Once Again, My Laird

by Angeline Fortin

  From the door, Leighton cleared his throat and, distracted, Georgiana called for tea and refreshments. She also requested that her new and somewhat temperamental cook be made aware of her unexpected guests so that dinner might be adjusted accordingly.

  “Oh, Leighton?” Maisie called as he turned to go. “I’m quite, quite famished so please make sure Cook prepares an additional serving or two, won’t you? And some extra cakes now wouldn’t be amiss either.”

  The butler’s gaze shifted to Georgiana and back to her daughter before he executed a stiff bow. “Of course, my lady.”

  With a satisfied nod, Maisie patted Baird one last time then flounced over to a chair near the chaise Georgiana had occupied and sat. She spread her skirts and took off her gloves before she picked up the still-open book.

  “What are you reading, Mama?”

  “Maisie, what are you up to?”

  “Whatever do you mean?” She blinked with studied innocence. “Can a daughter not long for her mother’s company?”

  “That is not what I mean. You’re acting most peculiar.”

  Her daughter was sometimes a bit of a flibbertigibbet yet never quite so abstracted as she was today.

  “I know.” Maisie sighed and stood to pace around the chaise when Georgiana approached. “I never knew being in an interesting condition could make one desire copious amounts of food. Did you have the same problem?”

  “Maisie…”

  “You’re going to dress for dinner, aren’t you?” her daughter interrupted, turning back to her. “I mean, you’re not planning on wearing that old thing, are you?”

  Georgiana smoothed her palms down the skirt of her favorite green muslin day dress. On warm summer days when she anticipated no one’s company but her own, the gown suited her despite being worn and out of fashion. “Since I expected to dine alone, I hadn’t given my attire a second thought. It shouldn’t bother you, should it? You know I rarely dress for dinner unless I’m entertaining or have guests.”

  Maisie shrugged. “I simply thought you might. I adore that bronze dinner gown you had made up before you left town.”

  “Well, since you’re visiting, I could hold a small dinner party next week to introduce you around and wear it then.”

  “But not tonight?” Her daughter grimaced. “You’ll at least put your hair up, won’t you?”

  Pulling the long length of her red hair over her shoulder defensively, Georgiana scowled back at her oldest child. “What is the matter with you today? It’s not like you to nitpick my appearance.”

  “Oh, Mama.” Maisie came to her side and gave her a quick squeeze. “You know I think you’re the loveliest lady in all of England.”

  “Then wha—”

  Behind her, a throat cleared again from the entrance of the drawing room and Leighton announced in somber tones, “My lady, the Earl of Ardmore…”

  With a sigh, she started to turn to greet her son-in-law, but to her surprise, Maisie stiffened in her arms.

  “…and Colonel Malcolm MacKintosh,” Leighton finished.

  At that, Georgiana froze in horror and stared down at her daughter who blinked up at her. Maisie’s green eyes widened with apprehension and something more, something bordering on glee.

  “Oh, Maisie, what have you done?” Georgiana murmured under her breath, stiff with shock and anxiety.

  “It was meant to be a surprise.”

  “It is,” she whispered, as Maisie broke away.

  “You were supposed to wait until dinner,” Maisie scolded as she joined her husband.

  “Wait where?” Ardmore handed his hat and gloves over to Leighton. “What’s more, it’s nearly tea time and I’m famished. How about you, MacKintosh?”

  “The same.”

  The deep, masculine brogue sent a shudder through Georgiana, though she hadn’t yet turned or made any move to greet her unforeseen guest.

  Unforeseen? Unimaginable!

  She rubbed her palms against her skirts, this time regretting her comfortable garb. Was this how she was to see Mal again? Shabbily dressed and covered in dog hair? Her hair was no doubt a regrettable tangle.

  Such misery.

  She fought the urge to lift her hands higher, to evaluate the current position of her breasts. Moments ago, she’d been thankful her maid hadn’t cinched her corset too snugly. But now…her breasts were hardly showing to their best advantage. Nothing compared to the pertness of twenty years and two children past. At least waistlines were much higher than they’d been back then so the additional inches around her waist would be somewhat hidden.

  Oh, how could Maisie do this to her?

  Such, such misery.

  There was no chance she’d be able to escape this…reunion? Debacle? Her rudeness was already beyond the pale in not yet greeting her guest. To leave the room without acknowledging him was a step too far. Even for a woman of her station.

  Steeling herself, Georgiana rotated. Shock combined with either joy or dismay—she wasn’t certain which it was—flowed through her as she studied the man from head to toe. His graying hair, portly belly, and sagging britches. Was that a gouty foot?

  With a fortifying exhalation, she extended her hand in cool greeting, waiting for him to come to her. “Colonel MacKintosh, how lovely to have you join us.”

  Chapter Seven

  Later that evening

  “Bernie? Bernie?”

  Georgiana shed her bonnet and gloves in the dimly lit foyer of her dear friend’s townhouse. The single candlestick held by a sleepy footman weakly cast its glow to the walls, as if it, too, protested the late hour. She knew her way well enough though, and after thrusting the gloves and hat in the general direction of the footman, she hurried to the foot of the staircase.

  Frantically calling again for her friend, she began to climb with the footman at her heels. “Bernie, where are you?”

  “Georgie! What on earth?” Bernie leaned over the bannister surrounding the stairwell two floors up. The long blonde braid dangling over her shoulder and her gold silk dressing gown spoke all too clearly what activity she’d been about to partake in…or was already.

