All You Could Ask For

by Angeline Fortin

  Because he loved her.

  “And you do love him, do you not? Say it, Fiona!” Ilona demanded when she continued to vacillate. “You still love him.”

  “I still love him,” she confessed softly, able to say it aloud at last.

  “And you never stopped.”

  Closing her eyes, she pushed the last of her doubts and fears aside as she felt a single tear slip down her cheek. Trailing a path over her cheekbone, hanging briefly before it fell free…as if it knew it would be the last tear she would ever shed for Harry Brudenall.

  “No, I haven’t.”

  Chapter 40

  I well deserved it, I suppose.

  ~From the journal of the Marquis of Aylesbury—May 1895

  Glenrothes poured another finger of whiskey for himself before downing it in a single swallow. “Is that it then? Or is there more, God save me?”

  “There is just one more thing,” Aylesbury said, grimacing as he downed the reminder of his drink in a single swallow. “You’ll want to brace yourself, I suppose, as it is something you mentioned you thought unimaginable. I’d like your permission to marry your sister.”

  The fist came out of nowhere.

  Taken by surprise, Aylesbury found himself flat on the floor and levered himself up on to one elbow, rubbing his jaw and flexing it painfully. Hoping it wasn’t broken.

  “Dinnae look so surprised, lad,” Glenrothes grunted, shaking out his hand. “Ye deserved it.”

  He had been expecting it, true. Five minutes ago. Perhaps ten, but not in that particular moment. But he did deserve it. Two years ago, at least.

  The earl held out a hand, silently offering to help him to his feet, but the marquis just eyed him warily. “Are you sure you’re done? I hate to accept a hand in good faith that means to take me down again.”

  Glenrothes only grinned and offered his hand again and this time, he took it. “I forgot to ask,” the earl said conversationally as he levered Aylesbury back to his feet. “What hole was Blossom really on when ye saved her at the golf club.”

  The earl’s low brogue should have been a warning.

  “The second.”

  That thoughtless answer set Aylesbury on his back once more before his feet were even firmly planted beneath him. The metallic tang of blood filled his mouth. Wiping his mouth against his sleeve, he stared up incredulously at the murderous Scot towering over him.

  “Ye bastard,” Glenrothes growled. “I’ll bloody well kill ye.”

  “I plan on marrying her,” he pointed out. “And I might add, I saved her life as well.”

  “Aye, and that’s what’ll be saving yers tonight. Now get up.”

  Well, he did deserve it and would do no less to anyone who dared to lay a finger on his sister, Aylesbury reasoned. So be it then. He grinned then as he climbed to his feet and raised his fists.

  “Let’s have at it then, shall we? Queensbury rules?”

  “Ha, nae rules, ye daft bastard!”

  Fiona’s brother charged forward, catching him around the midsection and driving him back into the sideboard. The solid piece withstood the impact though the crystal decanters laid upon it did not fare so well.

  They fell to the ground, shattering one after another in a bellowing whoosh that matched his breath expelled, stunning him momentarily but Aylesbury, while preferably a lover in life, was not without his own experience as a fighter. Driving his elbow down between the earl’s shoulder blades, the marquis forced the earl briefly to his knees.

  “You must have gone to Oxford, eh, my lord? I’m a Cambridge man myself.”

  “My brothers”—Glenrothes caught him in the midsection with a hard left as he stood—“went to Cambridge.” Another right to the midsection almost doubled Aylesbury over. “I was too busy learning to be a man at Edinburgh. Ye fight just like them.”

  Aylesbury got lucky on an uppercut to the jaw, snapping Glenrothes’ head back, and the earl retreated. If a single step back could be labeled a retreat, that is. He followed it with another.

  “Like what? Honorable men?”

  The earl stepped forward with another swing but the marquis blocked it and sent a right jab into Glenrothes ribs. The earl released a hiss of pain but followed it, inconceivably with a low chuckle.

  “Nay, like women. All ye Cambridge bastards fight like wee lasses.”

