Of course, all this was from memory now because she had fixed her gaze pointedly on a spot far to the left of him. What was there, she could not say as she found herself dwelling on the little indent in his chin and the way his nose was so strong that there would be few men who could carry it off. The laird certainly could, however, especially when it was softened by startling blue eyes that were visible even from a distance.
“Is he coming?” whispered Emma. “I dare not look.”
“Yes.” Catherine laced her hands in front of herself. “Act normal.”
They were all standing rigidly, and when Lavinia eyed her sisters, she realized they were all staring at the same spot in the drawing room. There was nothing normal about their behavior.
“This is ridic—” It was too late. He was upon them. She met his gaze again and a soft smile curved lips, that were wide and generous. She could swear she was about to faint and she had never fainted in her life.
Opening her mouth, she fought for something to say. A strange noise escaped her and then...
Then he moved past her!
She looked to Julia who scowled. Her other sisters appeared just as perplexed. Lavinia finally made her stiff limbs work and twisted to see where he had gone. She released a long breath. “He was not coming toward us. Look, Nicholas is there.”
The Scotsman approached Nicholas and they conversed though Lavinia could not hear anything that was said over the general chatter in the room. The stranger did look her way briefly, however, and she latched her gaze onto another boring spot in the room, her heart picking up pace once more.
“He is frightfully handsome,” mused Emma.
“You could throw the most handsome man in the world in front of me and I would still not be interested,” said Julia dismissively. “Honestly, you all looked as though your tongues were tied.”
“You looked exactly the same.” Catherine gave Julia a nudge with her arm. “Did you see his kilt? I swear I saw his knees for just the briefest moment.”
“You are too young to be thinking about knees,” Lavinia scolded, though she could not help think of his knees too.
Catherine folded her arms in front of her. “I think you all forget I am a grown woman. Just because I am your younger sister does not mean I have stayed twelve forever.”
Lavinia smiled. It was true. Though Catherine’s playful attitude did not help matters much, it was still hard to think of her as a grown woman. “I cannot think of you having grown up, Catherine, because that means I have grown, and it means I must think of marrying and all that—”
A cough from behind them had them all twirling on their heels. Lavinia’s gaze latched onto knees first. Knees. Bare knees. She had never thought much of people’s knees before. Especially a man’s. Yet there was something wildly appealing about these specific knees that revealed themselves under a tartan kilt, just above thick, white socks.
She lifted her eyes to meet that gaze that had struck her from across the room. The same playful smile curved his lips.
Nicholas, the Viscount of Uxbridge, cleared his throat again. “May I introduce Niall Campbell, the Laird of Glenrigg. Laird, this is the Misses Chadwicks. Miss Julia, Miss Catherine, Miss Lavinia, and Miss Emma.”
“Our other sister Amelia is here too,” murmured Emma. Lavinia noticed the blush on her cheeks.
The laird’s smile broadened, revealing even teeth. “A pleasure. I hope I can remember all of those names, but I cannot make a promise. I’ve met a lot of ladies here today. Though none so lovely as you four.”
His brogue rolled through Lavinia, like the warm water of a bath lapping at her skin. It had an oddly soothing effect, though she could not stop her heart from racing.
Catherine snorted. “That I doubt.”
“I am no liar, Miss Catherine. Bonny redheads such as yourselves would find themselves being fought over in Scotland.”
Lavinia had to hold back a gasp. Even Catherine was blushing.
His gaze swung back to hers. “Of course, there is no denying a golden-headed lass is worth fighting over too.”
Lavinia sucked in a sharp breath. She could not fathom a time when she had ever been spoken to so boldly. Men found her beautiful, she knew that much, but she was usually told via secondhand gossip, and seldom directly. She opened her mouth but nothing came, not even a strange sound this time.
“You have quite the full house today, Nicholas,” interjected Emma.
Lavinia would have to give her a big hug later for that.
