Glenrothes nodded and Richard spoke up. “We’d like you to send forces into Egypt with the sole intent of finding my unit and freeing them from the rebels. We’ve discovered what we were sent to, we’ve assessed the size and strength of their movement. I’ve given my full report on the matter, as has Lieutenant Temple. Now, it is time to bring our men home. We’d like you to intervene on our behalf with Stanhope to see it done.”
Francis listened to his brother’s fierce words, feeling a wealth of passion in them that matched his own. It had to be done. He must find a way to see it happen. Luckily, CB was considered a fairly radical Liberal, a man more inclined to take some chances rather than follow a strictly party line. They would need him on their side if they hoped for any chance of convincing Stanhope or the Duke of Cambridge to take any action. His Royal Highness, Prince George, the Duke of Cambridge, was the Commander-in-Chief of the Queen’s forces and a notorious traditionalist. He wouldn’t support any move that might be considered even remotely subversive. Sending a force into Egypt to free a band of spies might be too much for the man to bear.
“What say you, CB?” Glenrothes asked when Campbell-Bannerman remained thoughtfully silent. “Will you throw your weight behind this?”
“Let me look into it and meet with Stanhope and Cambridge. I’d like to know why they were sent there to begin with, Glenrothes. I can tell you I had no idea.” He raised a brow at Richard. “Seems a strange assignment to me, Captain MacKintosh.”
“It seemed strange to us at the time as well,” Richard agreed. “But orders are orders, yes?”
“They are indeed,” the secretary nodded slowly, studying Richard for a long moment. “Have you spoken with Rosebery yet? As Foreign Secretary at the time, he might have heard something of it.”
“We were hoping to catch him here tonight as well,” Richard told him.
CB grunted. “Talk to him and I’ll get with Stanhope. I’m supposed to leave for my holiday in France with Charlotte in two weeks,” he added, referring to his wife. “If we’re to get this thing done, it will need to before then.”
Glenrothes nodded grimly. He wasn’t bolstered with any confidence at the words. For all that CB was liberally minded, Francis also knew that the politician had ambitions. It could have been worse, of course. If they had to rely on Rosebery, the thing would never get done. The former Foreign Secretary was neck deep in political ambitions, having already claimed that he had but three goals in life: to win the Derby, marry an heiress and become prime minister. He had already accomplished two of the three, a quartet of spies being held prisoner in the middle of the desert would be the last thing he would allow to cost him the third.
“We appreciate anything you can do.” Glenrothes held out a hand and firmly shook the politician’s hand. Richard followed in suit before they moved away.
Richard watched the emotions flit across his brother’s face and knew a sinking feeling. It had been best, he knew, to let Francis take the lead in delivering their problem into the right hands. It was Francis’ duty as the head of the family and as Earl of Glenrothes. Richard knew he wouldn’t have gotten any better results on his own, which was to say, getting any results at all. “He’s not going to help is he?”
Francis shook his head tightly. “Hard to say. He’s a reasonable man and fairly liberal but CB has ambitions. He won’t step on any toes too hard even if it is the right thing to do. The problem is that, in the proper course, we need Cambridge as well and CB cannot tolerate the fellow. Neither can Stanhope for that matter. They think the duke is stagnating the British Armies and want to see him out.”
“He is,” Richard agreed. “You forget, Cambridge was the one who commanded our forces when we first laid siege to Alexandria. It was a fair fight between him and my battalion commander, Connaught, each time a decision needed to be made. Cambridge cares about the soldiers but has little imagination when building our military. I’ve heard he once said, ‘There is a time for everything and the time for change is when you can no longer help it.’”
That drew a snort of laughter from his brother and they both relaxed a bit.
“Cambridge truly does care about his men,” Richard repeated. “I can’t believe that he will knowingly allow good men to suffer without trying to do something for them.”
“I wish I knew who had the final call on this one,” Francis answered. “I had thought that CB would step up on this on his own, but we may need more pull.”