  Aylesbury laughed. It was hard to fight a man one actually liked. Harder still when it was the brother of the woman he loved.

  “Having taken a mere open palm from Fiona, I’ll take that as a compliment. Pax, my lord?” He held out his right hand for the earl to shake.

  “Aw, Aylesbury,” Glenrothes said, pity lacing his voice. “I’m afraid I cannae let ye off that easily. No’ just yet.”

  Another right hit Aylesbury’s jaw, inconceivably in the precise spot that the earl had hit before and he saw stars dancing before his eyes.

  “What on earth is going on here? Francis MacKintosh!”

  Aylesbury looked toward the drawing room door to find Lady Glenrothes—two of her, actually—hovering in orbital circles around each other. He shook his head and watched the two become one. Yes, one divine, avenging angel glaring at her husband with her hands planted firmly on her hips.

  “You’re in real trouble now, old chap,” he said with some satisfaction, throwing a grin at his would-be opponent and bending over, hands on his knees, to catch his breath during this reprieve. “I’m telling you, women are terrifying fighters.”

  Glenrothes did look a little apprehensive as he turned to his wife. Eve faced him unwaveringly and she wasn’t alone. Everyone was gathering behind her. Abby especially looked particularly disgusted.

  “What is it with you lads?” she said to no one in particular. “For almost a decade, I’ve been wading through one fight after another. Do I need to come over there and pull you apart by your ears as well?”

  Not one man among them didn’t wince at her words. Several of the younger lads unconsciously rubbing their own ears, some recently subjected to Abby’s finely tuned method of breaking up a fight between them. Though it had been many years for him, Glenrothes, too, had been subject to her methods and was quick to shake his head.

  “Francis?” Eve repeatedly impatiently.

  Good God, her foot was tapping. Glenrothes looked terrified.

  “Eden, my love, I was just welcoming Aylesbury to the family.” He draped an arm around Aylesbury’s shoulders and rocking him none-to-gently back and forth before the earl pushed him off and sent him stumbling to the side. “Aylesbury and Blossom are getting married.”

  “Is that so?”

  The mass of MacKintoshs parted, leaving Aylesbury with a clear view to Fiona who stood behind them, a bundle of amazement and irritation all wrapped in a modest kimono-like dressing gown that oddly left little to his vivid imagination. God, but she was lovely.

  “I asked his permission,” he clarified with emphasis, once again aware that all the male MacKintoshs now had him in their sights. He wanted to go to her, hold her. Explain. But was uncomfortably aware that any move on his part might set her brothers into action. Like a deer setting a pack of wolves into motion the moment it bolted. “That is all.”

  “That is not all,” Glenrothes reminded. “And ye will be marrying her.”

  Fiona looked from her brother and back to him, her eyes wide with disbelief. “You told him?”

  “Give over, Fiona,” Aylesbury stepped forward, his hand extended before him, but like the pack of wolves he had compared them to, the men between them began to growl. He retreated back a step instead. “You know very well that he guessed it.”

  Her cheeks reddened, then flushed with embarrassment before she turned on her heel and fled, leaving him to his own devices in a less than enviable situation.

  Aylesbury straightened his tie and tugged on the bottom of his jacket as he squared his shoulders. He looked not at any of the men who were eyeing him murderously but at Eve, then Moira and Abby.

  He was
n’t worried much over Fiona’s pique. She was clever enough to soon realize that her brother had known the truth of how they had spent the afternoon before she’d even departed the room. She would come around. She might even see the humor in the situation much as he could now, looking at the position he had put himself in.

  The events of the past two years had stripped him of that ability to see the lighter side of life. To find humor where, by rights, there should be none. Fiona had given that back to him. Returned his joie de vive and to his surprise, he felt happier and more carefree than he had in a very long time. Even with the beating that undoubtedly awaited him. He laughed aloud at the ridiculousness of it all, deepening the frowns around him with bewilderment.