Nicholas nodded. “I underestimated how many would be coming today. Mr. Bentley has quite the following.” The viscount’s posture remained stiff and wary. Lavinia had the horrible feeling it was due to the laird flattering her.
Though Nicholas had never come out and said as much, she knew he had feelings for her. She had always hoped they might fade. As wonderful as he was, they would not work well together. He needed someone more...interesting than her. Someone like Amelia.
“I imagine our little village has never seen so many people. It is rare anything so exciting happens here.” Lavinia silently cursed her voice that had turned all breathy and ridiculous.
“Are you a fan of Mr. Bentley’s work, Miss Lavinia?”
“Oh not at all.” A gasp came from Emma beside her. Lavinia nearly clapped a hand over her own mouth. Where had that come from? That was not like her. Normally she’d find something diplomatic to say. “That is...well...” She inhaled and lifted her chin. “I found his writing a little dry, actually.”
If the laird was offended, he did not reveal it. His smile tilted and his eyes warmed. “I cannot think of a finer talent of our time than Mr. Bentley, but I can understand that his writing is not for everyone.”
“I am almost alone in that thought, I imagine,” Lavinia said, motioning to the crowds.
He leaned in ever-so-slightly, making the air thick around her. “I suspect you are not as alone as you think, though many would not wish to admit as much.”
Laird Glenrigg’s tone was playful, and it sent that warm shimmer through her again. He had the sort of voice that one would wish to hear speaking sonnets while one lazed around on a beautiful summer’s day.
“Oh there you are!”
Lavinia forced herself not to wince at her mother’s tone. Especially when Mama latched a hand forcefully around her arm.
“Mama...this is—” Lavinia started, hopeful her mother would not try to ignore formalities and embarrass her. Her hopes were for nothing.
“What a wonderful day, my lord,” her mother said, her smile tight. “I hope my daughters will be of immense help over the coming weeks. By the looks of it, you shall need all the help you can get. Mr. Bentley is a charming man indeed. Such wonderful manners.”
Lavinia could not fail to notice her mother giving the laird a pointed look. His expression grew amused. Why her mother felt the need to make a dig at a man she hardly knew, Lavinia could not say, though she had to conclude Mrs. Moore being his aunt did not help matters.
“I must borrow Lavinia, if you do not mind, Lord Uxbridge,” Mama said, pointedly ignoring the laird.
“By all means,” Nicholas said graciously.
Before Lavinia could say anything, her mother had dragged her off with surprising strength for her age and stature. They did not stop until Lavinia was safely ensconced between a group of Mama’s friends.
Lavinia put her hands on her hips. “Mama, that was—”
Mama tutted. “That was a close call. That barbaric Scotsman was going to dominate your entire afternoon and that just would not do.”
Lavinia scowled. “I hardly think—”
“They eat sheep’s stomachs, did you know that?” one of Mama’s friends murmured.
A ripple of agreement and shuddering ran through the older ladies. Lavinia peered around at them all and sighed. There was no escaping or arguing with them but she certainly did not agree that the laird was barbaric. In fact, he had seemed quite eloquent, even from their few e
xchanged sentences. He even spoke of Mr. Bentley with great admiration which had to mean he was a well-read man.
“It is not surprising Lavinia held his attention.” Her mother spoke from behind a fan but was loud enough for everyone to hear. Lavinia cringed. “Many of the men here would no doubt like the chance at courting her.”
“If she wanted, she could get a proposal from the viscount,” said Mrs. Barnes, one of her mother’s closer friends.
“I—”
“Well, a viscount is all very well but Lavinia shall be having her season soon and shall meet many more men. Any man would be lucky to have her.”
Mrs. Barnes nodded. “Oh yes, she will meet many eligible bachelors during the season. I heard the Duke of Sunderland is looking to marry again.”
Lavinia closed her eyes for a moment. Why her mother seemed to forget that she came from no great fortune and there would be many accomplished women vying for such a position. Even if Lavinia wanted to marry an old duke, she would have little chance of catching his eye.
