But Colonel Chattan was different.
He was the sort of man who could make any woman’s blood race, and Portia was no exception, except she should be. She must be on guard and not let his lips close to her again.
And then Colonel Chattan took her hand and the dance began.
It had been a long time since Portia had danced. The set’s figures were simple and the caller good so that everyone knew what to do without the music being overshadowed. Portia was out of practice and felt very self-conscious, but she would have been that way with any partner, albeit more so with him. He had a presence about him that threatened her in a way she wasn’t certain she understood.
He knew how to hold a woman’s hand. He didn’t grip too hard or too lightly. He wasn’t a skipper or hopper as some of the gentlemen dancers were. In fact, he moved with an athletic grace, despite favoring his right leg.
Nor did he count the steps to himself under his breath as the gentleman to his left did. Or step on her toes the way the gentleman to the right did to his partner.
And Portia found herself relaxing. She actually smiled. Minnie caught her eye and gave her a sisterly grin in encouragement. The music was merry and fun, the dancers were lighthearted, and Portia couldn’t help but enjoy herself even when Lady Emma managed to move herself and her partner over to where Colonel Chattan was.
And then the dance was over.
He bowed.
She curtseyed.
He reached for her arm—
“Was that not the best fun?” Lady Emma asked, stepping between Portia and Colonel Chattan. “But I do enjoy a quadrille.”
“Yes, it was good,” he answered, again reaching for Portia.
“The next dance will be a reel. You know you owe me a dance, Colonel,” Lady Emma said, her voice dropping, becoming coy.
Portia didn’t wait to hear what else was said. She took the young woman’s distraction as an opportunity to escape among the other dancers leaving the dance floor and those moving toward it.
Colonel Chattan had not denounced her. That was a blessing and she would be wise to not give him another opportunity. She was still intent on gathering her family and leaving, until she noticed Mr. Tolliver slip outside. He went alone, his head down, his shoulders slumped.
Had he seen Minnie’s partner kissing her so enthusiastically? Certainly he could not escape noticing that Minnie was being courted by what seemed to be the entire male population of Glenfinnan.
Across the crowd, Portia located her mother’s bobbling ostrich plumes. Minnie was there. The brief smile the sisters had exchanged was gone from her face. Another eager lad was offering his arm, and there was a line waiting. A line of men who would not make her happy.
Minnie’s feet would be danced off her legs before this night was out. However, instead of the dance being a moment of social triumph, Minnie’s sadness was hard to witness.
The only one pleased with the turn of events was Lady Maclean.
There were many reasons God created big sisters, and the most important, in Portia’s mind, was for them to speak for their younger siblings.
It didn’t seem right that two people who had so enjoyed each other’s company were now apart, and all because neither spoke up.
Portia understood Minnie couldn’t run after Mr. Tolliver. It would not be seemly.
But Portia could.
She dismissed her concerns about Colonel Chattan. They were unimportant in the face of True Love.
Without a word to her mother or anyone else, Portia walked out the door in search of Mr. Tolliver.
There were quite a few gentlemen gathered outside around the door. They stood in the torchlight, sharing a bottle that they passed between them. Mr. Tolliver was not among their number.
“Here, lass,” one of them said. He was Augie Macdonald, the farrier. “Take my plaid and keep your shoulders warm.”
Portia gratefully accepted the offering and continued on her way.
Horses nickered at her as she moved past them. The ground was soft but not wet, and even if it had been, she would not have thought of her dancing slippers. She was on a mission.
And then she caught sight of Mr. Tolliver. He had on his hat and was standing by his horse. He was giving a coin to one of the lads who watched the horses, and Portia had to hurry or he would leave. She hastened her step.
“Mr. Tolliver, please, I beg of you to wait.”
He turned to her. His shoulders stiffened, but he was a polite man.
“How may I be of service, Miss Maclean?” he asked.
Portia glanced at the boy and his friends who were listening with big ears. “Please, sir, walk with me a moment?”
“Of course.” Mr. Tolliver nodded to the boy to continue watching his horse and offered his arm. Portia directed him toward the trees to the side of the barn. There was a pond here and tables had been set out. Other couples lingered around them so Portia didn’t think their presence would be too remarkable. However, to ensure they were not overheard, she moved as far from other people as she could. She didn’t need to worry. Those others were too caught up in their conversations to eavesdrop on Portia’s.
She faced Mr. Tolliver. “Why are you leaving the dance so early?”
He didn’t pretend to misunderstand her meaning. “You know why I’m not.”
“No, I don’t.” She drew a breath and plunged in with the question uppermost in her mind. “Do you not admire my sister?”
“Of course I do.”
“Above all others?” she demanded.
There was a beat of silence. Portia could feel the man struggle with himself. “You know I have deep affection for her.”
Portia wanted to groan her frustration. She hated when men and women kept their distance with words. She herself liked to cut to the heart of a matter. That was how one managed to see things done.
“She has been waiting for you to call.”
“I mustn’t. She will be wiser to find a better man.”
“Oh, so you can’t abide her.”
