It's Getting Scot in Here

by Suzanne Enoch

  “Amelia-Rose Baxter?” Aden repeated, in between pulling on his boots and devouring what looked like an entire damned chicken. “That’s a mouthful.”

  “Aye. So’s that food. I’ve nae seen much of it since I got to London.”

  His brother shoved over the plate. “I’ll make for this Gentleman Jackson’s, then, and see if I can drag Coll to yer wee picnic. Ye’ll have to meet Eloise’s beau and decide whether we should permit him to wed our sister or crack him over the head and ship him off to India or someaught.”

  “And if Coll’s nae boxing?”

  “I reckon if I can track a deer through the mountains in the rain I can find a six-and-a-half-foot Highlander clomping about London.”

  “Aye.” Aden likely could, at that. The middle MacTaggert brother favored slightly more cerebral pursuits like gambling, but he also had an eye for seeing things in people most of them would prefer remain hidden. “Before ye get him to the picnic, make sure he’s going to behave. His growling last night was damned unfair. It was her parents who shook hands with Lady Aldriss. Nae Amelia-Rose. I reckon Coll wanted to see if the lass would surrender, but he didnae have to do it with half of London watching.”

  Coll needed to be more pleasant. Amelia-Rose wouldn’t agree to marry him if she didn’t like him. And so she needed to like him. Or at least to converse with him long enough to see that he did have a pleasant, humorous side—when he wasn’t being dragged to the altar against his will. Even if she wasn’t as malleable as Coll had expected, she was the one Francesca had chosen. This needed to happen.

  In the meantime Niall would remain Coll’s proxy. The fact that he didn’t mind that fact, that he actually looked forward to seeing her again, would have to be something else he tried to keep back for later perusal. One thing was certain: If there was another English lass in London who had the same wit and charm, he was going to find her. If he did so, he was not leaving her behind when he returned to the Highlands.

  One thing he couldn’t leave to consider later was that he was already holding Amelia-Rose up to measure every other lass against her. That he wanted to hold her, period. Adae. Trouble, indeed.

  Chapter Five

  “And?” Victoria Baxter prompted.

  Amelia-Rose jumped. “My goodness, Mother, I didn’t hear you come in,” she said, twisting in her dressing chair to see her mother standing in front of the closed bedchamber door.

  “Oh, I’ve lost the braid, Miss Amy,” her maid, Mary, said with a grimace. “Please do sit still, or we’ll never have you ready in time.”

  “It’s Amelia-Rose, Mary. Please don’t make me correct you again,” Victoria said, moving into the depths of the room.

  The maid curtsied, her blush reflected in the dressing mirror and making Amelia-Rose clench her jaw. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Baxter. I’ll remember.”

  “I’m sorry, Mary,” Amelia-Rose cut in, facing forward again. “You’re performing miracles as it is.”

  Her mother joined them in the mirror’s reflection as she sat on the end of Amelia-Rose’s bed. “Why are you dressed for an outing? Are you avoiding me?”

  “No, Mother. Of course not. Coll—Lord Glendarril—is escorting me to Lady Margaret’s alfresco luncheon.” It wasn’t precisely a lie, since Niall had promised that either he or Coll would be there to fetch her. It should be Coll, of course, especially if she was to judge his character honestly. As of this morning she’d somewhat softened toward Highlanders, which left her willing to give him another chance.

  “I told you, Lady Margaret is too forward. You don’t want to be seen with her and have anyone think the same thing about you.” Victoria sniffed. “You have enough to overcome.”

  This again. “Margaret is not forward. She’s friendly. And I’m not going alone, anyway. You said you wanted this to look like a love match. The viscount and I must therefore be seen together.”

  “True enough.” Her mother folded her hands primly into her lap. “I am somewhat confused, though. For the previous fortnight you’ve done little but complain that you would rather reside in a nunnery than wed some brute of a Highlander no matter if he was the Duke of Scotland.”

  “That was before I met him.”

  “It was, indeed. Which, considering that he left the theater last night before Juliet even appeared on stage, makes me wonder why you’re suddenly so eager to be seen with him in public. I have to assume that this morning he gave you an assurance that his suit is indeed serious? Because otherwise I might think you simply want to go to a picnic.”