“We’ll find it, Francis,” Richard said firmly. “We have to.”
“Without doubt, the Duke of Cambridge will be at an event given by Haddington,” Francis said thoughtfully. “They are old friends from years back. Abby mentioned an invitation; I wonder what it was for?”
“A ball tomorrow night,” Richard told him and added, when his brother’s brows rose curiously. “Sara mentioned it. She, uh, said it was her sister’s engagement ball. They’ve another sister, don’t they?”
“Catharine,” Francis said with a nod. “Bit flighty, that one. Can’t imagine whom she would get to marry her. Might be Abby though. That was Aylesbury who took her away for the dance. Everyone knows he’s been on the hunt for a wife since the old marquis died last year. She couldn’t do better. Are you ready to leave then? I think we should leave Stanhope to CB and focus on Rosebery in the morning.”
Richard hesitated before nodding shortly. Though he had been reluctant to attend the ball at all, he was suddenly more hesitant to leave. However, he knew Glenrothes detested attending any social function, especially since the petition for his divorce was being heard at Parliament. A decade of marriage to Vanessa Fane had been a been more burden than a man should bear, but sitting through hours of testimony from witnesses to her rampant infidelities, was beginning to wear on Francis. Facing the busybodies at social functions only made it worse.
To make the entire matter even more distasteful, Vanessa’s father, the Earl of Westmoreland, was fighting the petition publicly. As Palmer had insinuated, Glenrothes had used up most of his favors just to see the petition come before Parliament, beating Westmoreland at his own game to see the issue pigeon-holed.
With all that he had been through in Egypt, and in the battles fought before that, Richard knew there could be no worse fate than what his brother was suffering through now. The public humiliation of being a cuckold, the gossip flying wildly through the ton dogging his ever step. It took more bravery to step into Society and face that, than it did to face a firing squad intent on your death.
For his brother’s sake, Richard hoped it ended soon.
And for the love of his brother, Richard was prepared to leave the ball still wondering whose engagement ball he would be attending the next night.
It nagged at him, unreasonably so.
Chapter 12
The very essence of romance is uncertainty.
- Oscar Wilde, The Importance of Being Earnest
The townhome of Lord and Lady Boughton
46 Belgrave Square, London
The next evening
A day apart from their last meeting, and the knowledge that the woman he had been lusting after was none other than a lifelong friend, should have cooled Richard’s unexpected ardor. That it hadn’t, was surprising. That Abby had lingered in his mind throughout the entire day when he should having been paying mind to far more urgent concerns, was even more astonishing.
The unusual heat of the late spring day had carried into the evening, leaving the Boughton’s large ballroom uncomfortably warm, despite the row of open doors leading to the terraces at the rear. Still, it was brightly lit and filled with a crush of overdressed bodies and the scent of flowers just barely masking the odor of them all, but Richard noticed none of it as he watched Abby circle the ballroom in Aylesbury’s arms once again.
What he did notice was that the years since he’d last seen Abby Merrill had served her well. Though he had thought her angelic in pale pink the night before, she was a goddess in the ivory gown she had chosen this evening. The cut w
as modest with a high collar in the rear and heart-shaped neckline that dipped only low enough to invite a curious glance. Again, instead of baring her shoulders in the popular fashion, tight sleeves with lace cuffs covered her arms to the elbow. The slightly golden cast of the shimmering silk was a near perfect match to her hair, which shone in the candlelight of the huge crystal chandelier that hung above them. Her skin was as pale and translucent as the pearls she wore around her neck.
As demure as she appeared, the sight of Abby in her evening gown snatched Richard’s very breath away, leaving him gasping for air. She looked poised and sophisticated yet conversely so young and innocent. How old was she now, he wondered, trying to think back over the years since he had known her. It seemed like forever, she’d been a fixture in his life for as long as he could recall. He pictured her as a child in long braids and short skirts only because that was how he had always remembered wee Abby through the years.
