Pretender's Game

by Louise Clark

  The Tilton ladies, Arabella, Theadora, and Isabelle, were taking tea with Olivia Ramsey and one of her daughters. Olivia was the wife of Brendon Ramsey, the Tobacco Lord, and money was of no concern to her. She was a plump lady, good-natured, although she tended to ignore the sensitivities of others, and very proud of her husband’s success in life. She had two daughters who had absorbed their mother’s pride of position, but lacked her mellow temperament. Indeed, they could both be exceedingly unpleasant when they chose.

  With their father’s fortune behind them, each of the Ramsey girls had married well and now spent little time in Edinburgh, much to their mother’s dismay. When her daughters were away, Olivia found pleasure and companionship in other young people, particularly Theadora and Isabelle Tilton. As Brendon Ramsey was a member of the Scottish Parliament and so worked closely with General Tilton, there were many visits between the families. Usually, Olivia was on her own when the Tilton ladies stopped by. Today her younger daughter, Joan, was there. She was deep in conversation with Isabelle, leaving Thea and Arabella to talk to Olivia. That suited Thea just fine.

  Olivia was beaming at Thea, pleased at her consumption of the scone and jam. “I do like a girl who has a good appetite. You must be feeling better today.”

  Thea paused, the scone halfway to her mouth. “I feel fine, Mrs. Ramsey.”

  “Good, good. Last night you were quite pale, and I did wonder if you were ailing.”

  Heat began to steal up Thea’s neck. “Last night?”

  “At Judge Denholm’s soiree. I was in the supper room when you came in with Colonel Harris. He does seem to be a nice man, not encroaching at all, as you might expect from one of his sort. But I digress! I noticed that you became quite pale after he had brought you a plate of the judge’s delicious refreshments, and I did wonder if you had eaten something that disagreed with you.”

  Thea put the scone back on the plate. Very carefully, she placed the plate on the table beside her chair. “I was quite fine, Mrs. Ramsey.”

  “Excellent, excellent! Such a relief to hear. But you were so pale, Thea. Was there a problem of some kind?”

  Thea’s stomach was decidedly upset right now. “No, no problem.”

  “My dear! Why, you are doing it again! What is the matter?” Olivia leaned forward and put her hand on Thea’s in a friendly way. “Have I said something—oh!” Her eyes grew round. “It’s Colonel Harris! Has he proposed to you again?”

  The first scone felt as if it had taken up residence just below her breastbone and grown to triple its original size. Thea said weakly, “Colonel Harris did not propose to me last evening, Mrs. Ramsey. I doubt even he would be so thoughtless as to choose such a place for a proposal of marriage.”

  “Perhaps.” Olivia looked as if she wanted to pursue this interesting topic, but Arabella jumped in with a question about the Ramseys’ estate and successfully diverted Olivia’s attention.

  Unfortunately, Joan had noticed Thea’s discomfort. She suggested rather smugly, “Perhaps Thea paled because Colonel Harris told her that James MacLonan was a rebel.”

  Thea lost what little color she still had, and Joan chortled with delight. “Why, I’m right! That is the reason Thea was so upset last night! Who would imagine it? A general’s daughter, an English general’s daughter, bowled over by a Jacobite rebel. Why, that’s rich!”

  “Joan, do be quiet!” her mother snapped. “If Thea did find Mr. MacLonan to be an interesting man, well, why should she not? Your father has a great deal of respect for the MacLonan family. He has done business with Mr. Grant MacLonan for nigh on thirty years and found him to be the most honorable of gentlemen. That is why he arranged to have him released from prison as soon as he heard—”

  “James’s father was in jail?” Thea asked.

  Olivia waved a dismissive hand. “It is nothing to worry about, my dear! Nothing at all! They all were imprisoned after Culloden, all the clan leaders, I mean. Mr. MacLonan did nothing wrong, after all. It was very unjust to have put him in jail.”

  Thea sat up straighter. “He rebelled against King George, Mrs. Ramsey! How can you say he did nothing wrong?”

