All You Could Ask For

by Angeline Fortin

  “Good morning, my lady.” Though he tipped his hat with a smile, she was struck by the notion that the gesture held a bit of mockery. “How are you this fine day?”

  When Kitty only stared at him blankly, unable to find her tongue, he chuckled with a wink, “Come now, you cannot possibly still be mad at me. You won MacKintosh in the end and I bowed out gracefully.”

  Her brow wrinkled as she frowned in puzzlement at him, taken aback by his familiarity. Of course, he assumed she was her sister at first glance—so many did—but surely Evie had few acquaintances who would address her so unceremoniously.

  “Who are you?”

  He squinted back at her and, after a moment, his eyes widened. “You are not Lady MacKintosh.” The lord, for he was obviously that, took in the groom’s livery in a glance, then scanned her habit and horse with the air of a man who knew what he saw and couldn’t quite comprehend. “You’re from Glenrothes’ household, aren’t you?” he asked the groom.

  “Aye…uh, aye, m’lord,” the boy stuttered out at the fiercely voiced question.

  “That is the countess’ horse. I’d recognize it anywhere.” Dark gold eyes looked her up and down slowly, before he drawled, “The resemblance is uncanny. Who are you then?”

  “Why do you want to know?” she asked pertly, wondering who this magnificent man was.

  “I was wondering who this angel is in front of me,” he drawled cockily, looking her up and down, taking inventory of her finer points—and there were many. In truth, the woman looked exactly like Evelyn except, where the countess had always looked at him with cool disdain, this woman’s eyes were lit with fire and…was that interest? It had been his only clue that she was not Evelyn MacKintosh, the woman he had once pursued vehemently as a potential bride and savior of his estates.

  As Francis MacKintosh had suggested, Jack Merrill, the Earl of Haddington, had indeed gone to London looking for an heiress, but returned to Edinburgh within a few weeks to turn his attention to the wealthy widow whom Abby and Richard had described to him, unable to resist such a lure. Richard had said that she was a good, kind lady. Well, Richard had said many things to Jack recently that did not seem to be true.

  Despite Richard Mackintosh’s encouragement, a successful wooing of the countess had never happened. Their initial meeting had not gone well, to say the least. The warm and loving friend whom his sister, Abygail, had many times described to him, and the gracious countess of whom his friend had painted a portrait had been nowhere in evidence.

  At least not in his company.

  The Countess of Shaftesbury, he had swiftly concluded, was an aloof, unbendable woman. Butter wouldn’t melt in her mouth. An even better word for her was not so polite, but truly, she had struck him as a true bitch. Cold-hearted and icy as the brisk winter winds that ravaged the Highlands in winter.

  Oh, her beauty and appeal were undeniable. When he had first seen her walking in the garden at the park, he had stared in surprised pleasure for many long moments before she noticed him. She had been wearing a black velvet walking suit and he’d thought the lady wore black in a way he’d never imagined possible. She did not look like a crow, or old and prudish. The black silk had whitened her pale skin, making it soft as ivory satin. Her hair was the color honey might become when poured in the sunlight. Not gold or brown, but a sparkling, shimmering blend of the two. Then he’d gotten close enough to see her eyes. Green as spring grass, just as were this lass’s before him. They had turned to him with polite curiosity and then Jack had opened his mouth.

  He hadn’t made the greatest impression on the countess. Though he could not entirely recall what he had said while in his surprised and, well, yes, inebriated state—he had taken several healthy swallows…er, glasses, of whiskey for courage before setting out—he must have said something quite uncomplimentary. Aye, he must have insulted her deeply. He only wished that he could remember exactly what he had said to her. The whiskey must have affected him more than he had thought and dulled his senses. Until the countess’s stiffer words had sharpened them.

  Aye, like a smarting slap on the face. Indeed, he could readily recall each word of her rebuttal in turn, each well-intoned and precise insult, and each and every glare.