  Amelia-Rose relaxed a fraction. Of course her mother didn’t care about the details of any conversation or how her daughter felt about Coll MacTaggert now. She only wanted to know if everything looked well after the poor showing the viscount had made last night. And that her daughter was still set to become a viscountess, and a future countess. “Yes, I am much reassured,” she said aloud.

  After all, now she knew that her almost-betrothed repaired cotters’ roofs and saved sheep from bogs. It wasn’t at all that his brother had bothered to apologize on the viscount’s behalf, or that he’d amused her and left her feeling appreciated. It wasn’t that for once she hadn’t had to apologize for being blunt or impertinent. Nor that having someone else, especially an exceptionally handsome man with indescribable eyes, attempting to make amends to her felt refreshing. Or that she wanted to see him again.

  “I’m pleased Lord Glendarril’s character is better than my first estimation,” her mother said crisply. “The Spenfield ball is on Thursday. He may escort us there and prove his worth in person. I should like to witness it for myself.”

  Drat. “I don’t know that he’s been invited,” Amelia-Rose countered. “He’s only been in Town for a day, after all, and you know that the Spenfield ball is quite exclusive.”

  Victoria flipped a hand as she stood. “Don’t make excuses in advance, darling. It makes me doubt your veracity. Lady Aldriss will have been invited, so of course her unmarried sons will be welcome. I haven’t forgotten, even if you have, that Penelope Spenfield has four marriageable daughters.”

  No, she hadn’t forgotten. That was why she’d been looking forward to the ball before her parents had dragged her into an engagement: The young men would greatly outnumber the young ladies, a phenomenon rarely seen elsewhere. No miss ever lacked for a dance partner at a Spenfield ball, everyone said. Some of Amelia-Rose’s female friends had made a point of endearing themselves to one of the Spenfield sisters just to increase their chances of garnering an invitation.

  Her mother had paused in the doorway, so Amelia-Rose nodded carefully, trying not to dislodge her maid and her braid again. “I’ll inform him, of course. The Spenfield ball on Thursday.”

  “Splendid. Once everyone has seen how well you two suit, we’ll be able officially to announce the engagement and call it a love match. That sounds much more pleasant these days, with everyone so infatuated with Byron and his silly romantic verse.”

  Amelia-Rose gave a silent sigh. She had only a handful of days, then, to make a true assessment of Coll MacTaggert in place of the rather colorful one given her by his brother and the sullen one she’d seen for herself. Blast Lord Byron and his romantic verse, anyway. It gave one such … impossible dreams of love and passion. No one could live up to that—and certainly not a brute of a Highlander.

  None of this solved the problem of the man himself, though. If he should prove to be thoughtful and decent and able to compromise, if he could guarantee that she would be able to spend the Season in London every year and that she wouldn’t be trapped in the Highlands, then Lord Glendarril still represented her best chance to escape this household. When she thought about more intimate things—the way his hands felt around her waist, long lashes lifting to reveal a sparkling humor in the depths of his light-green eyes—it wasn’t even her supposed beau about whom she was thinking. How like Niall was the viscount? That seemed very important to discover.

  Once Mary finished braiding her hair and coiled i
t into a pert, looped bun, Amelia-Rose requested Jane and a light luncheon in the informal dining room. It would never do to appear famished at the picnic. As she dined, Hughes the butler brought her a letter, and she frowned as she lifted it off the silver salver.

  “I do hope Mr. MacTaggert was able to locate Lord Glendarril,” her companion commented, sipping at her Madeira. “If they beg off attending the picnic now, your mother will not be pleased.”

  “My mother is well pleased that Lord Glendarril joined me for coffee this morning,” Amelia-Rose said firmly, breaking open the wax seal and unfolding the letter. “And that he has insisted on escorting me to the picnic. She will remain so.”

  “Yes, of course. You know you may always trust me, Amelia-Rose.”

  Oh, she hoped that was true. “Of course, cousin.” As she read through the missive, she relaxed. “It’s only a letter from Lord Phillip,” she said, relieved.