  Olivia smiled and shook her head. “His sons rebelled, my dear. Mr. MacLonan did not. He is a canny man, the MacLonan. He made sure that it was well known that he did not adhere to the Pretender, even if his two wild sons did. The ploy worked very well in the end, for it got him out of prison and allowed him to do what was necessary to get James back from Europe.”

  “Ploy? Then it was true? He did follow the Pretender?”

  “The MacLonans are a close-knit family, my dear. The two boys worshiped Grant, and James… well, James worshipped his older brother too. You should have seen them together, both so tall and dark, striding along, their kilts swirling about their fine straight legs. Two handsome men, my dear. James was the soldier, he led the clansmen, while Neil was the courtier. He was a member of the Prince’s staff, you know.”

  “No, I didn’t,” Thea murmured. She wasn’t sure if she wanted to hear all the details that Olivia was prattling on about, but it was helping her recover her color and allowing the odious Joan to forget her indiscretion.

  “Yes,” Olivia was continuing, rather misty-eyed. “The Prince took Edinburgh at the beginning of the rebellion, you know, and he gathered his army here. We saw them all; the young men so eager and brave; the chiefs, fierce, angry, determined; and the clansmen, just ordinary folk, here because their chiefs demanded it of them. The MacLonan brothers were at the center of it all. Fine young men, who believed in the Prince and everything he promised. I do believe they truly thought that they could defeat the English. And that it would be for the best! Yes, for the best! I truly believe that.”

  She looked at the polite expressions on the faces of the Tilton ladies, and for once showed some sensitivity to someone else’s feelings. “But you don’t want to hear about that, I’m sure.”

  Arabella murmured disastrously, “Not at all, Olivia. Your recollections are most affecting.”

  Olivia beamed and started talking about the Prince’s army again. “I remember one time when James MacLonan’s quick thinking saved a little girl from injury.”

  Thea’s interest quickened.

  “The Prince took the city of Edinburgh quite early in the rebellion, in September it was, although he never did capture the Castle. That meant the guns could be turned upon us at any time, although for the most part one would hardly credit it. Most of the time, having the Prince here was like being part of a giant, never-ending fair. There were parades and reviews, with the Highlanders marching about, the pipes skirling and their kilts swinging about their brawny legs.” She waved her hand. “Though that is neither here nor there. I was going to tell you about James MacLonan and the little girl, wasn’t I?”

  Arabella shot Thea a long-suffering look. “Yes, you were.”

  Thea caught herself smiling. Olivia Ramsey was a good soul, but she could be trying at times.

  “Yes, well. The English commander—not your dear husband, Lady Tilton!—but a truly old and feeble man named Lieutenant General Guest, would occasionally shell the men as they drilled outside the city walls.” She hesitated, looking dubiously at Arabella and Thea. When neither appeared disturbed she continued. “The bombardment rarely did much harm, but where the cannonballs hit, there could be damage from flying debris. James was one of the most energetic commanders, drilling his men nearly every day, to prepare them for the dangers of battle, I suppose.” She frowned. “How dreadful! I never thought of it that way before. You know—”

  “What was a little girl doing close to where men were drilling?” Arabella, the general’s wife, demanded.

  “Ah, yes, the little girl. Well, she had crept from her family’s home to follow the MacLonans as they marched. She was, oh, all of twelve years old, I suppose, and quite besotted with the pageantry of it all. Well, the cannonballs were hitting the ground with great thumping noises, and for the most part no damage wa
s done. The clansmen continued to drill, despite the bits of earth that flew about. Occasionally a ball would hit something more substantial, such as a stone wall, and cause a shower of chips that would injure a man, but the clansmen continued. That was war, James said, and they’d best get used to it.”

  “Very sensible,” Arabella said. “Apparently Mr. MacLonan was a capable commander.”

  “Yes, I think he must have been. Well, he also must have known this girl was nearby because suddenly, when another cannonball hit a tree and huge slivers from the trunk started to fly about, he bellowed something like ‘take cover’ and instead of doing just that, he dove for the girl. He knocked her to the ground and covered her with his body. That saved her life.”

