Pretender's Game

by Louise Clark

  “Dissembler!” she hissed as the steps of the dance brought them closely together.

  James frowned. Evidently, she was not one of those women who hid their feelings behind a wall of patrician coolness. “Kindly explain that accusation, ma’am.”

  “Are you not a supporter of the Stuarts, Mr. MacLonan?” she retorted in haughty fury.

  So that was the cause of the anger he’d seen in her eyes and the shaking fury she couldn’t quite hide. Since their meeting she had heard gossip about his past. “I was,” he replied carefully. “But I am no longer.”

  The movement of the dance separated them. When they met once more, Thea immediately picked up their conversation where it had ended. “You told me you had just returned from the Continent,” she said bitterly, while smiling brilliantly so no one would know of the anger building between them.

  He raised his brows. “Quite true. I was exiled for my part in the rebellion.”

  “You admit this?” she hissed incredulously.

  “I am not ashamed of my actions,” he replied evenly.

  Once again, the dance separated them. The moment they met again she attacked. “You fought for France!”

  An anger he’d sternly suppressed surged into life. His activities in Europe were not generally known here in Edinburgh. Only the military, Lord Staverton, and a few close confidants of his father’s were in on the secret. James was certain neither Staverton nor his father’s cronies were sources of Thea’s information. That left the military. Damn the English!

  “You are again correct, Miss Tilton. After I left Scotland I took service in the army of France. I was,” he added dryly, “a Captain of Grenadiers.” The Grenadiers were a crack unit. To be their captain was a position of respect and trust. James didn’t think Miss Tilton would know that, and he discovered he was rather glad, for it would probably only add to her fury.

  The outrage that blazed from her dark eyes very nearly overpowered the brilliance of her artificial smile. “Traitor!”

  Evidently, she knew more than he’d expected. A thunderous scowl settled on his face. “Not to my own beliefs, Miss Tilton!”

  She looked away, hiding her expression from him. “A traitor to everything I hold dear, sir! You have met my mother. Have you, perchance, met my father—Sir Frederick Tilton?”

  The dance was reaching its climax. The measured strains forced them to move apart. James found himself smiling emptily at a young lady he’d met at some point over the last few days. She was making play with vacuous blue eyes. He had no idea who she was. Nor did he care. All he could think about was the last disdainful remark Thea had made.

  Sir Frederick Tilton. General Sir Frederick Tilton! How could he have been such a fool? He’d been captured by a pair of fine brown eyes and a mischievous smile and hadn’t bothered to look any deeper. A good Whig family indeed!

  The dance drew to a majestic close, bringing partners together once more. James and Thea did battle with their eyes while their mouths curled in unnatural smiles. She curtsied and he bowed; then she placed her hand on his arm to allow him to lead her from the room, all as custom demanded. When they touched, James felt a thrill of physical pleasure. Desperately, he tried to deny it.

  “You are English!” he complained as he strode impatiently from the floor.

  “Indeed, sir. How astute of you to realize!”

  “I want nothing to do with an Englishwoman!” he growled, staring straight ahead.

  Thea shot him a contemptuous look. Her voice shook with emotion. “Nor I with a traitorous Jacobite, sir! Kindly do not approach me in the future!”

  They had reached the spot where Lady Tilton was standing, conversing with Olivia Ramsey. James bowed over Thea’s hand with mocking grace. “With pleasure, ma’am!”

  As he turned on his heel and marched away, he was fighting the desolation of passionate emotions gone wrong.

  *

  “What a pleasant evening,” Arabella Tilton remarked later.

  It had been hours since Thea’s argument with James MacLonan, and her cheeks ached with the effort of continually smiling when she felt as if her world had crashed about her feet.

  “Yes, indeed,” Sir Frederick agreed heartily, heading for the drawing room, where he knew he would find a warm fire and a decanter of brandy. The night air was still sharp with winter cold, and he felt a need to thaw himself out.

  Isabelle yawned. “It was a wonderful ball. I danced with dozens of different gentlemen. I am quite exhausted. I think I must bid you all a good night and seek my bedchamber.”

  Thea murmured, “Sleep well,” then asked quickly, “Papa, may I speak to you privately?”