  Lord Phillip West wrote rather pedestrian letters, and in person he had a bit of a lisp and no title. But his soulful brown eyes … Oh, a young lady could perish in their depths. In addition, he was excellent at the waltz. On the other hand, he only spoke of the weather and the latest fashions and horses, which made polite conversation absurdly simple. She’d practiced on him quite a bit at the beginning of the Season. If only he’d been his older brother Lionel, the Marquis of Durst, he would have been perfect.

  That was all she wanted, truly: a well-spoken, handsome man who enjoyed parties and Society, had an estate not ten miles from London, and—for her mother’s sake—could make her a lady. As her mother said, Father being an earl’s second cousin allowed them into Society, but it didn’t make anyone bow or curtsy to them.

  She imagined a lifetime of conversation about horses and the weather would be supremely boring, but she would have ready access to London to make up for that. She’d never really conversed with Phillip’s older brother, though, and she was only imagining them to be similar. Oh, what if he read? What if he enjoyed frankly discussing books and politics?

  Except she wasn’t all but engaged to the Marquis of Durst. Her man was Scottish and bad-tempered and nearly as tall and broad-shouldered as a mountain. Unless she could convince him to remain in London, this simply wouldn’t work. How could she tolerate a lifetime of isolation from culture and friends and the social gatherings that she would finally be able to enjoy without having to worry about catching the right man’s eye?

  After luncheon she and Jane settled into the morning room for her to compose a letter or two to her own friends, and for Jane to finish some embroidery. Any response to Lord Phillip would have to wait at least two days but not more than four; it was important to appear neither too eager nor too disinterested, however unfit the recipient was to become her husband.

  Before the clock in the hallway could finish announcing the hour, she heard Hughes pull open the front door. “I do hope it’s the viscount,” Jane whispered. “This subterfuge is beginning to make me nervous.”

  “It’s only a little subterfuge,” Amelia-Rose replied in the same tone. “We must show some compassion for a man new to London.”

  “You mean new to civilization, I think,” her companion returned.

  “Hush.”

  “Miss Amelia-Rose, that Niall MacTaggert fellow is here for you again,” the butler said from the morning room doorway. “Do you wish me to send him away?”

  “That’s not necessary.” A small smile touched her mouth before she could smother it. Niall had come. That was only because Niall’s presence would mean less weight on her shoulders, she told herself, setting aside her correspondence and picking up her waiting straw bonnet. It was her favorite, decorated with small yellow silk flowers that precisely matched the yellow flowers patterned throughout her light-green walking dress.

  “There ye are,” Niall said as she glided into the foyer.

  She dipped a curtsy. “Your brother is waiting for us, I assume?” she asked, sending a pointed glance at the butler.

  “Aye. He rode ahead and will meet us there,” the Highlander returned smoothly, his nearly colorless green eyes practically dancing.

  “And you’ve secured a barouche?”

  “See for yerself, adae,” he drawled, offering his arm.

  Trying not to notice the hard, taut muscles of his forearm beneath the material of his black coat, she stepped outside beside him. He hadn’t changed clothes since this morning, but being a man—and especially a foreign one—that didn’t matter as much as it would have if she’d stayed in her riding habit. She would never live that down.

  He had indeed secured a barouche—along with his sister and Eloise’s betrothed. “Eloise!” she exclaimed, releasing her grip on his arm to hurry forward and hug her friend. “I had no idea you were coming.”

  “I refused to hand over the barouche,” Eloise Oswell-MacTaggert replied with a grin, pulling Amelia-Rose onto the seat opposite her. “But Niall explained that it was vital to the day, so I agreed to share.”

  Jane still stood on the front step, but her solemn expression didn’t fool Amelia-Rose for a second. “Eloise and I will chaperone each other,” she said, shifting over so Niall could sit beside her. “So you are free to hunt down that hard candy Father brought home yesterday.”

  Her companion nodded, sent Niall a last, speculative glance, and retreated inside the house with the butler. Hm. Both she and Niall had made it clear that they would be meeting Coll, but then Jane already knew they’d lied about that very same thing this morning. She and her second cousin were going to have to have a chat when she returned.

