Lavinia and the Laird (Bluestocking Brides Book 0)

by Samantha Holt

  Lavinia’s body warmed at the memory of him standing in front of her. She could have been kissed if she’d wanted to be. And, goodness, she really had. It had been all she could think of. His mouth had looked warm and inviting, his body firm and so perfect. Deep in her gut, she had known she would fit wonderfully against him and feel things she had never felt before. But if he kissed her...well, there would be no going back. If someone saw them kiss, Niall would have no choice but to marry her.

  Would that be so terrible?

  She shook herself mentally. She did not know the man well enough yet. Of course it would be. Although the chances were, if she met someone eligible in Town, she would not know him any better. Hopefully Niall was not offended by her need to put some distance between them. After all, she never did anything careless, and as tempted as she had been, she was not going to throw herself at the first stranger to enter their midst.

  “Are you talking about the laird?” Julia slipped into the room and propped herself against the bookcase that was overflowing with books. “Did our plan work?”

  Lavinia eyed them all as they stared at her expectantly. “You planned for us to be alone?”

  “Of course.” Emma twisted her ankle gleefully. “I am perfectly well.”

  Lavinia sighed. She knew they had really but it was easier to imagine her sisters were entirely innocent of any matchmaking attempts. Then she would not have to fret so much about their expectations.

  Amelia tilted her head. “Why do you seem so sad about it? I thought you liked him.”

  “He definitely likes you,” Julia added.

  The thought that he returned her sentiments warmed her heart but she shook her head. “Mama loathes him. And she expects me to find an earl or a duke even in London. How can I tell her I don’t want such a man?”

  Catherine made a face. “You don’t want a stuffy duke. He will surely keep you away from us.”

  “The laird is far from stuffy,” said Emma.

  “And he likes you all.” Lavinia recalled his words about her sisters. They were a handful for most people but Niall seemed to appreciate that about them.

  “I think you’re right to be cautious.” Julia held up her hands when Catherine shot her a look. “What? He might be handsome and charming, but we hardly know him.”

  Catherine snorted. “Since when are you cautious?”

  Julia shrugged. “Mama said there’s a rumor of him being quite a drinker and a fighter.”

  Amelia shook her head. “Mama says many things. You know what she is like for rumors.”

  Lavinia frowned. She had not noticed Niall pick up a single drink during the talk aside from lemonade and though he was built for fighting, he seemed too gentle for that.

  “Well, if you’ve changed your mind about him, you will certainly find someone when you do the season.” Catherine grinned. “All the men shall be fighting over you, Lavinia.”

  “I—” Lavinia stopped herself from protesting.

  “I knew it,” said Catherine gleefully. “You really do like him.”

  “He might get snapped up if you do not act.” Emma warned. “He is going to London before you, is he not?”

  Lavinia nodded. “Father can hardly afford a whole season for me. Mama hoped by sending me a little later that everyone important will be there by then.”

  Catherine stood. “Then we had better act quickly.”

  “We had?”

  Emma grinned. “Oh yes.”

  Lavinia eyed Julia who lifted a shoulder. “If you want the Scot, then I suppose we had better do something about it.”

  All of her sister’s expressions were set with determination and she knew all too well that there was no dissuading them when they were set on something, but she was not certain she wished to argue with them anyway. Perhaps it was not wise of one to put one’s destiny in the hands of such a group of women, however, she had little idea what to do about this whole Niall situation. She wanted to see him again.

  No, she needed to see him again. It made her itch from inside out just to think of him. Perhaps she could get him alone with her sisters’ help and explain that she’d wanted to kiss him. Maybe even find out what he was thinking. Somehow, she needed to sort out this jumble of emotions inside her head.

  Before Lavinia could respond, the housekeeper popped her head in the doorway. “Miss Lavinia, your mother needs you.”

  Lavinia drew in a breath and nodded, easing herself up from the bed. “Thank you, Mrs. H. I’ll be down in just a moment.” She grimaced and looked to Amelia. “I’d wager this is more season talk.”