  She had informed him briskly that he was presumptuous and rude, a Neanderthal unfit for decent society, a…what was it? A swine of the lowest order. She said she did not associate with swine. Nay, he had definitely not made a good impression. Not even an introduction had been made. Undaunted, the next day he had gone to his sister’s Edinburgh townhouse where the countess was staying, with only mild hesitation to try again.

  Firmly resolved, he had knocked boldly on the door and waited. Regardless of what he might have said to her, Jack thought the countess’s bitter response was uncalled for in any situation. Cold, cold woman, he thought. Honestly! What could he have said to change her from a gracious lady to the arctic bitch who had torn into him?

  The door opened. A butler, as stiff and pompous looking as the countess herself, stood before him. “Good day, sir?”

  “Who are you?” Jack asked in confusion, stepping back for a moment to assure himself that he was at the right house. “What happened to Guthrie?” Guthrie was his sister’s butler.

  “I am Hobbes, sir, Lady Shaftesbury’s man.”

  “Good day then, Hobbes. Could you please tell Lady Shaftesbury that Lady MacKintosh’s brother, the Earl of Haddington, is here to pay his respects?”

  “Oh, very well, my lord.” Hobbes turned reluctantly and led the way to a formal parlor to the right of the foyer. Opening the double doors to the room ceremoniously, he stood aside and motioned for the earl to precede him. “If you’ll be so kind as to wait here, I will inform the countess of your presence.”

  Merrill nodded irately as the doors closed behind him. It would seem Lady Shaftesbury had a perfect match in her butler. Their demeanors were so very similar. He was contemplating the possibilities that the two might be related when he heard her voice, polite and well-modulated.

  “Lord Merrill, it is good to meet you at last. Abby has told me much about…you…” her lovely voice trailed off as Jack turned, and a frown wrinkled her brow. “You,” she accused.

  “Lady Shaftesbury. I am pleased to make your acquaintance as well.” He approached her and made a slight bow. “Abby has told me much about you as well. However, I must say she did not do you justice. I must say…”

  “You!” she repeated even more sharply.

  Merrill decided it might be best to play ignorant in this, for it was obvious the countess remembered him well and by no means had forgiven. “Aye, Jack Merrill, Abygail’s brother. She did tell you I would come and offer my services to you?”

  “You’re Jack Merrill?” the countess asked with a chillingly raised brow.

  “Aye.”

  “Lord John Merrill? The Earl of Haddington?”

  “Aye, again.”

  “Why you rude, pretentious oaf! How dare you come here now and tell me you are my friend’s brother? After what you said to me last week.” Evelyn stood with her hands on her hips, glaring at the man with open dislike in her eyes. “How dare you!”

  “Lady Shaftesbury, if you’ll allow me to explain…” he began, with his hands raised before him, sure that his usual charm with the ladies would see him through.

  “Explain what? Explain ‘Lady Shaftesbury, what a wonderful treat you are’? Or ‘I never expected to find you so appealing’? ‘I can’t wait to have you’?” The countess blushed hotly as she repeated his words in arctic tones. She did not shout, and she did not have to. There was so much condescension in her voice any man would feel two inches tall before her. “You humiliated me completely!”

  Merrill flushed in turn. Had he really said those things to her? That he couldn’t wait to have her? Well, it was true, though he did not think she would have appreciated him saying so.

  “My deepest apologies, my lady, I was not myself when we first met. My actions and words w
ere unforgivable.”

  “They most certainly were.”

  “Surely we can look beyond the incident and begin a more friendly relationship?”

  Evelyn blinked in disbelief. Did the oaf truly think that was possible after the humiliation she had suffered at his hands? Did he think a simple apology was going to clean the slate and allow for a new beginning? “I think not,” was her frosty reply.

  The earl tried a different angle. “For the sake of my sister, please? For your friendship with Abby, won’t you give me another chance to prove my devotion in spirit and act to you?”

  Open blackmail on his part, since he had known that while his sister might have warned her friend about him, the countess had promised Abby she would welcome Jack’s visits.