He appeared startled at her suggestion. “Who could not like your sister?” he said. “She is one of the stars in the heavens. She is gracious and kind and lovely. The most perfect woman God ever fashioned.”
“Is that why you ignore her?” Portia surmised, her tone making it clear he didn’t make sense.
Mr. Tolliver lifted his chin and straightened his shoulders. “I’m not ignoring her. I am setting her free.”
“Free of what?”
“Me.”
There, he’d finally admitted it, and now Portia was determined to set him straight. “I know what my mother said to you. I am deeply embarrassed—”
“She was right—”
“She was wrong.” Portia placed her hand on his arm. “Mother is, well, funny in her conclusions. I don’t agree with her emphasis on the superficial. Nor does Minnie. My sister admires you greatly. She may appear to many to be happily dancing, but I know her best of all, and her heart is breaking. She holds you in the deepest affection, sir. She doesn’t love lightly and she loves you.”
He released his breath with the same fervor of a man who had just witnessed a miracle. “I love her.”
“Then I would not be standing out here in the dark, Mr. Tolliver. Or planning to return home early. I believe you should return to the barn and ask Minnie to dance.”
The kindly doctor took a step away. “If only I could. There is another matter that your mother took me into confidence to speak, and I must hold my tongue, but I understand her concerns. Minnie could do much better.”
“Are you talking about the fact we have no money and she expects Minnie to marry well to provide for us?”
He blinked at her bald speaking.
“Mr. Tolliver, are you afraid that my mother and I will be a charge to you? That very well
could be true. We are done up. However, my mother and I will manage. We understand that you and Minnie will need to set up your household.”
“I would gladly take you all on,” Mr. Tolliver said, surprising Portia. “I would be honored to do so. Although finances would be tight.”
“It is not anything we are not accustomed to.”
“I know,” he agreed sadly. “And you all deserve better. That is what your mother forcefully impressed upon me.”
“To Minnie, sir, you are the best,” Portia said softly.
“Because she is so kindhearted. But look at me. I’m half a head shorter than she is. I have a big nose and if I’m not careful, I’ll have a big gut as well. My idea of an entertaining evening is a good book and my bed. I own one horse, a small library, and will never be more than a country doctor. I like it here. These mountains, this valley is my home. Minnie is a woman who could outshine the best of them in London.”
“I don’t know why I’m arguing with you,” Portia said, deciding to put a touch of big-sister bullishness in her voice. “And you are right. My sister is very lovely in person and in her nature. She could crook her finger and a half dozen of the most handsome men in the valley would be on their knees in front of her. She’s demonstrating that this evening. However, she fell in love with a country doctor who believes her nature so shallow she doesn’t know her own mind. Yes, yes, yes, you are right. Well, begone with you, Mr. Tolliver. I tried to serve as a friend and sister to both of you, but I see it is hopeless. You do not care for her—”
“I do. I do, I do, I do.”
“Then prove it by going in there and asking her to dance. In fact, dance with her twice. She will say yes and everyone will know she’s chosen you.”
“Your mother does not approve of my suit.”
Her mother. Disgust rose like bile in Portia’s throat.
“My mother . . .” Portia had to pause, fearing what would spill from her lips. “She is not a happy person,” she said, amazed at her considerable restraint. “She was not happy in her marriage and swears she married for love. This is a terrible thing to say of one’s dam, but I don’t believe the woman knows how to love. And since we are talking about the family, you should know my father was a feckless wastrel who I can barely remember because he had very little to do with his family for almost fifteen years. One shouldn’t criticize one’s parents, but I believe in the truth. Now, decide, sir, do you love my sister enough for her to defy her parent? Because if you don’t, say so and I shall walk away.” Portia turned as if to make good on her promise.
Mr. Tolliver caught her arm. “I love your sister with all my heart.”
“Then go into that dance, sir, and stake your claim. Make her a happy woman.”
She didn’t have to repeat herself. He went hurrying off, tearing off his hat as he did so, and Portia was very proud of her handiwork.
What she didn’t realize was that she had an audience until he started clapping.
The sound caught her off guard. She’d been so involved in her argument with Mr. Tolliver, she had ignored her surroundings. Now she realized everyone else had gone inside, save for a lone man sitting at a table close at hand.
Colonel Chattan.
He had her isolated. She could shout for help if she needed it, but would she be heard over the music?
Portia feared the time for a reckoning over her pretending to be a witch was at hand.
But when he rose from the chair, it was not to hurl an accusation. Instead, he said, “Well spoken, Miss Maclean. And now, I shall ask you, what else will you do for love?”
Chapter Six
Miss Maclean’s eyes widened at his question and Harry smiled, pleased with himself. He liked the banter of innuendo, and he liked Miss Maclean.
Loyalty, especially to one’s sibling, was a quality he admired.
He’d noticed her when she had first arrived, without realizing that here was the daughter of Monty’s infatuation. She wasn’t Harry’s usual style. She was of medium height and pleasant enough looking, but not as buxom and not as knowledgeable as he usually preferred. She could have easily been dismissed as a woman on her way to spinsterhood, if she hadn’t relegated herself to that role already. She was not comfortable in the dress she wore. She’d pulled on the neckline and had stood alone for a touch too long to show ease in large gatherings.
