A Rake for All Seasons: A Regency and Victorian Romance Boxset

by Samantha Holt

  “Rupert?” She gave the dog a scratch behind the ear. “That’s an odd name for a dog.”

  “I’ve heard worse,” he said tightly, unwilling to explain his choices to this nosey woman.

  “He looks more like a Charlie or…or a Lucky.”

  “Well, he’s Rupert, if the lady has no objections.”

  “I did not mean to…” The dog wriggled from her arms and burrowed his head into the basket. The woman laughed. “I suppose you are still hungry.” She set Rupert down and the sandy-colored animal made quick work of dragging the ham from the basket and gnawing it down to the bone.

  “Was that for him?” he asked.

  “Yes. I was worried he was a stray. Mrs. Shaw frightened him off, so I wanted to make sure he was well.”

  “Well, apart from some very bad manners and the habit of running into places where he does not belong, Rupert is a healthy mutt.”

  She peered at the dog. “He really is a mutt, is he not?”

  “Aye, there’s certainly no breeding in him.” The dog had been matted beyond recognition and riddled with fleas when he had begun following Hamish around. But he could not resist taking him in, cleaning him up, and feeding him. “I think he remembers the days he was starving and now he wants to be fed constantly, fearful of the day he might no’ get a meal again.”

  “Poor thing.” She gave Rupert a good fuss before straightening. “I suppose I ought to return to my aunt’s. It must be past the morning meal.”

  “Aye, well past, I reckon. Ye know, ye should not sleep out here. Anything could have happened to ye.”

  “I know these lands well. I have never come to harm yet.”

  “Ye should be grateful it was I that happened upon ye and not some ruffian.”

  “Ruffians frequent your land, do they?”

  “Not yet. Only stubborn, sleepy lasses do apparently. But I wouldnae be pleased should ye come to harm on my land.”

  Gaze narrowed into sharp slits, she eyed him. “Well, if you are done insulting me, I shall take myself off of your land and you can be rid of me, my laird.”

  Now why did his title sound like an insult? So far it had simply sounded strange and foreign, but the way she had just said it, she might as well have been calling him the worst of men.

  “See that you do.”

  “Good day to you, my laird.”

  She gave a hasty dip that was no doubt not meant at all genuinely and snatched up her basket. Hamish was forced to grab Rupert before he darted off after the woman. He held the dog tight until she had vanished into the woods and gave him a rough rub on the head. Rupert issued a sort of huffing sound and settled into his hold.

  “I know the feeling, mutt. I know the feeling.”

  Chapter Three

  The scent of books surrounded her. Rose inhaled deeply and smiled. At least in the bookshop she would not run into any brazen Scotsmen, nor would she think of them.

  Certainly not. She would not recall his blazing blue eyes or the curl of his black hair. Nor would she think of his thick legs, dusted with hair.

  Shaking her head, she forced her attention to the leather spines, decorated with gold. She only had a little time before Aunt May would want to return home so she needed to find something new to read. She picked up a red book and flicked it open.

  What sort of a man wore Highland dress in the lowlands anyway? Should he not be attempting to blend in rather than stand out? The huge length of him in a kilt had certainly surprised her. As a laird, would he not want to appear respectable?

  She chuckled to herself. Respectable…what an impossibility that would be for that man. He had said he was a soldier. Well, it certainly showed. She did not know many people but she knew gentlemen did not behave as he did, practically insulting her and speaking so coarsely.

  Rose stared at the title page. But, of course, he had looked terribly charming with the dog. The way his giant hand had ruffled its head. Not to mention he had picked Rupert up as a stray. That was certainly admirable and surely meant he had some kindness in him.

  Peering harder at the text, she huffed and slammed it shut before putting it back. Why could she not even enjoy herself in her favorite place in the world? It was all that wild Scotsman’s fault. She had thought of their encounter continuously for the past day. Why she should be so preoccupied with him, she did not know, but she could only conclude it was because she rarely met anyone so disagreeable.

