The Highland Guardian

by Jarecki, Amy

  “Papa was very proud.”

  “The overseer, however, told me the men haven’t had a pay increase in two years.”

  “Oh?”

  “Indeed, Mr. Poole said it would raise their spirits a great deal if we would give them another shilling per week.”

  She blinked, a furrow forming between her delicate eyebrows—a bit darker than the burnt honey of her tresses. “But the miners are already taking home ten shillings.”

  “True, though the going rate for coal miners’ pay is ten to fifteen shillings per sennight. Your men are at the low end. According to Mr. Poole, if they wanted to, they could move to Yorkshire and earn at least an additional two shillings.”

  “And you’ve verified the profits can absorb this?”

  He arched his brow. Most women would have deferred to his better judgment, but Audrey asked a very logical question. “Indeed I did. In fact, the profits are quite bountiful. You could double the pay increase without feeling undue hardship to the estate’s income.”

  “Though such a raise would be unheard of. You’re already suggesting upping their wages by ten percent—twenty would leave little room for increases in the future.”

  Reid was doubly impressed with her figures. Though a simple calculation, how many heiresses understood fractions and statistics? But it mightn’t be wise to show overawe. “My sentiments as well.”

  Audrey had a great deal to learn in a very short time, and moreover, he needed her to fall in love with a suitor at the damned ball. If she believed herself to be too competent and smart, she just might make his job more difficult if not impossible.

  Chapter Nine

  The eve of the ball at Raby Castle came all too soon. Ida, the chambermaid appointed to help Audrey dress, stood back and admired her handiwork. “You will be the most beautiful woman at the ball, miss. I am certain of it.”

  The best thing about living twenty miles from Staindrop and being an esteemed guest meant that Miss Kennet and the Earl of Seaforth arrived early and were given lavish accommodations and servants to help them prepare for the grand ball. Besides, the earl outranked the baron, and was treated accordingly.

  Audrey stood in the midst of a chamber trimmed with rose silk. The furnishings and wainscoting were hewn of mahogany wood that contrasted with the white marble hearth. However, when she gazed at her reflection in the looking glass, she was nowhere as convinced about her appearance as Ida. The scarlet gown was a work of art—something she might see worn by a countess in a portrait. It most certainly wasn’t anything a demure, shy wallflower like Audrey Kennet would ever allow herself to be seen wearing. She tugged up the bodice in an attempt to cover her exposed bosoms, but the mounds of flesh only swelled higher, making panic shoot through her veins. Dear heavens, if the neckline were any lower, she’d be able to see the tips of her breasts.

  Help. This gown is absolutely the worst idea I’ve ever had in my life.

  “Is there something amiss?” Ida stepped beside her. “Did I lace you in too tightly? Are the sleeves secure enough?”

  Audrey frowned. Everything was perfect, from the billowing taffeta to the ornate stomacher in white pearled beads, swirling in a paisley pattern. The sleeves were her favorite part of the gown, lacy, cinched with red ribbon in three puffs descending down her arm. Mr. Hatfield had truly outdone himself.

  “Please, I can fix anything,” said the chambermaid.

  Audrey took in a deep breath—or she tried. Indeed, she’d been laced too tightly to allow for deep breathing—but past experience always proved that the laces would ease as the night wore on. “Your work has been splendid.” Audrey again cringed at her reflection. “I’m just afraid red doesn’t suit me after all.”

  “I must disagree with you there, miss. That red makes you look ravishing.”

  She flipped open the ivory lace fan she’d painted with red roses for this occasion and cooled her face. “That is what I’m afraid of.”

  The chambermaid sighed, grinning as if she harbored not an iota of trepidation. “It must be splendid to attend a real ball. To wear a gown like that. Why, I’d reckon your frock would cost an entire year’s wages.”

  Audrey shifted her attention from her overexposed cleavage to Ida. “’Tis odd, is it not? I’d like it ever so much if I never had to don another ball gown again.”

  “’Twould be a folly, miss. For you look ever so lovely. Every man will want to have a dance with you this eve.”

  Audrey gulped. “Unfortunately, I’m not much for dancing, either.”