  Sir Frederick’s austere features showed nothing of his thoughts. “Of course, my dear.”

  “I’ll come up with you, Isabelle,” Lady Tilton said, tactfully leaving Thea alone with her father.

  Reaching the drawing room, Sir Frederick poured himself a brandy and took up a strategic position before the hearth. Thea, he noted thoughtfully, prowled like a wild creature infuriated at being caught in a cage. Since she showed no inclination to come out with whatever was on her mind, he gave her a not-so-gentle prod. “Now, my dear, what is it you wished to discuss with me?”

  She wrung her hands, distress in her every movement. “Papa, I met a gentleman at Judge Denholm’s soiree, one Mr. James MacLonan. Do you know him?”

  Tilton’s brows rose. He said cautiously, “I am aware of who the gentleman is. However, I have not had the pleasure of being introduced to him.”

  “Then you know he is a disloyal Jacobite!” Thea burst out passionately.

  Sir Frederick felt the same empty hollowness he’d once experienced when the regiment he commanded had been forced to retreat from a superior enemy. Then he had cheered himself with the knowledge that war was simply a game of strategy and tactics. A defeat could be righted with a victory in the next battle. He reminded himself of that now. Finding a suitable husband for a beautiful, but intelligent—and damnably independent!—daughter was as difficult as a major military campaign.

  “Thea,” he said placatingly, “while it is true Mr. MacLonan fought the ‘45—”

  She tossed her head. “I could overlook such an indiscretion! He is a Scot, a Highlander, I believe. His support of the Pretender stemmed from a traditional loyalty to the Stuart cause.”

  “Well then, what’s your problem, daughter?” Tilton demanded, somewhat impatiently.

  “He fought for France in the late war!”

  Sir Frederick didn’t immediately reply to his daughter’s outraged cry. He had also had difficulty accepting this particular part of James MacLonan’s past. However, after his first tentative conversation with Grant MacLonan there had been another. The reservations he’d felt were slowly dwindling away. He had come to believe James MacLonan was indeed an honorable man.

  “France is a traditional ally of Scotland, Thea. Remember, too, MacLonan was an exile. He believed he would never return. Why should he not fight the very people who forced him from his homeland?”

  “You are remarkably tolerant for the commander of the English garrison in Scotland, Papa!”

  Sir Frederick sighed. He looked down at the fire. When he spoke his voice was tired. “The rebellion began five years ago, Thea. Culloden and the reprisals which followed occurred almost four years ago. The time for bitter hatred is past. Scotland needs men like James MacLonan—”

  “Men who will stir the Highlands to rebellion again?” Thea interjected scornfully.

  “Men who have seen the error of their ways and who wish to rebuild a shattered society,” Sir Frederick corrected firmly. “It can only be to England’s benefit to have a strong, contented nation on her northern border. Men like James MacLonan, men of honor and strong principles, can forge a new, abiding bond between our two nations.”

  Thea had stopped her agitated pacing, but her hands were clenched into fists at her side. “A new bond,” she repeated softly. “A bond such as Jacob
ite and Whig, Papa? English and Scot? Is that why James MacLonan is required to marry within four months of his return? To forge that new bond?”

  “Who the devil told you about that?” Tilton burst out angrily, striding away from the fireplace. He halted inches from her.

  “It does not matter, Papa! That is not the point—”

  “It does indeed, daughter! The information is confidential. There are damn few people who… Harris!” Thea’s gaze faltered, confirming his guess. Tilton stepped away. He downed the brandy, then carefully placed the glass on a nearby table. ‘“Has the fellow been making bad blood between you and MacLonan?”

  Astounded, Thea gasped, “Bad—Papa there can be nothing but bad blood between James MacLonan and me!”

  “You seemed pretty taken with him at Denholm’s soiree the other night,” Sir Frederick reminded her pointedly.

  “I did not know who he was, then. He… he was simply a charming stranger who entertained me with interesting stories of his travels on the Continent.”

  Her father eyed her thoughtfully. “He still is that man, Thea.”

  “He lied to me!”

  Smiling humorlessly, Tilton demanded, “How?”

  “Why, he told me he’d done the Grand Tour! When all the time he’d been a serving officer in King Louis’s army!”