  “Nothing to yer liking, Miss Rose?” the shopkeeper asked.

  She glanced his way. “I am struggling to choose,” she admitted.

  He came out from behind his desk, his long, lanky frame seeming to bend and wave as he did so. Mr. Sherbourne had owned the bookshop since before her arrival in Scotland and had always seemed immensely tall to her, even as she grew. His arms were like thin twigs and all of his clothes never quite fit him properly. But even though he had seemed like a giant to her the first time she had met him many years ago when her aunt had brought her here, he had a kind twinkle in his eye and he had taken to her as soon as he’d realized her love of books.

  The highlander had been tall too, she thought vaguely. Though entirely differently built and he had no soft, inviting twinkle to his eye. His shoulders had stretched impossibly wide, testing the width of his plaid and shirt. Rose doubted Mr. Sherbourne could ever stretch anything.

  “I did get in a few new titles the other day,” he said, drawing her attention to a stack of books on the desk. “There was one I thought ye might like.”

  “Only one?”

  He chuckled. “Well, the others were philosophy.”

  She smiled. “Yes, I suppose those would not interest me much.”

  “I should be heading to Glasgow in a few weeks. If ye have any special requests, I would be delighted to bring ye some books back.”

  “You know what I like, Mr. Sherbourne.”

  “That I do. Exciting tales of daring feats. Which is why I thought ye might like The Mysteries of Udolpho.” He handed it to her. “If ye are still reading history books, I might be able to find something for ye. Ye were reading about Ancient Greece last time, were ye no’?”

  “I was but I think I have had my fill.” She flicked open the book and read the first paragraph. “I think I shall take this but…would you have any books on…” Heat filled her cheeks “on the history of the Highlands?”

  The man beamed at her. “Well, naturally I do. It’s admirable that ye should want to learn about the country in which you live. Of course, Highland history is a little more interesting than that of the Lowlands. I should imagine ye want to read of the many battles and infamous soldiers.”

  Her smile wavered when she considered the soldier she had met yesterday. “Y-yes.”

  “If ye just wait a moment…” Mr. Sherbourne moved past her and deep into the recesses of the small cottage that had been converted into a bookshop.

  Books were stacked in every corner while some teetered precariously on wonky wooden shelves. Every inch of space was taken up with books, and when she had first visited with her aunt as a young girl, she had been mesmerized. Her aunt had bought her a few books with beautiful engravings, and her love of books had been secured. Once she could read bigger books, there had been no stopping her.

  The problem was she feared she was going to run out of books to read soon. There was only so much reading one could do and her favorite writers simply could not keep up with her.

  Mr. Sherbourne returned with two books on the battles of the Highlands and one about clan warfare. He handed them over, and she brushed her fingers down the covers. “I shall take them. And this one too.” She lifted the fiction title he had given her. “They shall keep me busy for a while, hopefully.”

  “Indeed. Yer just like me, Miss Rose. We read quicker than writers can write.”

  “Yes.” She sighed. “I shall have to find a new hobby if I am not careful.”

  “I hope not.” Mr. Sherbourne smiled softly, his already creased eyes crinkling f
urther. “I shall return from Glasgow with many new and exciting books for ye to read, I promise.”

  “I look forward to it. Will you put these on my aunt’s account?”

  “Of course. Enjoy yer history lesson, Miss Rose.”

  “Thank you.”

  Books in hand, Rose stepped outside and hugged her shawl about her shoulders. Gone was the beautiful weather of the previous day, replaced with clouds and a cold breeze. Her Aunt May waved a hand in her direction and hastened along.

  “Did you find some books, dear?”

  “Yes, Aunt.” She showed her the titles.

  “Scottish history?” She peered up at her. “I thought you preferred ancient history.”