  Grinning broadly, he bowed shortly to Glenrothes and then turned to the women who stood between him and certain bloody agony, offering a deeper, courtly bow. “Lovely ladies, fair beacons of reason and rationality, I beg you to grant me sanctuary.”

  “Sanctuary?” Glenrothes repeated. “Och, man! Ye should take yer medicine like a man, no’ hide behind a woman’s skirts.”

  “And I will, old chap,” Aylesbury assured him with a short laugh. “You’ve gotten yours. Let’s see, shall I take appointments then? Working down through them? Vin, tomorrow then? Richard the day following? James, as he is not present, perhaps Haddington might like to stand as his second? Then Colin, then Sean? By the middle of next week, I might…”

  “Enough,” the earl grumbled, though he, too, was stifling at least a small amount of humor. “I ought to drag ye before the preacher this verra night!”

  “I would be willing but your sister might not be, as she has so far denied me her hand and heart. You will have to take it up with her. I will call on you, Glenrothes, in the morning to discuss how best to finish off Ramsay and his henchmen. You might consider that a quick wedding will certainly work well enough there. In the meantime…” He turned back to the door. “Ladies? Might I at least beg an escort as far as the door?”

  Eve looked hard put to maintain a straight face but nothing stopped Moira from grinning back at him, her eyes dancing. “For you, Harry, as far as the door. Abby?”

  Abby laughed as well, nodding her agreement. “To the door.”

  “Regrettably,” Eve added. “After that, you’re on your own.”

  “Ladies, I find your terms agreeable.” He executed an elegant bow before walking toward them with his arms held out from his sides. “I am at your mercy.”

  Chapter 41

  I will tell you, Jamie, I’ve never seen a man take his comeuppance with such delight. Aylesbury is a braw fighter. He took us all on, one after the other until he was hardly able to stand but still, he took a fair piece out of some of the lads in the process.

  I tell you, I never thought I would meet anyone who I thought would be a true match for our Heather Blossom.

  ~From the correspondence of the Earl of Glenrothes to James MacKintosh—June 1895

  Aylesbury, England

  A week later

  “The bruises are fading nicely,” Fiona said lightly, looking at Aylesbury’s battered face with a grimace noting the fading bruises here and there that he had gained for what had essentially been her choice when all was said and done. Still, her brothers had acted as if he were the only perpetrator. “You are almost handsome again. I hope they didn’t hurt you too badly.”

  “Are you worried for me now?” Aylesbury teased, since it was not the first time she had asked. He covered her hand where it rested on his arm, his thumb brushing over her knuckles affectionately. “If you had been, you never would have left me as you did to face them on my own.”

  “I know…I couldn’t,” she stammered with a blush. “I was just too humiliated at the thought of them knowing.”

  “Do you regret it?”

  “No.” Her firm response pleased him. “But since you so respectfully paid your dues like a man to each and every one of them for our indiscretion, they—one and all—consider us as good as engaged.”

  “Do you?”

  “It’s hard to say, really.”

  A week had passed. Fiona still hadn’t said yes or no but still wore his ring on her right hand. However, her brothers were indeed acting as if her engagement were a given thing, considering the circumstances. Aylesbury hadn’t mentioned it again, keeping his vow not to press or ask again. But she was thinking about it, he knew. He could see the consideration shadowing her eyes, though whether she was swayed one way or the other, he had no idea.

  Love wasn’t the issue. Aylesbury had no doubts Fiona loved him still. Perhaps had even forgiven him for the thoughtless bastard he had been. He believed it was her trust in him, that he wouldn’t hurt her again that was in question. He didn’t know what else he could say or do to prove himself in that regard, however. If she decided against him, Aylesbury had no doubt Glenrothes would let her have her way despite what had happened between them.

  Of course, Glenrothes had made sure that it wouldn’t happen again.

  Whenever Aylesbury saw her, which was every day, they were always chaperoned. It had nothing to do with Ramsay any longer. They had hunted him down and turned him over to the police—after a fair beating, of course. Charges were being filed and warrants issued for Ramsay’s lackeys. Bodyguards had been hired to protect her, and at least a pair of brothers followed Fiona wherever she went.