“Lavinia shall do very well this season, I am certain,” commented another of Mama’s friends.
“Oh yes,” agreed another.
“She shall be a duchess before the year is out,” added Mrs. Barnes.
Lavinia suppressed a sigh and glanced in the direction of Laird Niall. She found him looking her way and her stomach swooped. Give her a rough Scotsman over a stuffy old duke any day.
Chapter Four
Niall paused in the doorway of the building. People clustered in every corner of the assembly rooms. It was clear he was not the only one visiting this village for H.W. Bentley’s talk.
Moving into the large room, he edged past the chairs lined up in front of a podium and spied Mr. Bentley not far from the front of the room, surrounded by several men and women. Niall scanned the rest of the crowds. His main aim in coming to see his aunt had been to see his favorite author.
He wouldn’t mind seeing that fair-haired woman, though.
Talk of fair redheads had been no lie but there had been something about Miss Lavinia Chadwick that had caught his eye. It wasn’t just her fair looks or sweet manner of talking, either. The fact that she had admitted she was no fan of H.W. Bentley was intriguing. Every young lady he had met since his arrival could only effuse about his writing and yet could tell him nothing about why they loved this author so much. He could only conclude few had actually read him and there were certainly some who had assumed he had not read Bentley’s books either—what with him being a rough, barbaric Scot.
Oh yes, he was extremely aware that there were those who thought that of him. Many in England did not welcome the Scots in their midst, thinking them savages who practically lived in mud dwellings still. The woman—who he had to assume had been Miss Chadwick’s mother—dragging her away was one of those, he was certain.
A fair head finally breached the crowds and he grinned to himself when his stomach gave a little twist. Mother or no’, he had a hankering to talk to her again.
He observed her hustle between the crowds, ensuring the chairs were set up correctly and urging people into their seats then standing to one side. Lord Uxbridge had mentioned the Chadwick girls were helping him host the author though he had yet to notice the redheaded sisters.
Niall found himself seated between two young ladies when Bentley took the stage. One brushed her arm against him whilst the other fidgeted in her seat, offering him coy looks over her fan. He’d heard fine ladies used the things to communicate but he had little idea what she meant, if anything. He’d rather have a woman be direct with him—much like Miss Lavinia.
Miss Lavinia, who remained standing, hands clasped in front of her. In a delicate pale gown, she had an air of innocence about her that belied her curvaceous figure. The fact she held herself with utter confidence too told him there was something more to her than a simply pretty, innocent appearance.
Damn, but the woman really did have him intrigued. He forced his attention to the stage while Bentley spoke on his latest book and his upcoming projects. However, Niall could not claim to have ignored Miss Lavinia the entire time. Toward the end, once Bentley was taking questions, he could not help notice a little activity coming from the back of the room. One of the other sisters—the smallest one—signaled frantically to Miss Lavinia and she scurried over. There was a hushed conversation and a look of panic crossed Miss Lavinia’s face. Both women hastened out of the rear doors of the assembly hall.
He only need consider it for a moment. Any questions he had for Bentley could wait. Niall rose and inched past the women. The one with the fan looked up at him coyly and did more fluttering. He ignored whatever she wanted from him, muttering a low apology for disturbing her, and hastened out of the rear doors.
Both women were in the entrance hallway, looking harried. Though the older Miss Chadwick appeared more flustered than the younger one.
“What are we going to do?”
The smaller one, Catherine, shrugged. “Maybe no one will be hungry.”
Lavinia shook her head frantically. “I very much doubt that. This event was advertised as a talk followed by tea. Everyone is expecting food and it was up to us to ensure that happened!”
“I still do not see why it should be down to us. Mr. Gibbs is in there.” Catherine gestured at the entrance doors. “Can we just not get him to come back to the inn and prepare some more food?”