  “Well, I decided I needed a change.” That blush was on her cheeks again, she just knew it. But simply because she had met a highlander did not mean she was interested because of him. He had merely reminded her that there was a lot she did not know about Scotland. She might have lived here all her life but she was very aware of being English by birth and her aunt was not a native Scot, having moved here shortly before her parents’ deaths with Mrs. Shaw and Miss Taylor.

  “I am sure it will keep you occupied. Are you ready to return home?”

  “Yes. Did you get the fabric you wanted?”

  “I did indeed.” Aunt May gave a bright smile, one that made Rose want to hug her tight. “At an excellent price too.”

  From underneath her cap peeked white curls with a lingering touch of red. Rose had seen a portrait of Aunt May when she was a young girl, and she had been quite beautiful. That beauty remained, if in a wrinkled fashion. But her joyful eyes and wide smile never failed to make her seem utterly wonderful to Rose. Here was a woman who had taken in a newborn child when she was far past the age of being a mother herself. She would always be grateful to her for her diligent care.

  “I am glad.” They began their walk back to the house, following the main street past the houses and greeting the few villagers that were out and about.

  The houses in Baleith were close together, their uneven roofs and walls nearly touching in places. Each whitewashed wall was touched with a little mud and dirt, but the houses were tidy and well-kept. Her Aunt May’s house could be considered much grander than all of them, but no one ever treated them any different, in part likely helped by Aunt May’s careful ways. The house could easily hold many servants, but for the two of them, there was no need, and they were not extravagant. Aunt May never discussed her finances, but Rose imagined keeping such a large house was costly enough.

  “Aunt May,” Rose started. “Why did you not tell me there was a new laird at the castle?”

  Her aunt paused and frowned, holding her basket tighter to her side. “I did not really think about it, my dear.”

  “I met him yesterday.”

  Auntie May stopped completely. “You did?”

  “Yes. Did you hear from Miss Taylor about the dog?”

  “I did. They argued for a full morning about it.”

  Rose giggled. “The dog belonged to the new laird it seems.”

  “And you returned it to him?”

  “No, we met accidentally. I had ventured out of the forest in search of the dog.”

  Aunt May sighed, and they continued on up the country lane that led toward the river. “You should not have gone so far. I presume you met this man whilst you were on his land?”

  She gave a sheepish smile. “Perhaps.”

  “Rose, I have given you a lot of freedom. You really must use it sensibly. As much as you are not confined by society like many young ladies, it does not do to spend time with strange young men.”

  “I am more confined than some,” she muttered.

  Aunt Rose took a few more bold steps ahead of her, her head lifted high. “You are a lucky young woman and I think you forget that. Now I will not talk of this man any longer. The chances are the new laird will have much to occupy him and you shall not see him again.”

  Rose hurried to catch up. “Would it not be prudent to pay him a visit? He is our neighbor, after all.”

  As soon as the words were out of her mouth, she wished she could call them back. Why should she wish to see such a man again? Their meeting had been nothing but disagreements. However, what she said was true. Why would Aunt May not wish to pay her respects to the new laird?

  Her aunt turned her gaze on her, eyes narrow. “If he were a gentleman, he would call on us.”

  “I am not sure he’s a gentleman,” she murmured.

  “Well, then we have no reason to call on him.”

  “I didn’t mean it quite like that, Aunt. Merely that he is new to his lairdship and it was unexpected. I am sure he was not at all prepared for such a position. He said he was a soldier.”

  Aunt May paused in front of the gate leading to their garden. “You had quite the conversation with this man, did you not?”

  “Only a little one.”

  “You must stay away from him, Rose. For your own good.” Aunt May flicked open the gate and barged through.

  Rose stomped after her, slamming the gate shut. “For my own good? Why must it be for my own good? Why must I always remain away from people? You will not even let me spend time with the village ladies.”

  Aunt May’s expression softened. “You will never be one of them, Rose. I would hate to see you hurt. As for the laird…a man in his position has many expectations upon him. He will have much to think on and many duties to fulfill. He will hardly have time for you.”

  “I do not want his time.”