It was hard to hold that image in his mind now with her looking as she did. Abby looked nothing like a child now. Her eyes last night were not filled with the mischief of the past, the laughter. Her gaze was serene and unruffled, unaffected. Where is that grubby lass who trailed behind me for years on end? Where is that impish grin that always seemed to grace your face?
Who is this stunning woman before me?
The music faded away and Richard watched her leave the dance floor on Aylesbury’s arm, noting the mesmerizing sway of her bustle and swish of her long train as she departed. His pulse raced in response… and then his irritation swelled when that bloody marquis dipped his head down and whispered in her ear, drawing a low chuckle from Abby.
Bloody hell! Was it her engagement ball or not?
Though the question had lingered in the back of his mind through the course of the day, it only just occurred to him that he should have looked at the damned invitation. But Vin, Jace and their futures had dominated his thoughts, making everything else – including his curiosity – seem insignificant in comparison.
Until now.
When it seemed the height of foolishness to ask the question of his hosts.
His grandmother, Lady Hyde, would know, Richard thought, and she was in attendance tonight as well. When he approached her for the information, however, she latched on to his arm with the obvious intention of introducing him to each eligible miss they came across. Richard tried to excuse himself, citing the need to help Francis in their search of the Duke of Cambridge.
His granny ignored his hints and so Richard, in turn, ignored her as she tried to get him to ask any of the ladies to dance. He was long out of practice and not yet completely healed from his injuries. As a result, he was disinclined to make a fool of himself before the entirety of the ton by bungling his first dance before them all.
Instead, he tracked Abby and her escort about the room, listening with half an ear to the chatter around him but hearing nothing useful among their gossip to answer his questions.
“Richard?”
It didn’t help that Abby danced but one dance during that first hour and that with Aylesbury before retreating to the terrace on his arm. He watched them go, wondering if the pair merely walked the promenade together or something more.
Then wondered why it mattered.
“Richard?”
“Aye, Gran?” he said absently, watching the terrace door.
Moments later, Aylesbury returned… alone.
“This is Lady Elizabeth…”
It was the height of rudeness to his grandmother and the poor lass she was trying to introduce him to, but…
“I’m sorry, Gran. Please excuse me.”
Richard slipped out the terrace doors wondering where Abby might have gotten. The small garden beyond the terrace was nearly deserted, though the cool evening air should have been a welcome respite to those crowding the stuffy ballroom. Glancing around, it took but a moment to locate her. There she was, elbows on the stone balustrade, leaning into the night, her bottom thrust out behind her, swaying enticingly back and forth to the rhythm of the music drifting through the open doors. In the dim light, she looked so damned lovely, so otherworldly, it was hard to imagine her baiting a hook now.
Hard to remember how young she must be. He considered that once more, thinking back through the years.
Surely, she was not more than seventeen or eighteen, he thought. If she were out in Society, she had to be at least that old. Richard might have been only twenty-six, but with all he had done and all he had seen, he felt much older. World-weary. Jaded, in comparison to her beatific innocence.
Perhaps, that was how he should remember her, Richard chastised himself. Innocent. Untouchable. Abby was his friend, a life-long companion. It was ill done of him to think anything other than friendly thoughts now.
“This is a very fine address. It surprises me that your father would choose to live here.”
The deep Scottish brogue broke the silence heralding the moment Abby had been both anticipating and dreading all day long. What would he do? What would he say? What would she say? Last night had come as such a total surprise and their meeting was so brief that Abby had given little consideration to her appearance. In the twenty-four hours since then, she’d had more than enough time to consider it… and enough time to feel her nerves begin to jangle and her stomach to knot.
Tonight the possibility – no, the probability – of seeing him again was high, and Abby had done her best to prepare for this moment. She had spent the day worrying over every aspect of her appearance, as she hadn’t since arriving in London. In the past several months, Abby had worn her hair drawn tightly back in the current fashion, inviting one and all to take a good hard look at her, to gasp and grimace at their leisure. Let them get it over with.
