The Scotsman and the Spinster

by Joan Overfield

  "I know what they are saying," Addy interrupted, not wanting to hear the vile words, not even from her aunt. "We were just discussing what we should do."

  "Do?" Aunt Matilda snapped. "I'll tell you what you shall do! You shall find whoever has been spreading these dreadful rumors, and then you shall have him horsewhipped!"

  The earl's eyes frosted over and he thrust out his chin. "Believe me, Lady Fareham, if I learn who is responsible, I shall do a great deal more than whip the fellow; I shall slit his throat!" And with that he stalked off, leaving the ladies to stare after him in varying degrees of amazement.

  "Well, the earl has come into his own, I must say," her aunt observed, nodding in satisfaction. "I knew St. Jerome would do the lad a world of good."

  Addy didn't answer, her only concern for Ross. "Do you think the Patronesses know?" she demanded, reaching for her aunt's hand. "Will they deny him entrance?"

  Her aunt's fingers closed comfortingly about hers. "Of course to the first, and I pray not to the second," she said, her faded gaze meeting Addy's. "He will be with the prince, thank heaven, and I do not think even that dreadful Mrs. Drummond Burrell has grown so toplofty she would risk offending a member of the royal household. Although to be honest, there is little I should put past that self-important creature."

  The noise of the crowd, like the roar of the ocean, surrounded them, and Addy was so accustomed to it she scarce heard it anymore. But when that noise was cut, as swiftly as if a knife had been used, she was instantly aware. She stiffened in wariness, and was about to turn around when her aunt's fingers tightened around hers.

  "It seems I can set your mind at ease on at least one score," she said, her voice strained despite the smile pinned to her lips. "Lord St. Jerome and the prince have just arrived."

  Addy whirled around, her gaze going at once to the side of the room where a group of men were standing. She recognized Lords Creshton and Denbury, standing on either side of the prince and glancing about them with equally wary gazes. The prince was laced into a rich velvet jacket, a fortune in jewels glinting on his thick fingers and from the folds of his cravat. But even as she was studying the prince, her attention was fixed on Ross.

  He was dressed in a severely cut jacket of black velvet, his muscular legs encased in the cream satin evening breeches the Patronesses declared de rigueur for the gentlemen. His dark blond hair was brushed back from his forehead, throwing the sharp bones of his face into prominence. His gaze, green as the emerald in his cravat, swept about the room, and she saw his eyes narrowing in cold awareness.

  "What do you think we should do?" Aunt Matilda's hiss recalled Addy to the present. "Whatever it is, we'd best do it now. This lot will tear him to pieces."

  Addy glanced back at Ross standing so brave and so alone. "We shall do what any good soldier does when confronted with the enemy," she said, her chin coming up in determination. "We shall attack." And without giving herself time to reconsider, she pushed her way through the silent crowd until she was standing before the prince and the rest of his party.

  "Your royal highness," she said, curtsying gracefully despite the fact her legs were trembling with fear. "It is a pleasure to see you again."

  In truth she and the prince had never met, but she was counting on the good sense he was reputed not to possess to keep him from revealing as much. He studied her for several seconds, and then inclined his head to her in regal condescension.

  "Miss Terrington, we are delighted to see you looking so well," he said, as if greeting an old friend. "Pray tell us how we may be of assistance."

  Addy hesitated, knowing everything rested on how she handled the next several seconds. She took a few moments to send a brief prayer winging heavenward, and then gave the prince her most languid smile.

  "You will not credit it, your highness," she said, unfurling her fan with studied indifference, "but there is the silliest tattle making the rounds just now."

  A shrewd light entered the prince's pale blue eyes. "Indeed," he drawled coolly, "and pray what might those rumors be?"

  Addy glanced at Ross in mute apology, and then back at the prince. It took all of her will, but she managed a fairly credible laugh. "That's what's so amusing, sir," she said, aware she was commanding the eyes of every person present. "'They,' whoever the mysterious 'they' might be, are accusing St. Jerome of cowardice under fire."

