on Lavinia's lap, Pearl and Edith sat. They spent the next half-hour listening to Pearl share antidotes from their journey from Haslemere, where Lord St. Ambrose and Lavinia had stopped to collect Pearl and her husband before continuing to Aldmist Fell. Lavinia laughed at the correct times and gave Gracie a hug or kiss on the cheek every once in a while, but the way her gaze darted toward the doorway every few minutes alerted Edith her friend was not as carefree as she pretended. When the men joined them and Lavinia's spine stiffened, it was clear something was amiss. Perhaps a lover's quarrel between her and Lord St. Ambrose?

  In Edith's experience, the two typically agreed on everything except whether they should marry. Lord St. Ambrose was dogmatic about wanting Lavinia for his wife, but Edith's friend refused to comply with his wishes.

  One does not marry his mistress without great cost to his reputation and livelihood, Lavinia often insisted. Edith thought her friend underestimated Lord St. Ambrose. While he was gentle with Lavinia and her loved ones, he possessed an air of dangerousness. Only a fool would
court his displeasure.

  When he looked at Lavinia, however, his face lost its hard edges and his hazel eyes shone with love. "Have you had enough time with your sisters?" he asked. "Perhaps you would like to rest before dinner."

  She aimed a sleepy smile at him, dispelling the notion they were out of sorts with one another. "It will never be enough time, but a short rest before dinner sounds lovely."

  Lady Thorne stood. "Allow me to show you to your rooms."

  Side by side, Pearl and Mr. Mason followed the baroness and her husband from the drawing room. Mr. Mason walked with a limp and supported his weight with a cane, but otherwise one wouldn't know he'd lost a leg only a year ago.

  Lavinia gathered Edith to her for another hug. "I've missed you," she murmured. "We will talk more later."

  Edith returned her hug before surrendering her to Lord St. Ambrose. He smiled. "It is good to see you, Edith. You are looking well."

  She performed an awkward curtsey. "Thank you, milord."

  Once the guests retired to their assigned chambers, Edith returned to her room to finish scrubbing Mr. McTaggart's shirt. She managed to remove the stain at last, but the garment had seen better days. In fact, snooping in his wardrobe had revealed the few shirts he owned had all seen better days. It was a wonder he didn't freeze to death in his threadbare garments.

  She draped the shirt over the washstand to dry before turning her attention toward her next task. The picnic hamper needed to be returned to the kitchen, and she wanted to thank Mrs. McTaggart for baking her favorite cake, especially since her son had ordered her to do it. The woman must have the patience of a saint, although Edith was wise enough not to say anything against Mr. McTaggart. No mother liked her son disparaged, even if she wanted to box his ears herself on occasion.

  Edith took the servants' staircase instead of marching through the main pathways of the castle with the large hamper. As she reached the servants' area, a voice blared out, causing her to jump.