  Amelia gave her a sympathetic look. “Thank goodness Mama gave up on me.”

  “While you are dealing with Mama, we shall be plotting,” said Catherine.

  Lavinia glanced back at her sisters and chuckled. What on earth had she let herself in for?

  She found her mother in the second drawing room—the more relaxed room that they used most of the time. Scattered with all of the things that they enjoyed from Emma’s piano to Catherine’s telescope, the room had always been her favorite, even if it looked a little worn these days.

  “Mrs. Holmes said you wanted me, Mama.”

  Her mother patted the seat on the powder blue sofa next to her. “I wanted to remind you that the seamstress will be here in a few days for your final fittings. Thank goodness I was able to persuade your father to pay for new gowns. I shudder to think of you going to Town in your old clothes. Hopefully you shall also have something for the ball that Nicholas is hosting soon.”

  Lavinia kept her expression neutral. Their father earned enough to keep them all comfortable but he was not the richest man in England. She had thought most of her dresses from last summer were quite acceptable but her mother had insisted otherwise.

  “I remember.”

  “Good. We must make sure you look your best. Though I am certain you could draw attention, no matter what you wear. I do not doubt that you shall receive offers quickly. Though, be cautious, my dear. Do not accept the first man who comes your way.”

  There was a certain warning look in her mother’s eye. Lavinia glanced away. She couldn’t know about Niall, could she? Surely not. After all, Lavinia hardly knew about Niall as it was. A brief moment where he had touched her hair was hardly the equivalent of a marriage proposal.

  And yet her stomach still knotted when she thought about it.

  “There will be many a man who would wish to make you his wife.”

  The temptation to remind her mother that she’d had a season before and had not been leaped upon by hundreds of dukes made her bite down on her tongue. The truth was, as pretty and as well thought of as she was in their little village, when compared to the many belles of London society, she had little to offer. There was a chance someone would make an offer now she was a little older but she still doubted her potential suitors would have the sort of lineage Mother hoped for.

  “I will be careful, Mama.” Lavinia patted her mother’s hand.

  “Of course you will. You have always been the most well-behaved of my daughters. You never give me a moment of worry...unlike your sisters. I know you shall not disappoint me.” Her mother smiled tightly and sighed.

  Lavinia winced inwardly. Mama would be disappointed indeed if she knew she’d been harboring ideas of meeting with Niall alone.

  “I so wish I could go with you but alas your father says it is not possible. If only Amelia had done better in Town, then it would not have been wasted money to send her. I so hate leaving you in the care of your aunt.” She squeezed Lavinia’s hand. “I shall miss you, my dear.”

  That shaft of guilt that had been slowly lodging in her heart dug deeper. “I shall miss you too, Mama.”

  She gave a dramatic sniff. “Of course, a mother must do what she can for her daughter. Sacrifices must be made, and it will be so good to get you away from this village. There are no men of sophistication or imagination here. No one deserving of you.”

  Lavinia opened her m
outh to protest but her mother continued. “With the way the women here are fawning over that Scotsman, it is clear that we really are bereft of good company. Even the respectable Mr. Bentley has taken a liking to him. Mrs. Barnes said she overheard him making arrangements to hire a horse to ride with the man.” Mama shuddered. “All Scots are drinkers and fighters.”

  “Mama, I’m not certain—” Lavinia caught the eye of Catherine who was waving dramatically at her through the drawing room window. The rest of her sisters had gathered there, out of their mother’s view, and were frantically motioning for her to come outside. “I just realized, I forgot to do something, Mama.”

  “Will you tell Mrs. Holmes to bring more tea. Mine has gone cold. And tell Amelia to persuade Catherine to get out of her nightwear. Why that child cannot keep time like a normal person I do not know.”

  Lavinia smiled when she met Catherine’s gaze. Though not dressed in her best and with her hair wild, Catherine now had a simple muslin gown on and was making faces through the grass.