  There was a shocked gasp and the sound of one or two ladies engaging in swoons, and then a silence as heavy and thick as a winter fog settled over the Assembly Room. Addy could feel her heart pounding in her chest, but she refused to give in to her fear. To carry this off she had to act as if she considered the devastating rumor no more than a mildly amusing lark. To that end she wouldn't look at Ross. Couldn't. But she was aware of him, standing in rigid silence beside the prince.

  Time trickled past at a snail's pace, and just as Addy was certain her desperate gamble had failed, the prince spoke again.

  "Are they?" he asked, his lips twisting in well-born derision. "How singularly foolish of them. I cannot imagine anyone being so all about in the head as to believe such moonshine! Surely no person of breeding would be so deceived." He glanced about the knot of fascinated people clustered about them, and gestured imperiously at one of them.

  "Lady Jersey," he said, indicating the haughty beauty with a bow. "What say you? You don't pay such talk any mind, do you?"

  The pretty young woman's face was a study in conflicting emotions. She obviously had been set to give Ross the cut direct, and could not like having her small victory snatched away from her. On the other hand, she was too seasoned a campaigner not to realize she'd been outgunned and outmaneuvered by a superior foe. She cast Addy a fulminating glare before turning back to the prince.

  "No, I do not, your highness," she said, her voice dripping with affected disdain. "Indeed, I shouldn't allow such foolish talk to even be mentioned here."

  "Of course you would not," the prince said approvingly, beaming at her benevolently. "Such a sensible creature you are. You must walk with me, my dear," he added, offering her his arm with a low bow. "I enjoy having sensible creatures about me. It makes a most refreshing change, I vow."

  With little choice but to accept, Lady Jersey stepped forward with a set smile on her lips. The prince turned toward the knot of waiting people, and Addy watched in amused admiration as he parted the crowd like Moses parting the Red Sea. She watched until they were gone, then turned to the men who stood flanking Ross in an unmistakable show of support.

  "Gentleman," she said, including them all in her bright smile, "the dancing is about to start. Shall we go?"

  "A coward." Ross stood in front of the fireplace, his lips thinned with fury as he gazed down into the flames. "The world thinks I am a coward."

  "Not the world," Adalaide corrected, her gentle voice washing over him like a soothing balm. "Only a small, very insignificant portion of that world."

  Ross gave a bitter laugh. "Ah, but 'tis that insignificant portion whose opinion matters most," he said, turning to face her. "Was not the gaining of that opinion the reason for this? For all of this?" He indicated his elegant clothing with an impatient wave of his hand.

  She bit her lip in obvious distress. "My lord, I—"

  "Ross," he interrupted, leaving his post before the fire to join her on the settee. "Any soldier brave enough to ride into the cannon's mouth earns the right to call me by my given name."

  In the golden light cast by the fire her skin gleamed like the rose-tinted pearls he'd found hidden in his uncle's safe. "I am not a soldier," she said, her gaze shifting away from his.

  His smile warmed at her sudden modesty. "Are you not?" he asked softly, stroking a finger down the curve of her cheek. "You've the mind of one, and the heart. 'Twas a fine thing you did, Adalaide, and I'll not be forgetting it. Mile buidheachas."

  The husky words had her glancing back at him again. "What does that mean?" she asked curiously.

  "A thousands thanks," he trans
lated. "'Tis that I owe you, and a thousand more besides. Your plan was brilliant, mo companach. However did you think of it?"

  Behind the lenses of her spectacles, her blue eyes danced with mischief. "Actually," she admitted, her lips curving in a smug smile, "I tried to think as I felt you would think. Attack first, rather than being taken unawares."

  He nodded in agreement. "A good plan," he approved. "If a somewhat foolhardy one. What would you have done had the prince not been so quick to tumble to what you were about?"

  She cocked her head to one side as if considering the matter. "Swooned," she said at last with a decisiveness that had him chuckling anew.

  "I am glad it did not come to that," he said, recalling her disdain for such feminine theatrics. "Although now that I think on it, it might have been for the best if you had swooned."

  Her russet-colored brows met in a tiny scowl of annoyance. "How do you mean?" she demanded, clearly puzzled by his words.