  Unwillingly, Thea allowed her imagination to come into play at Olivia’s words. She could picture James at the head of his men, tall and straight, his eyes gleaming with the fierce passion of an idealist intent on his cause, yet still the careful commander, training his men so that they would be ready for anything. And a thoughtful man, aware of what was going on around him, willing to do whatever he must to save another. “You say he saved her life,” Thea said. “How?”

  “Why, his quick action kept a huge sliver of wood from piercing her skin! He was wounded, not as badly as the second time, of course, but it was enough to put his arm into a sling for most of the weeks he was in Edinburgh, although he could not be kept from the fight at Preston Pans.” She sighed. “It was a most romantic sight, the tall Scot marching at the head of his men, wounded, yet carrying on.”

  It was clear that to Olivia the war had been little more than a bright pageant for her pleasure. Yet Thea could not forget that the marching and drilling were preludes to a much darker occupation. Nor could she forget that less than a year later the clansmen who’d provided the pretty entertainment met the English army on the field of Culloden, and at the end of the day most were dead, while many more, like James MacLonan, took ship for France and exile.

  And now James MacLonan was back. Until that moment Thea been deluding herself with the happy fiction that Colonel Harris had been suffering an excess of jealousy when he told her of James MacLonan’s history. Unfortunately, everything he’d said was true. James might have saved a little girl, but he was a Jacobite, a rebel, and worst of all, a traitor.

  If the rest of Harris’s accusations against James MacLonan were true, what about the last, most horrible one?

  There was one thing Thea was certain of. No matter how much she liked James MacLonan, she would not allow herself to become embroiled in his desperate schemes to remain in his homeland. The next time she saw him she would have to snub him. It was her only defense.

  *

  The musicians struck up a lively jig, for those energetic couples more interested in dancing than in conversation or cards. James MacLonan, having dutifully squired the pretty cousin of the Duke of Argyll onto the floor for the last country dance, deposited the insipid lady with her gushing mother and sidled away as quickly as he could.

  He had just taken a glass of wine from a tray carried by a passing servant, when he noticed Lord Staverton standing in the doorway. With relief, he decided he could abandon his duty for a few minutes and converse with his friend, instead of leading yet another marriageable lady out onto the dance floor.

  “So,” Staverton said, his eyes amused. “How goes the campaign?”

  “Wonderfully,” James replied, taking a substantial swallow of wine. “I have danced with every unmarried lady here tonight and I cannot remember a thing about any one of them.”

  “Deliberately, James?” Staverton drawled. He waved to the servant and acquired his own glass.

  James scanned the ballroom and considered Staverton’s suggestion. Was it possible that he was trying to avoid the inevitable? That would not be a sensible thing to do, given that he must marry and soon. Besides, there was Miss Tilton. “I have very vivid memories of Miss Theadora Tilton. She is a very charming lady.”

  The amusement in Staverton’s eyes deepened. “She is a Whig, James.”

  “Isn’t that one of my most important requirements in a wife, at least according to the pardon?”

  “It is,” Staverton retorted mildly. “I was just reminding you, James, so that you would be prepared.”

  “Why? Do you think Miss Tilton would accept an offer of marriage from me?”

  Staverton shrugged. “Perhaps. She is two and twenty and has been out in society for three years or more. Yet she is still unwed.”

  James found he didn’t like the implication that Thea might be getting desperate to find a husband. He couldn’t imagine any man not being enchanted by the lively, intelligent Miss Tilton. “God’s teeth! I hate this cold-blooded business of taking a wife to ensure my freedom! Damn the English!”

  “The Whigs, James, not the English. Don’t tar all of us with the actions of a few politicians.”

  James sipped his wine. “When I mentioned Miss Tilton to my father, he spoke of her very appreciatively. He’d discovered that her family background met all the requirements of the pardon.”

  “Did he say anything else?”

  James’s mouth hardened. “No, I wouldn’t let him. I didn’t want to listen to the recitation of a pedigree.” The jig ended and couples began to leave the floor. James scanned the room looking for Thea. He noticed the handsome woman whom Staverton had identified as Arabella Tilton, Thea’s mother. He watched her, waiting for her daughter to return from the dance floor.