  Gently, her father said, “Will you believe me, Thea? I’ve made a point to look into MacLonan’s background and I promise you, he resigned his commission over two years ago and since that time he has been, as he told you, traveling in Europe.”

  Learning James hadn’t lied to her brought a smile to Thea’s face. “Is that really true, Papa?”

  Relief coursed through Sir Frederick. “Indeed, it is, Thea. His father, Grant MacLonan, assures—”

  Bringing Grant MacLonan into the conversation was a mistake.

  The smile died on Thea’s lips and her eyes flashed dangerously. “Have you and Mr. Grant MacLonan been discussing the possibility of a union between James and me, Papa? Because I regret to inform you that I will not, under any circumstances, consent to bond my life with his son’s!”

  She whirled, her chin held disdainfully high as she swept from the room.

  Sir Frederick thoughtfully poured himself another brandy and went back to the comfort of the fire. A defeat, he admitted, ruefully. His thin lips curved in a grim smile. But the war was not yet over, not by any means.

  Chapter 5

  “Thea, look at the beautiful print on this muslin! Don’t you think it would be perfect for a summer gown?”

  Thea and Isabelle were on a shopping expedition, supposedly to purchase new clothes, but mainly to draw Thea out of the dismals she had fallen into in the week following her angry flare-up with James MacLonan. Their first stop was the seamstress patronized by most of the ladies of fashionable Edinburgh.

  In one corner of the spacious showroom, Thea had been contemplating a display of fashion dolls newly arrived from France. Now she wandered over to where her sister stood.

  “It is lovely,” Thea agreed. She fingered the soft cloth. It spoke of green grass, open spaces, and coolness in the midst of summer warmth. She thought of Edinburgh in the summer, hot and sultry, with the noxious odors from the lake below the Castle often forcing people to stay indoors. Her mischievous dimple peeped out. “This would be perfect for a stay at Olivia Ramsey’s wonderful estate in the country. Perhaps she will invite us and you could wear a gown made of this fabric.”

  Isabelle laughed. “Then we could eat the wonderful berries that make such superb jam and we would all be perfectly happy.”

  Laughing, Thea said, “We would be if Mrs. Ramsey had her way. I have never met a woman who so wants to bring order to everyone’s life.”

  “Whether they like it or not!”

  “We should not belittle Mrs. Ramsey. She means well.”

  The dressmaker bustled over at that moment, and the Tilton ladies abandoned themselves to the pleasure of ordering new gowns for the summer. As they were leaving the shop, Thea said, “Mama asked me to stop by the linen drapers. She needs some cloth for new shirts for Papa.” They turned down High Street, away from the looming presence of the Castle.

  Although this was the broadest street in Edinburgh, it was still narrow by comparison to streets in other large cities. Thus, it was impossible to ignore people on the other side, and there were many greetings exchanged back and forth. So it was not surprising that when Thea and Isabelle saw James MacLonan and Lord Staverton opposite, Isabelle should respond to Lord Staverton’s greeting with a curtsy and a broad smile. Thea contented herself with a small, curt nod.

  “You should not be so friendly with Lord Staverton, Isabelle.”

  Isabelle looked at her in surprise. “Why not?”

  Thea colored. “He is a friend of Mr. MacLonan.”

  “Yes.” Isabelle said, her bewilderment deepening. “What has that to do with my being pleasant to Lord Staverton?”

  “He is probably a Jacobite like Mr. MacLonan.”

  “He was,” Isabelle said casually. “He gave up all thoughts of following the Pretender after the rebellion. He had to flee to France and he hated it.”

  Frowning, Thea demanded, “Doesn’t that bother you, Isabelle?”

  “No, why should it? I like Lord Staverton. He pays me outrageous compliments that make me laugh and he talks to me as if he takes pleasure in my company and wants my opinion. I enjoy being with him. He has told me that he regrets having followed a man who is quite obviously unstable and who would have made a poor king, and I believe him.”

  “How can you accept so easily, Isabelle? When I discovered that Mr. MacLonan was a returned Jacobite, I refused to speak to him again.”

  A dimple much like her mother’s and sister’s peeked into life in Isabelle’s cheek. “It is very simple, Thea. My feelings are not involved.”