  "Had you collapsed I should have had the perfect excuse for quitting that viper's nest," he explained with a shrug. "Then I might have been spared an evening of pretending I didn't feel the stares nor hear the accusing whispers of those about me."

  There was a brief hesitation, and then Adalaide shocked him by laying her hand over his. "You might think me brave," she said, her tone level as her gaze met his. "But I think you are the one who is truly brave. I know what it cost you to know what they thought of you, and what it cost you to remain silent in the face of such ridiculous lies. But it was the only thing to be done. You do understand that, don't you?" She studied him anxiously.

  "Aye," he said, and the truth of it was, he did. "Never surrender the field to the enemy."

  "Just so," she said, looking relieved. "As the Bible says, 'The guilty fleeth where no man pursueth.' If we'd left, everyone would have assumed it was because we were ashamed or had something to hide. But because we stayed . . ."

  "We looked as innocent as a nun at her prayers," he finished, frowning. "Perhaps. But you and the others are mad if you think this will be the end of it. You might have succeeded in stilling most of the gossip, but tongues will still wag regardless."

  "I know," Adalaide said with a tiny sigh, "but at least this will give us time to find out who is behind the rumors. And as his grace said, once we have that information, we can best decide how to counter them."

  Ross said nothing, thinking of the council of war that had broken up a few minutes earlier. After leaving Almack's he and the others had made straight for Miss Terrington's, where they'd spent the past two hours arguing and plotting their next move. The Duke of Creshton was convinced Wellington's enemies were behind the accusations, and because he had no counter-theory to offer, Ross was content to let the older man pursue the matter as he pleased. That didn't mean Ross didn't have his suspicions; suspicions he meant to keep to himself . . . for now.

  "What will you do tomorrow?" Adalaide's brisk question brought Ross back to the present.

  "What I'd planned to do, just as his grace suggested," he said calmly. "Falconer, Hixworth, and I are going to Newmarket for a day or so to watch the races. A tiresome sport, if you want my opinion of it," he added with a shrug. "When it comes to horses, I'd rather be riding one than watching it race down a track."

  "What then?"

  Ross mentally reviewed his schedule. "Visit a few gaming hells, drink myself into oblivion, flirt with the ladybirds—"

  "Ladybirds!" Adalaide' s cheeks flamed with temper.

  "Aye," Ross replied, all innocence at her indignant glare. "'Tis a gentleman you mean me to be, and those are the pursuits of a gentleman, are they not?"

  She studied him sharply for several seconds. "Are you twigging me?" she demanded in a tone so suspicious he was hard-pressed not to laugh.

  "Perhaps a wee bit," he admitted, deciding to take a pity on her. "We are going to Newmarket, and a gaming hell or two while we're about it, I've no doubt. But I've never been one to indulge in strong drink, and as for the ladybirds"—he smiled wolfishly—"there are some things, Miss Terrington, a gentleman does not discuss with a lady."

  "One thing I will say," he added before she could launch into the lecture she was clearly itching to read him, "is that I'll no longer allow the marquess to dictate where I go and who I see. I've kept away from you as he suggested, but I'm cursed if I will do again."

  She gave a jerk of surprise, her blue eyes widening behind her spectacles. "Lord Falconer ordered you to stay away from me?"

  "Aye." Ross simmered in resentment as he recalled the conversation. "He felt if I was seen too much in your company, it would give credence to the gossip I was the sow's ear you were trying to make into a silk purse. Of course," he said, giving a harsh laugh, "that was before we learned the ton had found other things to occupy their useless tongues."

  "What is it?" he demanded when she continued staring at him in silence. "Are you saying you didn't notice my absence? You surprise me, Miss Terrington. I thought you would be after me for dereliction of duty."

  She glanced away from him, her slender fingers threading together. "I noticed," she admitted softly, "but I thought . . ."

  "Thought what?" he pressed, reaching out to lift up her chin so their gazes were once more meeting. "Come, Adalaide," he pressed gently. "We've too much between us for you to turn proper on me now. Tell me what you thought."

