But first, he had to apologize.
“Then go make it better, ye wee dobber,” growled Lyon. “And leave me to my silence.”
Roland knew he was in no condition to travel—neither back to Newfincy Castle nor to his own estate—but he could give his brother what he asked. As Lyon reached for one of the leather-bound tomes that lined the walls of the study, Roland closed his eyes and rested his head back against the settee.
His heart felt light and heavy at once. Light, because he’d come to the most amazing realization and was determined to ensure he did everything in his power to convince her of his sincerity. And heavy…because he wasn’t sure if he could.
But he would try.
The brandy made his head swim, but thoughts of Vanessa were more important. He lay in his brother’s home—his ancestors’ home—and with a slight smile on his lips, began to plan.
Again.
Here’s hoping ye dinnae fook this one up as badly as the last.
Indeed.
Chapter 10
“Oh, he’s on the right track now. That’s nice.”
“Indeed, Willa. I knew you’d be able to make this work out, despite the…minor hiccup in the middle of the story.”
“Minor hiccup? Grisel broke the ball, and we had to resort to tea leaves to see the characters going totally off-script!”
“I said I was sorry!”
“Broca, Grisel, both of you, be polite to one another. Seonag fixed the ball, and no harm was done. Yes, Vanessa dragged Roland across half the country, but it allowed them the chance to be together, and you’ll notice the golden ball from the original Number Forty-Seven was included, right?”
“Aye. That was a nice touch, Willa.”
“Oh, I cannae take credit for that, but thank ye all the same, Grisel.”
“What do ye mean, it wasnae yer doing?”
“Och, ye ken how these things work. It’s all outlined in The Book.”
“Indeed, Willa. And I am so proud of you for such a successful first assignment. All that’s left is for Roland to make his grand gesture to Vanessa, so she can see he’s really not such an arse after all—”
“And if she forgives him, she’ll have to forgive herself as well!”
“Well said, my dear. Now—”
“Wait! Wait, I’m still confused. If Willa didnae send Vanessa and Roland to York to fetch the ball, how did the story end up so close to our forty-seventh outline, eh?”
“Oh, Grisel, you know why.”
“Narrative causality?”
“Aye. All together now: Narrative causality.”
* * *
Staring at the lass in the mirror, Vanessa hardly recognized herself. She seemed…duller, perhaps? The smudges under her eyes were thanks to the poor sleep over the last week, and she knew she hadn’t been eating well either. All of that could explain how sunken she looked…and felt.
When she lifted her hand to brush her fingertips across her cheek, Vanessa barely felt it. She barely felt anything these days.
This is who ye are.
This lass in the mirror was who she’d become, and Vanessa was surprised she didn’t hate it. Aye, her mother had berated her, offering her all sorts of beauty fixes, but Vanessa had refused. She didn’t want her hair to return to its old luster, or her eyes to sparkle with—
Actually, she wouldn’t mind seeing her eyes sparkling again, but whereas looking in the mirror once caused her to sparkle with vain pride, Vanessa wanted her eyes to sparkle with love.
Sighing, she turned her face away.
Love?
Impossible.
“Staring at yer beauty again, sister?” Bonnie’s tone was teasing, but when Vanessa looked back to see the reflection of her sister standing in the doorway, she saw concern in her eyes.
And when Bonnie stepped into the room, her expression fell even further. “Ye’re no’, are ye?” she whispered, moving to stand behind where Vanessa sat and placing her hands on her shoulders. “Ye’re still mourning.”
It had taken some time, because Vanessa kept breaking down, but over the last week, she’d told Bonnie everything which had transpired on her ill-fated mission to Fangfoss Manor. Everything, including how she’d met “Monsieur Grenouille,” the way he’d made her feel, and even the kiss.
Days later, even with a broken heart, she was still thinking of that kiss.
She reached up to pat her sister’s hand and tried to smile. “I’m still feeling guilty.”