However, tonight was different. She had allowed her maid, Meg, to experiment with other styles, as she had been begging to do. Reaching up now, Abby skimmed a finger down the edge of her hair from the middle part, along the sloping wing that just touched the corner of her eye, and down her cheek before looping back up beneath her ear. Though she had refused to look at the result, the worst of her scarring seemed hidden but the coverage was never complete. A long look was all it would take for him to notice it.
Gathering her courage, Abby looked at Richard through her lashes to find him watching her intently, waiting for an answer. “Oona might have liked it, but you’re correct. This is my grandparents’ townhouse. Father rented a new house on Mount Street. It’s very nice and fashionably upcoming but too small for a gathering of more than fifty people. When Gram offered this place for the ball, I rather thought Oona would swallow her own tongue. I must admit to rather enjoying the moment.”
Abby bit her lip hard to halt her prattling. Gracious, she sounded like Sara now. So much for her preparations. Apparently, her appearance wasn’t all she should have been considering. Abby swallowed back the tight knot that was forming in her throat, uncertain how to proceed. The only thing she felt certain of in that moment was that her weak knees were sure to give out, and she was would cast up her accounts at any moment.
Silence fell around them. Casting another look at Richard, she found him shifting from one foot to the other. Impatiently? With boredom? Having attempted conversation, was he ready to escape the inanity of her response?
What would her friends tell her to do? Would they urge her to pursue him? Or would they tell her to give it up, and accept what would surely be a happily contented life with Harry? Would they understand the insecurity she was experiencing?
She wrote to her friends often and received many letters in return, but Abby acknowledged with some guilt that she had played them all false in the past several years. In her letters, Abby was the girl of years past, lively and adventurous. Living out on paper the life she might have once had, rather than revealing a life of social withdrawal. Was that fiery girl gone, Abby wondered? Or simply buried deep inside?
Moira and Eve would never have allowed her to deteriorate into the insecure n
inny Abby had become. Oh, Kitty might tenderly pat her hand and assure her that all would be well, but Eve would have grabbed her by the hand and pulled her, kicking and screaming, into the eye of the storm while Moira pushed her from behind.
A smile tugged the corner of her lips as Abby considered the image of her friends yanking her into a crowd while Kitty pleaded with them to let her be. Or better yet, the lot of them urging her toward Richard, insisting she take a chance. Insisting she find the courage to fight for what she had always wanted.
Abby glanced at Richard again, wavering in her course of action. His eyes slid down the length of her, before drifting back upward just as they had the night before. Those mesmerizing eyes lingered at her bosom for just a moment but it was long enough for Abby to finally understanding what that meant. Her eyes widened in surprise.
It had never occurred to her that he would look at her and see a woman, an attractive woman. Confidence clashed with nerves and Abby ran her finger down the edge of her hair once more. The lighting was dim on the terrace, leaving her cast only in moonlight. How much could he see? Did he like what he saw? That long assessment he gave her from head to toe left her thinking that he just might, and her body tingled with longing.
That look, combined with the security of the darkness, roused a daring in Abby that her friends couldn’t have produced with all the prodding in the world. This was her chance, perhaps her only chance, to take part in a flirtation with Richard before the harsh light of day stole any further chances.
Turning to lean against the terrace railing, Abby tapped her fan against her lips before asking in a throaty voice, “Did you follow me out here, Richard?”
“Perhaps.” There was a smile in his voice.
“Why would you do that, when didn’t even remember me?”
“That I dinnae recognize ye doesn’t mean I dinnae remember ye,” he argued in his husky brogue, taking a step toward her. Richard didn’t often slip into the soft burr of their homeland and Abby couldn’t help but think that he did it for effect. He had to be aware of how the sound sent a shiver of excitement up a woman’s spine. “Are ye angry wi’ me then for not recognizing ye last night, then, Abby? Ye must realize that physically ye’ve changed a great deal.”
Questions for a Highlander Page 7