  He didn't think she would answer, but she said, "I thought you didn't feel in need of further instruction."

  He blinked at the response. "Perhaps I did feel that," he admitted, frowning, "but you should have known I would still have continued calling upon you if 'twas possible. You and your aunt were my first true friends here, and I should never have turned my back upon you as if I had no further use for you."

  "I—I suppose I did think it strange when you did not call," she said after a few moments. "But then I thought perhaps I had offended you, or that you disliked me because I am . . ."

  "Am what?" He all but shouted the words, maddened by her reticence. From the first, she had nagged, lectured, and badgered him, but now that he most needed to know her thoughts, she had turned mute as a statue. The devil take the woman! he thought with a scowl. Would she never react as he expected she would?

  "English!" She flung the word at him. "I am English, and you have never been hesitant letting your opinion of us be known! You hate us, don't you?"

  "What are you talking about?" he said, honestly perplexed by her accusation. "How can I say I hate the English when I've spent near to half my life fighting and killing for them?"

  "You might have fought for us," Adalaide agreed, her head held high as she met his outraged glare, "and there is no doubting you're doing your duty and more to help Wellington. But the simple truth of the matter is that you don't really like us. Do you, my lord?"

  Faced with such a blunt demand for the truth, Ross could be no more than honest.

  "No," he said wearily, and this time it was he who glanced away from her. "No, I do not." He rose to his feet and began pacing. He walked back to the fireplace, staring down once more into the flames as he struggled for words so raw and painful he seldom allowed himself to even think them.

  "'Tis not just because I am Scots," he said, his gaze on the flames but his mind thousands of miles away. "That is the greatest part to be sure, but still only a part. When I enlisted as a common soldier and was sent off first to India and then to Egypt, I saw the flower of English manhood, and it sickened me. The men I saw were not men at all, but childish brutes who thought themselves the superiors of everyone and everything else. We weren't even human to them, merely mindless animals to be starved and beaten into submission."

  "Ross." Addy's voice was filled with anguish as she rose to join him at his lonely post. "I am so sorry . . ."

  "I've been flogged," he said, ignoring her soft words. "And threatened with court-martial, by the way, although not for cowardice. Do you want to know what my crime was?" he asked, lifting his head to meet her gaze. "Do
you want to know what I did that had me standing in danger of losing my life?"

  "What did you do?"

  "It was in Egypt," he said, his voice raw with pain. "I was half dead from the fever, along with most of the regiment, and our lieutenant, a pimply-faced, plump little fellow all of twenty, decided we needed drilling. I was a corporal then, but in charge of the company because our sergeant was too ill to leave his pallet. I explained to the lieutenant that we were all sick from the fever, and that it was decent food and medication we were needing, not a lot of useless parading. The lieutenant then demanded I have the men muster up, and when I refused, I was flogged and then thrown into the stockade."

  "Why were you not charged?"

  "Because the lieutenant sickened and died of the same fever within two days' time," Ross said, a bitter smile twisting his lips at the irony of the young man's death. "The captain allowed the matter to drop because the regiment had just received orders to set sail for the Peninsula. I might be a disloyal bastard of a Scotsman, he told me, but I was a soldier, and as such I was needed in Spain. He also said that if God was just I would soon be killed. Apparently God was not so just. The captain fell at Talavera, not five weeks later."

  An appalled silence greeted his words, and when he looked at Adalaide, he saw her beautiful eyes filled with tears. "Ah, annsachd," he whispered, brushing the tears away with a finger that was none too steady. "No tears. I did no' speak of these things to make you cry."

  "I know," she said, her bottom lip trembling. "That's what makes me want to cry all the more, and I hate crying."

  She sounded so truculent, so like the overbearing little martinet he had first come to know, he couldn't help but chuckle. "And why is that?" he asked, his voice soft as he brushed another tear away. "Tears are a woman's greatest weapon, little one, for they make even the strongest men want to crawl."

  Her expression grew stormy. "I don't want to see you crawl!" she exclaimed, her tone surprisingly fierce. "I never want to see you crawl, do you hear me, you wretch?"