“About what ye said?” Scoffing, Bonnie pulled at her shoulders until Vanessa twisted around in her seat. “I’ve told ye before that, aye, ye should apologize for yer words about the heir, but what Roland did in revenge was—”
“No’ that.” Vanessa shook her head and dropped her gaze to her lap, where she watched her fingers pluck idly at the fabric of her gray gown. In the last week, she just couldn’t seem to bring herself to wear her bright colors. Perhaps it was part of her new goal: to worry less about herself and more about others. “I ken I got what I deserved, thanks to what I said.” She shook her head. “Nay, but I am sorry I wasnae able to fetch the sphaera for ye. I was so certain I could find it, and ye’d be able to sell it to Phineas for enough money to buy Mr. Grimm’s publishing house!”
Bonnie scoffed again as she sank to a crouch in front of Vanessa and took her hands. “It’s no’ yer fault, Vanessa. When ye saw it, the site was only half-excavated. It was likely they moved the excavations in that direction and found it no’ long after ye did.” She squeezed her hands until Vanessa looked up, and Bonnie smiled softly. “I’m beyond grateful ye were willing to undergo such an adventure just to help me, and I’m so, so sorry I couldnae stop Mother from barging in here and learning ye were gone.”
Vanessa’s smile was a little watery when she squeezed Bonnie’s hands in return. “No apology is necessary. It was likely an ill thought-out plan in the first place.”
“Perhaps.” Bonnie’s smile grew. “But it was selfless and special, and I love ye all the more for it.”
“I love ye too,” whispered Vanessa, just as a call from down the hall had them both turning in the direction of the door.
“Girls!” screeched their mother again, as she skidded to a stop in their doorway. “Vanessa! What in the world are ye wearing?”
Glancing down at herself, Vanessa shrugged. “My gray gown, Mother.”
“Well, it’s hideous. Ye’re hideous in it. Ye’re pale and washed out, and what is that—a bun? Ye wrapped yer hair in a bun and thought that would be acceptable?”
She tsked as she stepped into the room, but Bonnie—her jaw set stubbornly, and her hair also wrapped in a simple bun of course—stood and placed herself in front of Vanessa.
“I think she looks lovely, Mother.”
“That’s because ye dinnae have a fashionable bone in yer body,” the baroness said dismissively, peering around her at Vanessa. “My darling Vanessa does, but this—this?” She clucked her tongue. “I cannae believe I’m saying this, but it’ll have to do. He insisted he wouldnae be kept waiting.”
“It?” blurted Bonnie indignantly at the same moment Vanessa whispered, “Him?”
True to form, Mother ignored Bonnie and flapped her hand impatiently at Vanessa. “Him, lass, him! The Viscount Blah-blah-blah is downstairs, insisting on seeing ye.”
Roland? Roland was here?
Mother, of course, knew nothing about Roland being the man who’d accompanied her to York, disguised or not. She was likely ecstatic about a viscount calling. In fact, the older woman clasped her hands together and sighed happily.
“My efforts have finally paid off, dear Vanessa. It is clear the viscount didn’t hear any rumors about yer idiotic disappearance, or he wouldnae still be willing to court ye!”
The sisters exchanged a glance.
“Perhaps he isnae here to court her,” Bonnie suggested quietly.
“Dinnae be stupid, of course he is,” snapped Mother. “He’s insisting on being allowed to se
e her, and that sounds verra much like a man about to make a declaration, does it no’?”
Aye, a declaration of some sort.
Had he returned to humiliate her further? To declare to the world what kind of woman she really was? To start rumors about where she’d been and what she’d done last week?
From the expression in Bonnie’s eyes, her sister was worried about the same thing.
Well, one thing was for certain, this would be Vanessa’s chance to offer the apology she should’ve offered all those weeks ago.
With a deep breath, she stood and smoothed her palms over her skirts. There was a part of her, the old part, which wished she’d had the chance now to change into a more flattering gown, or at least to create an elaborate hairstyle. But the new Vanessa acknowledged Roland had already seen her at her worst, so looking her best wasn’t going to help at all.
Bonnie’s hand found hers, and Vanessa twined her fingers through her sister’s, grateful for the support. “Lead on then,” she whispered, and did her best to hold her head high as they descended to the family’s parlor.