  “Trouble?” Niall asked, following her gaze.

  Amelia-Rose straightened. “No. Not yet. Will Lord Glendarril actually be joining us?”

  “With any luck, aye. Aden—our other brother—is fetching him.”

  “I’d begun to think all three of the MacTaggert brothers were a myth,” Matthew Harris said from opposite Niall. “I’m relieved at least one of you is real.”

  Niall grinned, the expression a little cooler than it had been just a moment ago, reminding Amelia-Rose that he could be much more formidable if he chose. “Just ye bear in mind that I’m the nice one.”

  Matthew smiled back. “Then I remain relieved that I’ve met you first.”

  “Don’t listen to him, Matthew,” Eloise said, hugging her fiancé’s arm with an obvious affection that made Amelia-Rose a little jealous. “They’re all nice. Just … mountain-sized.”

  “Ye’ve grown a mite since last I saw ye, yerself,” Niall returned, easing into genuine amusement again. Good heavens, he was handsome when he smiled like that.

  “Do you truly remember me? You were barely seven years old when Mama and I moved to London.”

  He tilted his head. “Of course I remember ye. Ye were wee and plump, as bairns should be, but I see yer eyes in ye still. And yer smile.”

  The affection between them, near strangers though they were, was palpable. “You two make me wish I had a sibling,” Amelia-Rose said aloud. Sighing, she shook herself. “Speaking of which, Matthew, where is your sister?”

  “My aunt Beatrice wrote to say she and her three young ones had all taken ill, so Miranda and my mother went back to Devon this morning to help tend them. With any luck they’ll be home in a week or so.”

  “Does everyone know everyone else in Mayfair, then?” Niall asked.

  “Very nearly,” Eloise answered. “Amelia-Rose came out a year before me, but we go to all the same parties. By now we’re practically sisters.”

  That made Amelia-Rose smile. Eloise MacTaggert had proven to be much less judgmental than others, perhaps because she knew she had three wild brothers just to the north. “We are, and thank you for saying so. There are others who aren’t quite as friendly.”

  “And why is that?” Niall prompted, frowning. “The lot of ye baffle me.”

  “Once a lady turns eighteen, there are certain expectations,” Matthew offered. “She is foremost to do her family honor, which for mo
st young women means she needs to attract the attention of a man who will offer for her hand.”

  “She must comport herself with dignity and grace, for every word she utters and every move she makes reflects on her schooling, upbringing, and parentage,” Eloise recited. “An offer of marriage is therefore a compliment to both her and her family.”

  “But it can’t be just any man,” Amelia-Rose took up, warming to the conversation and rather relieved that Eloise had dealt with the proper-behavior portion. “She may have any number of suitors, but she is to choose and marry only the best of them. The one with the loftiest heritage, of course. He must also have the means to support her and quite possibly the rest of her family. If he can lift both her and her family’s status in Society, that is the most ideal.”

  “I’m beginning to feel inadequate,” Matthew drawled, chuckling. “I’m a mere seventeenth in line to inherit my family’s dukedom, and my father has been known to dabble in trade in an effort to keep our coffers full.”

  “Yes, but you’re very pretty,” Eloise countered, patting his shoulder.

  “Handsome, darling. I’m very handsome,” Matthew corrected with a grin, taking her hand in his to kiss her knuckles.

  Amelia-Rose found it all slightly too sweet for her taste, but from Niall’s expression he remained baffled by the exchange. As handsome as he was, she could well believe that no woman would have dared reduce his worth to his pleasing countenance. “And here you see,” she said aloud, her gaze on him, “the rare and much-envied love match. Sugary, full of cooing sounds, and completely oblivious to how very lucky they are.”

  Niall looked at Amelia-Rose, catching her gaze. Over a day’s acquaintance he’d found her to be amusing, clever, very conscious of propriety, and willing to use his circumstance to her advantage—at least as far as enabling her to attend a picnic. She could be sharp-tongued, but he hadn’t expected her to be cynical. And yet her description of a love match couldn’t be seen as anything but cynical.