  “Of course, Mama.” Lavinia hastened out of the drawing room and met with her sisters. Emma took her hand and dragged her around the corner of the house, away from any prying eyes. “What on earth was that about?” hissed Lavinia as her sisters crowded around her.

  “You heard Mama, Niall will be riding with Mr. Bentley today. It will be the perfect opportunity.” Emma grinned.

  Lavinia pressed a palm to her forehead. “You were listening?”

  “Of course we were.” Catherine’s smile turned smug. “Now let us go find your laird.”

  Chapter Eight

  “Once I’ve returned to Scotland, you are welcome to stay at Glenrigg Castle,” Niall offered as he guided his horse over the uneven terrain of the woodland.

  Bentley smiled his appreciation. “I’d be grateful indeed. It’s hard to get a true flavor of the country from Edinburgh.”

  Niall nodded. Edinburgh was little different from London, despite what many English people thought. The society was easily as sophisticated and not, in his estimation, a good reflection of his country of birth. “Will your wife accompany you?”

  Bentley shook his head. “Mary does not travel as well as I do. She laments the time apart but I am lucky to have an understanding wife with a busy social life.” His lips curled. “I think she likes me out of the way so she can fully enjoy her time with her friends anyway, even if she will not admit as much.”

  They continued to follow the path that cut its way through the woods. The gentle rush of the river nearby mingled with the occasional snap of branches and rustle of leaves as an industrious squirrel hopped through the canopy or a bird returned to its nest.

  He could see why Bentley had chosen this part of the country to set a book but it made him hunger for the wild, open spaces of Scotland. Wild spaces that not many English women could adjust to. While the scenery was pleasant to admire briefly, in his experience few women could tolerate the lack of society or the hard living. His mother was English and had retreated to a town near Edinburgh after the death of his father—and she had enjoyed living in Niall’s ancestral home. But still, even she had admitted that it had taken some adjusting to and had not made their early years of marriage easy.

  Which inevitably led him to the thought...could Lavinia?

  He snorted to himself. That was making the outrageous assumption she was even interested in being a Scottish wife.

  Bentley lifted his gaze to the skies. “It looks as though the weather may turn again.”

  Peering up through the canopy of trees, Niall gave a grunt. “Takes a little bit more than rain to scare a Scot away.”

  Bentley chuckled. “We English are used to the rain, however, the path may become dangerous for the horses. It’s already slippery from yesterday’s rain.”

  “We’ll turn back then,” suggested Niall. “We can continue our discussion another time.”

  “Or you could join me for an ale?”

  “I’ll join you for a drink but no ale for me.”

  Bentley brows lifted. “A whiskey then?”

  “I’m a rare breed of Scot who doesn’t touch alcohol. I hope that doesn’t disappoint,” he said with a wry grin. He was well aware his fellow countrymen had the reputation for drinking in vast quantities. He’d seen it take a hold of too many people and sworn off it long ago, however.

  “You cannot object to a coffee, surely?” Bentley chuckled.

  “Not at all.”

  “Come then.”

  Niall held up a hand. “Wait.” He narrowed his gaze at the hint of color working its way through the trees. A cacophony of female voices cracked the quiet bustle of the woods. He recognized those voices.

  A harried-looking Miss Catherine Chadwick erupted onto the path, coming to a sudden stop and drawing in a breath. Her sisters followed, one of them bundling into Catherine while the others came to a sudden stop. The path was utterly filled with wild, redheaded lasses.

  There was no sign of Lavinia, he noted, his heart growing slightly heavy.

  “Oh good,” puffed Catherine. “We need your help.”

  Julia shoved her glasses up her nose and nodded. “Yes,” she said stiffly. “We, um, need help right this second.”

  Niall peered between them and straightened in his saddle. “Lavinia...?”

  “Yes, she’s in trouble.” Emma glanced uncertainly at her sisters. “She needs some assistance. Um...”

  Amelia gave a helpless shrug when Niall looked to her for an explanation.