But when she stepped into the room, her steps faltered. Only Bonnie’s hand in hers, like a lifeline, kept her from backing out when Roland turned from where he was standing in front of the cold fireplace, his hands clasped behind his back.
He smiled at her, just once, and Vanessa felt her heart leap.
Hungrily, her gaze caressed him, noting how much more like himself he looked now that he’d shaved his beard. His hazel eyes looked more brown than green today, and his hair was combed immaculately. He wore a blue jacket over a subtly patterned waistcoat, and below that…
Vanessa’s lips tugged wryly at the sight of Roland’s knees. He was wearing the Oliphant plaid, fashioned into a much-more formal kilt than the one he’d worn on their journey.
“Miss Vanessa, Miss Bonnie,” he offered calmly, his expression serious once more, as he bowed correctly, despite the informal address.
“Milord,” murmured Bonnie in acknowledgement, before glancing at Vanessa, who was too overwhelmed to do more than nod.
Mother, of course, took command. “Welcome, welcome, Viscount Blah-blah-blah! How lovely to have ye here!”
Stiffly, Roland turned to her. “Blabloblal, Madam. My estate is Blabloblal. I am Roland Albert McAdam Gregor Prince, Viscount Blabloblal.”
Oh. His name really was Albert and Adam?
The long-ago teasing made Vanessa’s heart a little lighter, although her stomach still churned in nervousness.
Mother tittered a laugh at what she must’ve considered an irrelevant detail and waved her hand dismissively. “Of course, my dear viscount! Ye ken how difficult it is to recall titles and such, when I’d much rather call ye son.” Her gaze turned calculating. “I shall call for tea immediately, and we can have a nice, long visit—”
“Nay.” Roland didn’t even soften his rudeness with one of his charming grins. Instead, he held up his hand to Mother, palm-out. “I have nae need for tea, and what I am here to say, I will say only to yer daughter.”
Vanessa’s heart began to pound faster. He wanted to speak to her alone?
Because what he had to say was so bad…or good?
Her mother was flustered but recovered quickly. “Oh, Lord Blob-low-ball, yer wit is so amusing! Insinuating I would allow something so unproper as my unwed daughter to be alone with ye—nae matter how upstanding and proper I’m certain ye—”
“Then her sister may stay as a chaperone,” Roland interrupted again. “But ye, madam, will remove yerself from this parlor.”
This was the viscount, used to command and control, and so different from the easy-going traveler on the train to York, even if he had admitted to being grumpy because she’d taken charge. But Vanessa hadn’t minded; she didn’t need to be in control all the time, although it had been freeing to share command.
Mother gasped in outrage, one hand pressed to her chest as she hesitated, obviously torn between taking offense and giving into Roland’s demands because, well…viscount.
Eventually, the whole leaving-Vanessa-alone-with-a-viscount-might-result-in-her-becoming-a-viscountess thing won over propriety, and Mother sniffed, “Well, I never,” even as she stepped toward the door.
“Aye, ye never,” Roland said, dropping his hands to his side and taking two steps toward her. “Ye never think of Vanessa, much less Bonnie. Their accomplishments only serve to highlight what ye want and further yer goals. Well, let me tell ye this much, Baroness Oliphant…” He lowered his chin, and his voice. “If I should ever become yer son-in-law, ye and yer influence will be staying far away from Vanessa. I’ll no’ have ye poisoning her anymore, and I’ll no’ have ye stay here to listen when I beg her apology.”
“Oh, bravo,” murmured Bonnie.
Vanessa’s knees went weak, and she wasn’t even certain how Mother reacted to that glorious, horrible, remarkable burst of passion from the man Vanessa was now certain she loved. In fact, if Bonnie hadn’t helped her to the settee, Vanessa was afraid she might’ve collapsed right there into a puddle of goo on the parlor floor.
Wait a moment.
“If I should ever become yer son-in-law…”
What was that supposed to mean?
Her gaze snapped up, suddenly unsure if she should’ve been flattered or angered by his defense of her. She saw her sister had stepped away from the settee and was wringing her hands as she looked between Vanessa and Roland. And Roland was looking a bit uncertain himself.