But what had first caught his attention had been the graceful movement of her cloaked figure. It had reminded him of Fenella, the witch. For a second, he’d thought he’d found his quarry.
And then she’d removed her hood, and he had been disappointed that she didn’t wear spectacles.
When Monty had noticed Harry eyeing her, he had beamed with pleasure.
“See? Isn’t she a paragon?” Monty had whispered.
Well, Harry wouldn’t have gone that far. Any man with a red-blooded nature would have noticed Miss Maclean’s sister first. She was truly a rare pearl. Blonde hair, huge doe-shaped eyes, full, full lips . . .
And then Harry had realized Monty wasn’t speaking about either sister, but their mother, the woman sporting the impossibly tall ostrich feathers. He’d thought the fashion silly in London and ridiculous here in the country.
For her part, Lady Maclean had noticed Monty. She had looked right at him and then she had done the cruelest thing she could, she had turned her back to his friend. It was a nasty cut direct, and Monty had not taken it well. He’d walked away to drown his sorrows in a very potent punch. Such rudeness had not been necessary, especially from a woman as old as Lady Maclean.
And then she had compounded the insult by sending word through different friends that she was most anxious to meet Harry since she was certain he would like an introduction to her younger daughter.
Harry was determined to speak for his friend this night. He’d promised Monty he would, and he would deliver. But he would not speak to Lady Maclean. Grasping, manipulating stiff-rumped people always made him lose his temper. And he knew better than to approach the younger daughter. That would free wild speculation, fueled, no doubt, by Lady Maclean herself.
Instead, he’d decided to speak to the older daughter, the woman who had piqued his interest.
The woman who had practically run from him on the dance floor.
She was no happier to see him here, but this moment of privacy gave him the opportunity he needed to speak for Monty.
Miss Maclean glanced toward the barn as if ready to bolt, and Harry was puzzled. Her reaction was more than that of a woman with a dislike of him, although he’d never known a woman who disliked him. She was almost frightened. He could sense it.
“I’ve startled you,” he said. “ ’Twas not my intention. Please, may I have a moment of your time?”
“I don’t see what I can do for you,” she replied, and would have left, except she paused to add crossly, “It was rude for you to eavesdrop.”
“Perhaps it was a lapse of good manners, but it was not rudeness.”
“Says a man who was eavesdropping,” she replied, taking a step away from him.
Annoyance froze his smile on his face. “Actually, I was awaiting my turn in line. Please, Miss Maclean, a moment of your time. That’s all I ask.”
She looked again to the barn and then turned to him with the same grim resignation on her face as he’d seen on men facing court-martial. “What do you wish to say?”
She was as direct as his sister, Margaret, who was also too shrewd to be teased or charmed. So he launched into the speech he’d been mentally rehearsing in his mind all evening.
“It is my great honor to count amongst my friends General Alastair Montheath. Do you know him?”
Her brows had come together in puzzlement. “You wish to speak of Montheath?”
“I wish to speak for him. I value his friendship and admire him as an officer and a gentleman.”
&n
bsp; Miss Maclean’s whole stance changed. Her shoulders softened and she released her breath as if in relief.
Harry thought it a very odd reaction. What had she thought he was going to say?
“I know General Montheath,” Miss Maclean said. “Or at least, I know of him. We have not been introduced but I am aware he has strong feelings for my mother. He follows her.”
“Yes, I know,” Harry said. “His is odd behavior.”
“Decidedly,” she agreed with a lift of her brow. “And you are going to tell me that he would like to call on my mother?”
“Yes, I was, or I am.”
“He is wasting his time, sir. My mother is set against him and has been since they were children. She married another man. What more proof does the general need?”
“I can only say in his defense that the heart is a persevering organ. Not that I know. I’m as fickle as they come, so perhaps that is why I’m touched by his steadfastness. I knew your father.”
That statement brought out a reaction in her. She crossed her arms, sidled a step away.
Harry hurried to continue, “I say this because I want you to know that Monty does not share the same character as your sire. He truly loves your mother.”
“How can he?” Miss Maclean answered. “She is not very lovable.”
Harry felt his jaw drop at such a bald statement and caught it in time before he appeared a yokel. “I beg your pardon?”
“I’m being honest, Colonel. If you do value your friendship with the general, persuade him to avoid my mother at all costs.” She held up a gloved hand to stave off comments. “She can be very difficult. And although she is my parent, I rarely admire her. My conversation with Mr. Tolliver is because of my mother. She is attempting to make my sister’s life as miserable as her own has been. I know I sound like the most perverse of children, and perhaps I am.”
“I find you refreshingly candid,” Harry admitted and had to laugh. “I, too, had a mother that was not pleasant.”
“There is a wealth of meaning in that word ‘not pleasant,’ isn’t there?” she guessed.
Lyon's Bride and The Scottish Witch with Bonus Material (Promo e-Books) Page 32