  “Make haste, my laird,” insisted Catherine. “If you follow the path out, you will find her. She’s just by the large rock.”

  Bentley started forward. “Perhaps we had better—”

  Julia shook her head wildly, “No, no, Mr. Bentley. You must stay here. We must show you this...thing...right away.”

  Niall pressed his lips together, suppressing a smile. “A thing?”

  “Oh yes.” Emma nodded. “This thing. We must show it to you. You really must not miss it. But, my laird, you should go help Lavinia. Right this second.”

  Whatever was going on, he was not sure he dare defy these four determined women, even if he did not really believe Lavinia was in any real danger. “As you will.” He glanced back at Bentley. “You stay with the Misses Chadwicks. I’m sure I will not be long.”

  He ignored the knowing look from Bentley. He didn’t know if the author was aware of anything that had occurred between him and Lavinia—not that anything really had—but the sisters were not exactly subtle.

  Guiding his horse along the path, he picked up the pace when it widened, leading out onto open fields. He scanned the area for any sign of Lavinia.

  “Or a damned rock,” he muttered to himself. He eased the pace when he spied a cluster of large rocks.

  But no Lavinia.

  Scowling to himself, he made his way over and dismounted. Set neatly at the base of the largest rock was a pair of boots, the laces tucked into them. He glanced around again. He could only assume for the size of them and where they were they were Lavinia’s but why the devil had she taken off her boots and where was she?

  His palms grew itchy and his gut tightened. Lavinia might not really have been in trouble before but there was something strange happening here. The uncomfortable gnawing in his abdomen told him that whatever the sisters’ plan had been, something had gone awry. He eyed the ground and noted faint footprints embedded into the soft ground.

  “Stay here, lass,” he murmured to his mount before following the footsteps down the slope of the field. They disappeared where the grass was thicker but when he reached the edge of the field, they started again, leading into the woods. He peered into the shadows. There was no path here and no reason for Lavinia to wish to walk this way. What the devil was she doing?

  He ducked under a branch and grimaced when branches snagged on his jacket. He peeled it off and abandoned it on the tree, using it as a coat hook. With any luck, he’d find Lavinia and be able to retrieve it. It was
one of his finer jackets.

  Branches scratched his arms through his thin shirt but he pushed on, easing through the thin gaps until he could straighten to his full height. He squinted into the gloom. A weak braying sound filtered through the air and he froze. Amongst the chatter of birds and the light rustle of leaves, he could make out the sound of what had to be a calf but there was something else.

  It sounded like a woman.

  Niall followed the direction of the sound, cutting through the woods at pace. He stumbled to a stop on the edge of a thick, large patch of mud. His fear was not so much for the boots but for Lavinia.

  He peered down at her, up to her waist in mud, her arm looped around the neck of a calf that could only be a month old at best and was nearly up to its neck in the bog.

  “Whatever are you doing, lass?”

  She ceased tugging on the calf and gaped up at him. “Niall?”

  “Aye.”

  Mud caked the ends of her hair that had likely been curled up elegantly not long ago. The pale striped muslin of her clothing was brown at the waist and splattered above it. Dirt dotted her skin like the freckles her sisters were famed for.

  “I...” She gave the calf another tug then sighed. “I heard her crying and knew she had to be young, and probably lost.”

  “So you came in here to rescue her?”

  Lavinia nodded. “I thought I could likely pull her out but I cannot.” She gave a little wriggle and mud squelched about her.

  “It seems you are a little stuck too.”

  She narrowed her gaze at him. “Are you finding this amusing?”

  He tried to compress the grin yearning to turn up the corners of his mouth and likely failed if her scowl was anything to go by. To think he’d been doubting if the perfect Lavinia Chadwick was Scottish wife material. Certainly he’d had an inkling there was more to her than everyone thought, but to see it so obviously made his heart expand.

  “Give me your hands.” He extended his own.

  “Not until the calf is out.”

  Oh aye, she would fit perfectly in Scotland. Stubborn and determined, and not fearful of a spot of mud.