  “Very well, Lord Merrill. Perhaps we did set off on the wrong foot,” she conceded gracefully. “Shall we try again?”

  Evelyn had told him months later she had thought herself considerably well-natured to allow a second chance when he had so openly embarrassed her before so many. She had done so because Abby had told Evelyn many wonderful things about her brother in years past. About his kindness and sincerity. About his regard to her feelings and gentle nature. The brother Abby had described was a paragon of quality traits. How wrong could she be about her own flesh?

  They might joke about it now, but Jack had broken whatever hold she might have allowed on her graciousness when the next thing he had done was state that he would marry her.

  She had turned on him with a frigid glare and pointed stiffly to the open door. “Well, I never…You may leave, Lord Merrill.”

  “Is it something I said?”

  “Now, please, Lord Merrill.”

  Jack had shrugged and marched out the door, gathering his coat from the waiting footman. “I will be back when you’re in a more receptive state of mind, my lady.”

  “I don’t think I will be, Lord Merrill.”

  “Until then, my lady.” The earl bowed and retreated through the door, leaving a confounded countess behind him.

  Never one to be put off by a tough opponent, Jack had started a full-scale campaign to win the widow’s hand (the very rich widow’s hand, he reminded himself many times) and thought of the home he had grown up in as incentive to continue. He pursued her openly; meeting her in the park for her morning rides much like this morning. He would strike up a conversation. Or, try to. She’d been very unreceptive to his advances, a novelty to Jack, as he had spent his entire adult life never lacking female companionship. Her clipped, monosyllabic answers or failure to respond at all frustrated him deeply.

  He had been fairly certain she knew it and was somehow enjoying his discomfort.

  For almost two weeks he appeared every evening by design at her side, at dinner the family shared. He was almost disgustingly polite, went out of his way to be charming and witty. Trying to be a decent fellow. Nothing he did seemed to make her like him one whit. His lack of progress was annoying to the point where he was ready to give up on her and move on to more receptive ladies.

  Less than a month later, she had married his best friend, Francis MacKintosh—a man who had claimed he would disdain women for the remainder of his life!—claiming to be madly in love.

  Unbelievable!

  Events of the past few weeks had warmed their relationship to a tentative friendship though, even now, their interactions were cordial at best. But despite that, he almost liked the lass and for the life-long companionship of his best friend, Jack still made random attempts to be friendly with her. So, when he had seen her in the park this morning, he had ridden over to make his greetings, only to discover the woman was not Evelyn at all. He racked his brain for a memory that might enlighten him and picked out a moment when he had recently heard his sister and the countess discussing Evelyn’s wish to visit her sister.

  “Ah, the sister, aye?” He snapped his fingers and gave her a nod.

  Through this all, while the man had been ruminating in his own thoughts, Kitty had been studying him in turn. The fellow is devastatingly handsome! she thought, though it was an inappropriate thought for a married woman to have. Her eyes swept over him much as his had her. Even atop his horse, she could tell he was extraordinarily tall and broad, his thighs bunching with muscle as they gripped his horse’s side. His hair was unfashionably uncovered, but the dark brown strands glistened with gold in the early morning sunlight. His face was craggy with roughly hewn features, as if the artist who had sculpted them had neglected to smooth them out; prominent cheekbones, the plains of his cheeks cut by a long slash that dissolved into long dimples when he smiled, white teeth flashing against his tanned skin. A hard chin, broad forehead and bumpy nose, but together the combination was ruggedly appealing. Not beautiful, but gorgeous, nonetheless. And his eyes! Liquid, molten gold. Amazing. She could stare at them all day. The thought came to her that Frederick was a mere boy compared to this man. For a man he was, indeed!

  “Are you going to stare all day, lass?” The deeply amused voice was heavy with a Scottish brogue and sent shivers up her spine.

  “I am not staring.”

  “Nay?”

  “No, merely assessing.”

  “And what is your assessment?”

  “Found wanting,” Kitty returned, and blushed at his answering burst of laughter.