Lavinia blew out a breath. “Do you really want to risk the wrath of Mr. Gibbs and tell him it was all our fault the food was ruined? Especially when he had been enthusing about seeing Mr. Bentley for weeks?”
Catherine grimaced. “You might be right.”
Niall cleared his throat and both women swung startled looks his way. Lavinia’s cheeks filled with color. “Oh, my laird, what are you—”
He smiled. “I could not help overhear. What seems to be the matter?”
“The food for after the talk is ruined,” spilled out Catherine. “It was not my fault,” she added quickly. “If Julia had not been fussing, I never would have spilled the lemonade.”
Lavinia let out a long sigh. “I should have stayed with you two. You can never cooperate. Now what will everyone think? The Chadwick’s have messed up yet again.”
“No one will think a thing of you, Lavinia.” Catherine folded her arms across her chest. “You will remain unsullied and the rest of us don’t care a fig about what anyone thinks.”
Lavinia scowled. “That is—”
Niall held up both hands. “Perhaps our time would be better spent finding a solution? Is all the food spoiled?”
“There’s a few platters that are fine but hardly enough to feed the crowd in there.” Catherine jerked a thumb toward the assembly hall.
“Do you have enough supplies to prepare some more food?” he pressed.
Catherine considered this for a moment. “I believe so but none of us know what we’re doing. We were only meant to plate it up and bring it to the building from the inn.”
“I have a little experience with food.” He grinned when Lavinia ran her gaze up and down the tall length of him and likely concluded that he had a lot of experience with food. It was true, he had a hearty appetite, as would any man of his stature. What she probably did not know is that in his training to become a laird, he had also spent time in the kitchen and although he now relied fully on a cook, he liked to dabble occasionally.
“You are suggesting we try to prepare more?” Lavinia asked.
He nodded. “We’ll salvage what we can and make some more.” He peered through the glass set into the doors. “We have time, I think. The crowd will keep Bentley occupied for a while longer.”
Catherine and Lavinia shared a look, and Catherine lifted her palms. “What other choice do we have?”
The ladies led him across the road to the inn that occupied the center of the village. An old Tudor building, the timbers had been stained black while the walls were whitewashed but tinged with dirt from passing horses. La
vinia led the way through the building, into a sizeable kitchen where platters of food were laid out on a generous table and along the sides. A few sandwiches and pies were also on the floor, crushed into oblivion. He lifted a brow as he spied a mark on one wall and the remaining sisters clasped their hands together and eyed the floor.
“Had someone been throwing pies?” he asked, unable to keep the amusement from his voice.
The slightly more freckled one—Miss Emma—met his gaze. “I had nothing to do with it.” She shot a look at the remaining one who had to be Julia. Niall was slightly impressed with himself that he had remembered all their names.
“You must be Miss Amelia Chadwick.” He addressed the only sister he had yet to meet.
“I am.” She grimaced. “I am sorry you have had to witness this disaster.”
He eyed the sodden plates. At least half of the food was ruined, and from the several empty jugs, they were also lacking drink. “If someone could direct me to the cold storage...”
Julia scowled. “Whatever are you going to do?”
“Laird Niall is going to help us prepare some more food,” murmured Lavinia.
A laugh came from Julia and Amelia gave her arm a little slap.
“You can call me Niall considering the circumstances. And as I said to your sisters I do know something about food. Now, I think we had better make haste or we shall have some starving hordes beating down the door.”
Lavinia nodded, shooting a look Julia’s way. “Right this way.” She led him through to the cold storage and he eyed the offerings.
“I think we have enough to make some more sandwiches. It looked like there were enough pies for us to divide up into smaller pieces.” He grinned. “I hear you English folk like bite-sized food.”
Lavinia’s lips curved. “Oh yes, especially if done elegantly. We’d rather eat tiny morsels than a full meal if it is done just so.”
Lavinia and the Laird (Bluestocking Brides Book 0) Page 3