  Distasteful as it was, he had no other choice than to comply with the pardon. He’d had enough of exile, enough of fighting another nation’s wars, enough of wandering about Europe with no destination and no fixed point to return to. He was home now, and he planned to stay in Scotland for the rest of his life. If that meant taking a wife he didn’t care for, so be it.

  But he did like Theadora Tilton. The thought ran through his mind at the precise moment she glided up to join her mother. A portly man was with her. Theadora was laughing, and the heavyset fellow was panting as he bowed over her hand. Evidently he had just brought her from the dance floor.

  James studied her for a moment as he swirled the brandy in the glass with an absent gesture. Her eyes were large, almost almond-shaped, set beneath thin, arched brows. Her nose was small, her chin rounded, the bones of her face strongly marked, but delicately made. Surprisingly, her mouth was wide and generous. She smiled easily, with great warmth and considerable mischief. At those times a dimple would appear in her cheek, an utterly charming feature that added life to an already animated expression.

  The gown she was wearing, a pale blue satin, emphasized her fair complexion, just as the square-cut, boned bodice and fashionable hoops accentuated the natural curves of her figure. A disturbingly sensual image of the lovely Theadora dressed with much less formality rose in his mind. Sternly, he repressed it, but a small smile twitched his mouth. He’d wager his pardon that the lady would be a passionate joy to bed. Both fiery and playful, she would delight the man who earned the right to be her partner.

  “She really is a beautiful creature,” Staverton murmured beside him.

  James had to agree.

  The portly man moved regretfully away, and for a moment the laughter died on Thea’s expressive features. She looked tired, somehow sad. James felt an immediate desire to chase the melancholy from her expression and bring the mischievous vitality back into her eyes.

  The strains of violins, starting a minuet, gave him an opportunity. “Excuse me, Staverton. I think this dance with Miss Tilton is mine.”

  Behind him, Staverton laughed, but James didn’t bother to look back. As he approached the Tilton ladies, he heard Arabella say, “Colonel Harris has become marked in his attentions, Thea. It is not wise, or kind, to trifle with him if you do not return his feelings.”

  Thea’s head shot up, her expression surprised. “I have not done so, Mama! Colonel Harris presumes on the merest smile! I do not even like the—”

  She brok
e off when she saw James. He smiled at her. His smile deepened when she blushed and swallowed. “Miss Tilton, how enchanting you look this evening.”

  Thea flicked her fan back and forth in short, hasty movements. “Mr. MacLonan, I believe,” she drawled in a faintly scornful way.

  Arabella raised her brows. Her surprise at her daughter’s reaction was evident.

  James continued to smile, but his eyes had become watchful. “I am delighted you remember me. Our previous conversation has lingered in my memory as one of the highlights of my return to Edinburgh.”

  Thea quickly looked down, but there had been a snap of anger in her eyes that she couldn’t quite hide.

  “Allow me to introduce my companion to you,” she said, only the husky quality to her voice giving away the intensity of her hidden emotions. “My mother, Lady Tilton. Mr. James MacLonan.”

  James bowed over Arabella’s hand with the elegant style he’d perfected in France. “It is easy to see where Miss Tilton derives her beauty.”

  Arabella smiled, and a dimple much like her daughter’s came into existence.

  “I hear the musicians beginning a new set,” he said. “Miss Tilton, would you join me in the dance?”

  The fan in Thea’s hand once more waved in an agitated way. “I fear, sir—” she began in a frosty tone.

  Her mother didn’t allow her to finish. “You must be quite recovered from the last dance, Thea. I believe this is to be a minuet. Do go ahead. I am sure you will enjoy yourself with Mr. MacLonan.”

  Surrendering with a polite smile, Thea laid her hand on James’s extended arm and allowed him to lead her into the ballroom to join the set just now forming. Through the rich green silk of his coat, James could feel her hand trembling. He wondered what it was that was shaking her composure, but before he could inquire into what disturbed her, the dance began. He thought he would have to wait until after it was over to find out more. He was wrong.