  “An heiress who does not dance? I’ve never heard of such a thing. Did you not have lessons?”

  She gave the maid a humored look. “I did, and the dance master told me I’d be better off in the orchestra.”

  “What an awful thing to say.”

  Snapping her fan closed, Audrey shook it toward the mirror. “It was truthful. I’m clumsy.”

  “Well, mayhap so many guests will arrive, your duties in the welcoming party will keep you engaged.”

  Audrey again regarded her bosoms. Then she critically spied her reflection as she curtsied, managing to keep her nipples hidden.

  I’d best keep my back ramrod straight else I could be on display for the entire hall.

  “Miss Audrey?” The Earl of Seaforth’s voice rumbled through the timbers while a rap came at the door. “Are you nearly ready? The baron has requested our presence in the receiving line.”

  Ida patted Audrey’s hand. “You’ll have a grand time, I am certain of it.” She hastened across the room and opened the door, dipping into a deep curtsy—one befitting an earl, and a courtesy Audrey hadn’t observed since the Highlander first darkened the halls of Coxhoe House.

  She clasped her fan between her hands and tried to swallow against the thickening in her throat.

  Reid MacKenzie stood in the doorway like he was king of Scotland. The man didn’t wear a periwig. He didn’t need such an embellishment. No one would ever want to cover up such thick, tawny waves. Though he oft wore his hair tied back with a ribbon, this eve it framed his face, hanging well below his shoulders. The style accented the striking masculinity of his features. Bold dark eyebrows slanted over intense eyes, piercing like a bird of prey. He wore a fine tartan woven with dark blue and hunter green, crisscrossed with red and white. From beneath the hem of his green velvet doublet, the plaid draped around his back and over his shoulder, secured with an enormous brooch. With an aura of power in his commanding presence, he stepped into the chamber, his eyes growing darker—like the coal in her father’s mine.

  “Och,” he said, his mouth parted, his gaze sliding down to the exposed flesh above her bodice.

  Never in all her days had any man stared at her with such raw fervor in his eyes. Was he angry that she’d worn red? Audrey’s heart sank. Mrs. Hobbs had been right.

  The neckline is far too revealing. I knew it.

  A fire spread through her cheeks. The evening hadn’t begun and it was already a disaster. “Perhaps I should don my day dress, my lord?”

  “Huh?” he uttered with non-earl-like composure—though he looked more like an earl this evening than he ever had at Coxhoe House.

  She snapped open her fan and jammed it atop her cleavage. “Forgive me, but I didn’t try on my gown before we arrived. I fear it is too revealing.”

  “I think ’tis stunning,” said Ida in her colloquial, northern England brogue.

  Seaforth’s Adam’s apple bobbed as he shifted his gaze to the maid. “That’s one way of putting it.” White teeth skimmed his bottom lip. “Though I would have used the word ‘exquisite.’ ‘Dazzling,’ perchance.”

  Audrey wanted to slip into the garderobe and lock herself inside. “’Tis not too audacious?” she asked.

  The corner of the earl’s mouth turned up while his eyes grew darker. “’Tis a ball, lass. Though Mrs. Hobbs should have warned me. I’ll be forced to keep one hand on the hilt of my dirk throughout the night.” He offered his elbow, his gaze slipping to her cl
eavage. “Shall we?”

  With a long exhale, she joined him as together they made their way to the gallery. “Are the pair of you conspiring against me now? What did you mean, Mrs. Hobbs should have warned you?”

  He gave her a sideways glance while his tongue slipped out the corner of his mouth. A rather devilish expression to say the least. “Och, ’tis simply I’m surprised with your selection of color and design. No man within viewing distance will be able to keep his eyes off you.”

  If she weren’t laced so tightly, her shoulders would have slumped. “To my dismay.”

  “Come now, doesn’t every lass want to find a husband?”

  “I suppose most do.”

  He pulled a small flask from his sporran. “My mother oft said there was nothing like a tot of whisky to steel her nerves.” He held it out to her. “Just a wee tot, now.”

  She thrust up her palm. “Absolutely not. The nuns at Talcotts said drink leads to man’s ruination and must never pass a lady’s lips. “

  “Are you insinuating that my mother, the Countess of Seaforth, was not a lady?”