The door closed on her mother’s angry huff, and he blew out a breath. “I’m sorry.” He shook his head, wincing. “I’m sorry for many things, but perhaps I shouldnae have been so harsh. She’s yer mother after all.”
“She needed to be told,” Bonnie blurted. When both of them glanced at her, she shrugged. “Everything ye said was true, Lord Blabloblal. I’ve said it before, Mother’s manipulations and her way of spoiling and rewarding Vanessa for something she cannae control is what ultimately muddled up her brain— And ye ken what? I’ll just sit over there in that corner with my mouth shut,” she finished weakly, as they both continued to stare at her.
“Actually, Bonnie,” Vanessa began in a small voice, “I think it might be best if Lord Blabloblal said whatever he has to say to me…in private.”
“Please call me Roland.” There was a yearning in his eyes when Vanessa met them, but he quickly cleared his throat and glanced at Bonnie to include her. “Ye too. We are to be family.”
“Are we?” Bonnie lifted a brow. “Are ye?” she asked Vanessa.
Is that what Roland had meant?
“Did ye come to propose marriage then?” Her voice was dull, empty, unsure how she should feel about this.
There’d been a time, only a month ago, when marriage to Roland Prince, Viscount Blabloblal, was all she’d ever wanted. She’d been so certain she was in love with the man and had dreamed of becoming his viscountess.
But now she realized she’d been in love with…well, with the idea of becoming a viscountess, not Roland himself.
It had taken an adventure with a different man—one who’d allowed her to see her true self—to show her the truth. She could love a man, regardless of what he looked like or what his title was. She could love a man for himself.
As she loved her Froggie. As she loved Roland.
Bonnie made a noise which might’ve been a chuckle, might’ve been a cough. When Vanessa glanced at her, she winked and offered them both a little curtsey.
“Propriety demands I offer tea again, so perhaps I’ll run along to the kitchens and ask for a tray. That should leave ye two some time alone.”
“Dinnae run,” Vanessa told her. “Walk.”
“Walk slowly,” Roland added.
Bonnie was grinning when she slipped from the door, and as soon as she did, Roland let out another great sigh and scrubbed his hand over his face.
Before Vanessa could comment on being left alone with him, he spoke instead. “I should’ve come earl
ier, Vanessa, but I kenned if I didnae prove to ye how sorry I was, ye’d never believe me.”
She pushed herself to her feet on wobbly knees, already shaking her head. “I am the one who owes ye an apology. I ken what ye heard me say right here in this room. I was speaking to Bonnie, out in the corridor, and although I didnae intend my words to be heard by anyone else, ye did, and I am so sorry.”
He’d looked as if he’d intended to interrupt, but at her words, he’d slowly closed his mouth. Now, he cocked his head. “Ye are sorry I overheard the things ye said about Lyon?”
“Nay, I am sorry I said them.” Her hands gripped one another in front of her, but she didn’t look away. If she didn’t say this now, she might never have the nerve again. “Yer brother has been through much and deserves my understanding, no’ my scorn. I insulted his appearance, which was beyond shallow of me, and I pointed out flaws which are likely a result of his loss.”
To her surprise, he crossed the room to stand in front of her. Once there—close enough to touch, if he gave her any indication he wanted that—he took a deep breath. She did her best not to drop her eyes to watch his chest expand, but it was difficult with him being such a well-built man.
“Thank ye for yer apology, love, but it’s been recently pointed out to me, the things which ye said, have been said before.”
“That doesnae make it alright to say them.”
He shrugged. “Perhaps. But my brother is scarred and, well, no’ brutal exactly, but he spends too much of his day wearing too little clothing, engaged in activities designed to make himself sweat and other men bleed. And he does prefer grunting to talking.”
Oh.
“Ye make him sound quite…”
“Barbaric?” Roland’s lips twitched. “He is the Beast of the Oliphants.”
Why was he ruining a perfectly good apology? She flushed and shook her head. “That doesnae excuse my words. I am sorry, Roland—I mean, milord.”
It wasn’t until he reached out to cover her hands in his that she realized she was gripping her fingers together tightly enough to cause pain.
The Lass Who Kissed a Frog Page 13