  “I’m afraid I cannot say the same of my earlier…assessment,” he drawled, and she colored even more. The blush was enchanting and enhanced her cool beauty. Where the countess was all ice, this lady was fire indeed, as if the flaming tones of her habit had been reflected from her soul.

  “If you will not grace me with your name, may I at least introduce myself? Lord John Merrill, Earl of Haddington.”

  Chapter 8

  I don’t know if I should care for a man

  who made life easy;

  I should want someone who made it interesting.

  ~ Edith Wharton

  “Katherine Hayes,” she answered automatically before his words sunk in. “Earl of Haddington?” she squeaked out loud, when it finally registered to her just who this man was. “Lord John Merrill?”

  He bowed again from the waist. “At your service. Though my friends call me Jack.”

  “You are Abby’s brother?”

  Kitty nearly choked on that piece of information. This was Abygail’s big brother? Gads, he was nothing like she had pictured him to be after all the sweet stories her friend had told. This was the man who had spoiled Abby through her childhood and had then protected her from teasing and abuse following the accident that had scarred her face so badly? This was the brother of kindness and compassion that her friend had spoken so fondly of? Abby had to be kidding! This man was no knight in shining armor. Those eyes were filled with arrogance and pride. He probably didn’t have a sensitive bone in his whole body. Clearly, he was a bit of a rogue as well with his hot, assessing looks and lazy eyes.

  “I’ll be damned! You are not at all how I pictured you, you know?”

  “How did you picture me?” he asked, amused and not at all offended by her unladylike language.

  “More like a knight in shining armor, given the stories Abby told about you.” She raised an eyebrow. “I was expecting some Galahad. Clearly her opinions are biased.”

  “Is it an American tendency that prompts all of you to be so honest?” the man queried with a tone that prompted her to elevate both brows.

  “Well, you needn’t say American in that way, as if you have muck on your boots or some such thing,” she reprimanded as coolly as Eve might.

  “Americans! Your sister holds no punches back and I found in my travels there that the land is essentially uncivilized, despite the growth of its population and the attempts at culture in the major cities.” The insult was evident in his voice.

  “‘The true test of civilization is not the census, nor the size of cities, nor the crops—no, but the kind of man the country turns out’,” she bit out, angry that he would disparage the land of her bi
rth so vehemently.

  “What?”

  “What what?” Her steam receded as rapidly as it had inflated, at the comical look of confusion on his face.

  “Where did you get that?”

  “Ralph Waldo Emerson.”

  “Ah, leave it to the American to quote an American.”

  “Fine then, ‘The measure of a man’s character is what he would do if he knew he never would be found out’,” she fired back promptly.

  “Who on earth said that?”

  “Your own Baron Macauley” she answered, with a grin of delight at his disconcerted expression.

  “Baron…who?”

  “Thomas Babington Macauley, he was an English historian.”

  “My God, remind me never to get into a battle of rare quotes with you,” Jack laughed, showing off those long dimples and revealing pleasing laugh lines by his eyes as well. “Provide me your assurances, you are Lady MacKintosh’s sister then? I am not just imaging it? I believe Abby mentioned in her letters you both went to school with her.” He considered her for a long moment, looking her up and down once again, as another thought occurred to him. When he had initially met the widowed countess, he had assumed her wealth as her husband’s, only to discover too late that the larger portion of it would be derived from her father, a wealthy American of some note, though the name escaped him. If Evelyn possessed such wealth, surely her sister would as well. He stroked his lower lip thoughtfully.

  “You can stop that speculative assessment, Haddington.” The woman’s humor-filled voice cut into his thoughts.

  “What do you mean?” he asked, unashamed to be caught looking.

  “Eve and Abby have both written me all about how you’re looking for an heiress to marry.” It was all Kitty could do to restrain her laughter at the look of astonishment that flooded his handsome face.

  “They have?” he asked, taken aback. Damn! She was forthright.

  “Sure, I know all about how you chased after Evie before she married Glenrothes.” He had the good grace to flush just a bit. “You were—in her words, of course—like a burr she could not shake off.”