  “I—”

  He chuckled. “I think your finishing school may have been a bit starchy with some of their guidance. Speaking out against Scots, telling a lass she shouldn’t dance, and now bemoaning the medicinal value of fine whisky? I’m not suggesting you chug the flask, but I swear on my mother’s grave the countess firmly believed a wee nip emboldens ones nerves.”

  Audrey looked to the flask. Mayhap she needed something to ease the jitters flitting about her insides. “If your mother recommended it, perhaps a tiny sip would be permissible.”

  “Only if you believe the nuns at your finishing school won’t discover your misbehavior and race up here to give you a good rap on your knuckles.”

  Audrey had to smile at the thought. In fact, it made her want to take a healthy swig as she’d seen Papa do from time to time. But decorum won out and she took a small drink. The liquid burned a stream of fire all the way down her throat. She coughed and patted her chest while her eyes burned. “Heavens.”

  “There’s a good lass.” Reid took the flask and tilted it up. Wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, he grinned. “Nothing better than pure Highland spirit.”

  “It burns.”

  “Only with the first sip.” He returned the whisky to his sporran. “How do you feel?”

  She squared her shoulders. Honestly, she was slightly light-headed. “I’m fine. No different.”

  “Hmm…if you’d like more…”

  “No, thank you.”

  He offered his elbow. “Shall we continue?”

  “If we must, my lord. And throughout the eve you can find me holding up the most obscure wall in the hall.”

  “Och, you’re carrying on as if your lessons at Talcotts had been a total waste of effort.”

  “Some girls are not as graceful as others. I, indeed, am quite adept at stumbling.” They ambled along the passageway toward a winding stairwell. “Do you think the orchestra might need a harpsichordist?”

  “Nay.” He gestured for her to enter first. “You’ll be fine. It would be my honor to dance your first set. If that would help to calm your trepidation.”

  “It wouldn’t at all.” She took up her skirts and strode past him. “That’s what my father said right before I collided with Lady Saxonhurst at Whitehall.”

  “You bumped into Saxonhurst?” Seaforth chuckled. “I would have given a crown just to have seen the look on that scheming woman’s face.”

  “You know the lady?”

  “Not a soul hath been to court without the displeasure of her acquaintance.”

  “Did she act against you?”

  “Not me, but her false accusations nearly sent Lady Magdalen Keith to the gallows.”

  Audrey pursed her lips, trying to place the name while the back of her neck burned. The earl hadn’t mentioned any women in their discussions. Was he courting someone? “Is this lady a friend of yours?”

  “Aye, she married the Marquis of Tullibardine not but six months past.”

  Audrey had no idea why, but this news served to put her at ease—until she stepped from the stairwell into the enormous hall. Though she’d passed through earlier when they’d been ushered to their rooms, servants had been scaling ladders to dust sconces, and the chandeliers had been lowered for cleaning and candle replacement. Now, everything looked like a fairy tale. Brilliance glowed with gilded opulence from the stormy scene painted on the ceiling to the wall reliefs depicting vases overflowing with golden flowers and fruit. Up top on the gallery, the orchestra was seated and tuning their instruments.

  Oh, how Audrey would prefer to be among the musicians—a very scandalous thought, indeed. In truth, ladies didn’t join orchestras. They gave recitals to small, private parties.

  Fortunately, padded chairs lined the walls. She spied one in the far corner that would suit. If only she could attach a sign to it that read “Reserved for the Clumsiest Tomato in the Hall.”

  They joined Lady and Lord Barnard in the entry hall. The couple looked every bit the part of regal country nobles, he in a suit of ivory silk and Her Ladyship wearing a gown to match.

  When introduced, Audrey dipped in a curtsy. “Thank you ever so much for inviting us. Everything is opulent.”

  “Does your chamber meet with your approval?” asked the baroness, her gaze coolly raking down Audrey’s gown.

  “Lovely, thank you. And Miss Ida saw to my every need.”

  “Splendid.” Her ladyship turned her attention to Seaforth. “She is as delightful as your missive suggested.”