  Her eyebrows arched. “Really, my dear?”

  “I do not,” Rose insisted. “In fact, he was quite disagreeable.”

  “So you wish us to visit with a disagreeable man?”

  “I merely thought we should fulfill our duties, as kind neighbors. Once that is done, I would happily never see the man again.”

  Her aunt gave another sigh, though Rose could not quite figure out why the idea of visiting him vexed her so. She had been quite excited when the previous laird had generously given them his time.

  “We shall see,” Aunt May said so quietly Rose nearly missed it.

  Rose scowled and tried to crush the wild butterflies that seemed to have landed in her stomach at the thought of seeing the laird again. What foolishness was this?

  Chapter Four

  Today has been a bit more of a success, Hamish concluded. He’d done little running around after Rupert—though he had escaped his newly fashioned lead once—and he had not run into any wild fair-haired lasses who clearly did not like him one bit.

  Branson shut the door behind him and held out a hand for his jacket. Hamish scowled. It would take a good deal of time to get used to being waited on. Even as an officer in the army, he’d lived basically, sleeping on the ground many a night and eating what little rations they had.

  Unbuttoning his jacket, he handed it over to the butler.

  “What time’s dinner?” he asked the rigid-looking man who clearly did not approve of him one bit.

  The butler would be in good company if he met that lass, Hamish supposed. He’d yet to meet anyone who was thrilled to have a highlander as their new laird.

  “Whatever time you would like it, my laird.”

  That was something else to get used to. Him giving the orders. Aye, he’d been in charge of a small regiment, but he’d had other officers higher up than him commanding him. He made the decisions with the men, not for them.

  “Would Mrs. Finch be able to have it ready for seven?”

  “Of course, my laird.” The butler dipped and moved in a silent, stealthy manner that had Hamish wondering if it was a requirement of butlers to be able to slip into a room without anyone noticing. The amount of times he’d found Branson in a room as Hamish cursed to himself about something was beyond ridiculous.

  No wonder the man thought him barbaric.

  He couldn’t blame any of them really. The Highland regiments had garnered a fearsome reputation for themselve
s after Waterloo, and rightly so. But while that meant they were admired by many, no one really wanted one as their laird. Highland warriors were a novelty and nothing more as far as he could tell. From his brief journey up the country, he had encountered varying receptions and most swung from welcoming to affronted. A highlander was good for a quick tale of the war but for nothing more.

  He untethered Rupert, who ran off eagerly into the main hall. Baleith Castle was perfect for the damned dog. Plenty of space for him to run off and cause mischief. As for Hamish, he found it too large and too empty. The entrance was indicative of the whole castle with high beamed ceilings, huge portraits, and claymores and swords on the walls. A few hunting trophies scattered throughout finished the vision that had likely been his Great, Great Uncle’s and had not been updated since.

  “Must ye let that dog run wild?”

  He glanced up at the woman on the balcony above. His insides shriveled a little.

  “It’s his home as much as mine.” And not yers.

  Marianne had somehow come with the house. His cousin’s long-suffering mistress, she was refusing to leave, insisting that Cousin Malcolm wanted her to remain at the castle and, goodness, would he really disobey his cousin’s wishes?

  However, there had been nothing in the will for her save a small sum of money. Hamish understood well enough that Marianne had expected far more out of this relationship than money. She had been after a ring. But, alas, Malcolm had never taken the time to marry her and if the man had any sense, he never would have done. An ageing beauty, Marianne had all the personality of a doorstop.

  Marianne vanished through the arch in the stone, and he heard her footsteps coming down the spiral stairs. He grimaced to himself. It had been a good day touring the lands and checking on the herds. He’d finally felt as if he had achieved something. But a moment in Marianne’s company could change his mood rapidly. As much as he loathed the idea, he was going to have to offer her more money to leave.

  “Did ye have a good day?” she asked sweetly, her plump lips stretched into a false smile.

  “Aye, excellent.”