  Thea halted abruptly in front of a shop window and dragged Isabelle to a stop beside her. “Repeat that, if you will.”

  Isabelle laughed. “Thea, when you met Mr. MacLonan you were very clearly much struck by him. Oh, you hid it cleverly, but you lit up in a way I’ve never seen before. Then something happened. I’m not sure what, but you have been quiet and subdued ever since.”

  Thea stared at the display of men’s suiting as if her life depended upon it. “The change in weather has made me gloomy, that is all.” While it was true the late winter sunshine had been replaced by cold dreary rain, her excuse rang hollow, even to Thea.

  Isabelle patted her on the hand. “Everyone finds the rain difficult.” She giggled. “Perhaps we should continue on. Our interest in men’s clothing seems to be creating something of a stir.”

  Thea shot a quick, horrified look over her shoulder, and did exactly as her sister suggested. “Isabelle, by the terms of his pardon, James MacLonan must marry by the end of April. It is now almost the end of February. He is looking for a wife, and quickly.”

  Isabelle nodded and smiled at an acquaintance. “Do you know, Thea, I cannot blame Mr. MacLonan,” she said at last. “His life in France was probably a very lonely one. He must have been desperate to come back to Scotland.”

  They reached the linen draper’s shop and turned inside. Thea didn’t want to think of James MacLonan as a tormented man willing to do anything to find a way to return home. She wanted to hang on to her image of a cool, manipulative man who could not be deeply touched by anything or anyone.

  A lonely, desperate man who fought his fears and kept his dignity intact was a vulnerable man, one she could respect as well as feel compassion for, and she was already too intensely aware of James MacLonan for comfort. Despite her imperious pronouncement to her father that she would never consider marriage to James MacLonan, she could not deny to herself that he fulfilled most of the requirements she looked for in a husband.

  Blindly, she picked up a bolt of cloth. “Do you think Mama would consider this fine enough for Papa’s shirts?”

  Isabelle fingered the ma
terial. “No. The thread is too coarse. This one would be much better.”

  After testing it herself, even Thea could tell the difference. She was glad that Isabelle had always loved fabric and had a knack of picking the finest quality after a quick look or touch, for it meant that her sister would not notice that Thea had hardly been aware of what she was doing when she picked up the bolt of cloth. After purchasing the required number of yards, Thea ordered the package delivered to their residence and they left the shop.

  “Isabelle,” she said with a sigh. “What shall I do? You are right, I am attracted to Mr. MacLonan, but I cannot forget that he is a Jacobite.”

  “Was a Jacobite,” Isabelle said gently. “Thea, have you discussed his political leanings with him?”

  Thea thought of the heated exchange in the midst of the minuet and her sense of humor sprang into life. “In a way. I told him I did not want to speak to him again and he said he had no interest in having anything to do with an Englishwoman.”

  “Oh.” The scope of Thea’s disagreement with James MacLonan was beyond Isabelle’s experience.

  “The trouble is,” Thea continued. “Since that evening I find myself watching him. I notice who he is dancing with or talking to and I wish that I was the woman he was with. I know I should not. I know he is a Jacobite, reformed or not. I know he is lost to me, through my own actions and because of my own beliefs. But… I cannot stop, Isabelle. James MacLonan lurks in my mind and I can find no way to chase him out.”

  “Mama would know what to do. Have you spoken to her?”

  “No!” At Isabelle’s surprised look, Thea said more moderately, “I can’t talk to our parents about this.”

  “Why not?”

  Thea hesitated, then said miserably, “Papa thinks I should learn more of James MacLonan. He thinks a marriage between us would be a good alliance for me.”

  “Well, then! Thea, if Papa approves of Mr. MacLonan, why are you being so stubborn?”

  Thea frowned at her sister. “I’m not being stubborn!”

  “Of course you are,” Isabelle said comfortably, nodding at another of her new acquaintances. “Think, Thea! Papa is the commander of the garrison here. If anyone had a good reason to loathe Jacobites, it would be him. He’s the one in the military, not you! He is the one who would be forced to deal with a new uprising, not you! If he thinks that James MacLonan is a good match for you, then it is because he respects James MacLonan, the man, and believes it when James MacLonan says he is a Jacobite no more.”