  The extra constraints had Fiona chomping at the bit, he knew. She was anxious to have the matter over and done with. To have time for herself or for them. Understandably she chafed as much as he against that particular condition. With the horse already escaped from the barn, so to speak, she’d been first amused and then annoyed by her brothers’ protectiveness. She wasn’t the only MacKintosh who seemed to have trouble trusting Aylesbury these days.

  If her brothers only knew how untrustworthy he was when it came to keeping his hands off their sister, no doubt he’d have to take them all on again—though they probably wouldn’t be so kind as to queue up one at a time if they knew he snuck into her room each night with Hobbes’ assistance. It would be worth it.

  “If I keep sleeping in your bed rather than my own, you might find yourself married, willing or not.”

  She flushed again. “Harry, stop!”

  “Oh, that reminds me.”

  “I daresay I should be rather afraid of what that reminded you of, that you would dare mention on a public street,” she said dryly.

  “Pembrooke gave me some hairpins this morning,” Aylesbury teased. “Said one of the maids found them under the cushions of the sofa in the parlor.”

  Her cheeks blossomed like a rose. “I will never be able to face them again.”

  “Nonsense,” he assured her, tucking a stray lock of hair behind her ear with a light caress to her jawline. “They will love you because I love you so completely.”

  “God help you,” she whispered, watching the sunlight set the diamond in her alive.

  “Yes,” he chuckled, lifting her hand to his lips. “God help me, my dear.”

  Their eyes met and Aylesbury wished they were somewhere more private so that he could kiss her properly. Despite their secluded nights, privacy had been a rare commodity of late.

  With her brothers’ constant watch upon them, he’d taken—outwardly at least—to courting her properly: taking her to dine at the Ritz, to the Empire again so they might see Acre’s entire film without interruption. They even went to see Mr. Sousa’s band play one night. All of it under the watchful eye of brother and bodyguard. All of it to ensure that her answer to his unspoken question would be yes…eventually.

  Today he had invited Fiona to play a round of golf with him at the Aylesbury Parkland Golf Club near his ancestral estate, Dinton Grange. The course had recently opened a newly-designed eighteen-hole long course to pair with the original nine-hole short course. His father had been a founding member of the private club though he had made more use of the clubhouse than the course itself. Aylesbury had used his influence to gai
n a special exception for Fiona to play there, since the club did not normally allow female golfers.

  Her brothers, Connor and Colin, had come along as their requisite chaperones. They’d played the eighteen together before Aylesbury suggested a break for tea at the clubhouse. Fiona had accepted, but her brothers had opted to play a round on the short course before they all retired to Aylesbury for dinner then returned to London.

  The club’s manager had other thoughts on the matter. The golf club might have allowed a woman onto their greens but they had stood firm in their resolve to bar a female skirt from their hallowed clubhouse.

  Tea would have to be taken elsewhere.

  Rather than troubling his estate staff by arriving before they were expected, he’d had his coachman drop them in Aylesbury proper to take tea at one of the charming teahouses in town. He’d been happy enough to leave their shadows back on the fairways, sending his carriage back to the golf club to wait on the brothers and leaving him with an afternoon alone with Fiona…and a bodyguard who was warned to keep his distance under pain of death.

  This was Aylesbury. His town, his people. Far removed from London. He intended to fully enjoy the day. He pressed another kiss to Fiona’s hand as they wandered the streets of Aylesbury township.

  “Are you sure you wouldn’t rather play another round with your brothers?” hey asked, but only because he felt he must.

  “I am more than happy to take tea with you instead.” She grinned up at him mischievously. “Besides, do you think you could have taken the punishment for another round?”

  “From your brothers?” he asked with a grin, feeling happier than he had in a long while.

  Gasping in mock outrage, she bumped her shoulder against his.

  “Oh, from you?” he teased as if he had just guessed her meaning. “Not at all. I enjoy watching you play…whether I win or…”