  It took every ounce of resistance Audrey could muster not to flip open her fan and hide her face behind it. Merely the mention of correspondence regarding Audrey’s lack of prospects set her blood to boiling. She hated to be on display, and in such a public spectacle. But since the Earl of Seaforth was the highest-ranking peer in attendance, his presence was required in the receiving line, and because of his acquaintance with Audrey, hers as well.

  Almost as soon as they took their places, guests began to arrive.

  The master of ceremonies boomed forth the introductions before the couples and single men would proceed down the line with smiling faces as they spewed greetings that sounded about as sincere as the yowl of a tomcat.

  Every person who passed Audrey complimented her gown, though she doubted any of the men actually were looking at the fine craftsmanship of her stomacher and sleeves. Not one of them met her gaze, either, which did very little to put her at ease. If she was expected to find a courtier who would sweep her off her feet this eve, he certainly hadn’t made an appearance by the time the dancing began.

  Seaforth, however, appeared undaunted.

  As he promised, he escorted her to the dance floor.

  “We could sit out the first set,” Audrey suggested. “Give the guests a chance to settle in.”

  “I think not.” He shifted his gaze downward and inclined his lips toward her ear. “You really ought to try to have some fun. I can feel the unease radiating off you like an aura of foreboding. Rather than an exquisite rose, you are acting like a nervous hen.”

  She gave him a sideways glance. Nothing like having her guardian tell her she came across as anxious as she felt. In the past hour, she’d done nothing but try to look pleasant and accommodating, regardless of the fact she wanted to run to the stables and hide in a horse stall.

  “Oh, thank you for such words of encouragement,” she said. “It makes me feel so much better.” She took the deepest breath she could and lifted her chin. “Genteel, graceful, unassuming.”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “I’m reciting Talcotts motto. Every maiden must endeavor to be genteel, graceful, and unassuming, especially when in public.”

  He pulled her into position for a minuet, but squeezed her hands before he released his grip. “The graceful part is all well and good, but you are the brightest rose in all of England. Do. Not. Ever.
Let yourself doubt it.”

  She blinked, wicked thoughts playing on the tip of her tongue.

  The wilting rose? Dying rose? Seaforth hasn’t seen me dance.

  Perspiration beaded her brow as the orchestra played the introduction. Her stomach rolled over.

  Reid offered his hand, leading to the first step. Her fingers trembled as she took it. Rather than allow her to simply place her palm atop his, he gripped her hand in his powerful fingers. Inhaling, Audrey stepped with him and executed the serpentine pattern flawlessly. Encouraged, she followed the earl’s lead and continued with the dance she’d practiced hundreds of times during her years at Talcotts.

  Oddly, Seaforth had a knack for easing her trepidation.

  By the end of the dance, she’d only stumbled twice, and she prayed no one noticed. Fortunately, her feet were completely hidden by the volume of red skirts.

  The only problem?

  As soon as the music ended, a gentleman tapped her shoulder. “May I have the honor of the next set, Miss Kennet?”

  She shot a panicked look to Seaforth, but he provided not a lick of help. The rotter grinned and bowed. “It has been my pleasure, miss.” Of course he was all too happy to leave her alone with a smelly middle-aged man wearing a gold silk waistcoat and breeches that appeared to be two sizes too small.

  And there came the end of Audrey’s newfound grace. As soon as Seaforth left her alone, her clumsiness miraculously returned.

  The evening proceeded in a jumble of missteps and unpleasant dancing partners, most of whom had used far too much eau de toilette for Audrey’s taste. She stumbled her way through dance after dance, enduring the licentious gazes from men twice her age. The few younger suitors who danced with her could not hold a candle to the earl—they were either too thin or had gargantuan noses, or were balding. One was even shorter than Audrey, and they all stank.

  She shot a forlorn look to the dais to Seaforth, but he was too engrossed in conversation with Lord Barnard to notice. Doubtless, he’d completely forgotten about her, leaving her to the wolves. Praying for a reprieve, she started for the corner chair she’d pegged on her arrival, when someone cleared his throat behind her. “I beg your pardon, miss, but would you do me the honor of the next dance?”