  “Oh, my dear, I’m so sorry for the late hour,” Georgiana panted as she scaled the stairs. “I must talk to you. May I come up?”

  “Whatever is going on?” She must have seen the desperation on Georgiana’s face because Bernie’s expression altered. The touch of exasperation combined with the predominant concern fell away. “Wait, I’ll come down. Arthur, send a pot of tea to the back parlor,” she called to her footman, but then she narrowed an arch look on Georgiana, who’d paused halfway up the staircase. “No, on second thought, make it a bottle of brandy.”

  “Yes, my lady.”

  “Thank you, Bernie. No, don’t bother with that,” Georgiana added when Bernie smoothed her mussed hair. “No one will see you and I need you quite desperately.”

  “Bern? What’s going on?” A deep voice grew in volume until Bernie’s husband, Viscount Widcombe, appeared at the bannister. “Duchess?”

  “I apologize for the late hour, Widcombe.”

  “Nothing serious, I hope?”

  Georgiana bit back the whimper building in the back of her throat. Serious? This was beyond disastrous. “No one is hurt or ill.”

  It seemed explanation enough for him. Widcombe nodded with a yawn and disappeared from sight. Bernie tightened the knot on her dressing gown and made her way down the stairs. Upon reaching Georgiana, she linked their arms and steered her back down to the main level. Arthur handed a small branch of freshly lit candles to his mistress. She took the candelabra with a nod and pivoted toward the rear of the house.

  Once they were out of earshot, she whispered, “What is going on? You’re as pale as a ghost. Oh, please, tell me you’re not going to faint. You know I cannot carry you.”

  “If I were thinking of fainting it would have happened hours ago. The moment Maisie brought one Colonel Malcolm MacKintosh home to dinner with her.”

  �
�Malco—” Bernie gasped, stumbling to a halt. “No! Malcolm MacKintosh? Goodness, I haven’t heard that name in years. Did you invite him? No, you would never. Gracious, whatever did you—”

  “It wasn’t him,” Georgiana cut in as they continued on into the parlor. “I mean, it was a Malcolm MacKintosh but it wasn’t…”

  “Your Malcolm MacKintosh.”

  Georgiana sank onto a plush settee placed before the empty fireplace, staring dumbly into the vacant space. “My Malcolm MacKintosh. No.”

  A moment later, her friend pressed a snifter filled with far more than a single finger of brandy into her hand. She gulped it down, embracing the fiery burn, as Bernie dismissed the footman. The spiral of warmth eased her knotted gut and the fog from her mind. Still it wasn’t enough to fully dispel the panic and dismay of the moment Leighton had spoken that name.

  Or the rush of emotion that had followed.

  Bernie exchanged the empty glass for another full one and sat beside her. Waiting.

  “Maisie found the letters he’d written me…you know, back then,” she began softly, as she cradled the snifter in her palms. “We were packing my things in London and she came across the box. Before I knew it, I told her about him. How we met…”

  “What happened?”

  Georgiana shook her head. “My daughter somehow got it in her head that I needed to find him. My long-lost love, she called him. As if it were all some fairy tale and would end with a happily ever after. I made it clear I had no thought, or hope, or even desire to find him and thought she would let the matter rest. She didn’t say another word on the subject before I left London, so I’d assumed she had forgotten all about it. And now this.” She drained the glass again with a shudder and set it aside.

  Bernie took her hands and clasped them tightly. “And this man was…?”

  “Someone Ardmore found in the personnel records at the War Office, I assume.” Another shudder racked her and with a shimmy of her shoulders, she chased it away. That moment, though, when she’d hovered on the brink of panic and biliousness would haunt her forever. “I hadn’t provided her much information to go on. Only his name, rank, and that he was in the 42nd Highlanders. There are dozens of battalions within the 42nd and apparently more than one Malcolm MacKintosh over time.”

  “And when you saw this man instead of your Mal?” Bernie pressed. “You felt? What? Relief?”

  Georgiana inhaled deeply. “Of course. You should have seen the colonel. He’s a gouty old man of at least sixty years if he’s a day, which truly gives me pause as to how old I am in Maisie’s mind, I have to say.”

  “So, not a touch of disappointment?”

  “Absolutely not.”

  “Liar.” Bernie’s lips quirked and she shook her head. “And not even a good one. Of course, you never were. That’s what got you into this mess to begin with.”

  Rising to her feet, Georgiana faced her friend. “Does it matter if I felt even a momentary pang of disappointment? It doesn’t. The problem is, I don’t believe this setback has deterred Maisie at all. She’s determined to find him. I would have known it even if she hadn’t made a point of telling me so. I’ll have every Malcolm MacKintosh from here to the Colonies trotted into my drawing room until she finds the right one.”

  Bernie tapped her lip. “And we’ve determined that would be bad?”

  “Never knowing if the next time I turn around it may or may not be him?” Georgiana flung about and paced before the fireplace with agitated pivots. “I’d be on pins and needles for the rest of my days. And then what would I do if it was? Can you imagine? And for all my lecturing this evening, she refuses to cease this nonsense. My daughter is beyond tenacious when she gets an idea into her head. Regardless of what I have to say on the matter. As if I’m a doddering old fool who doesn’t know her own mind, Maisie has determined that this is what is best for me. Who is the parent here, I ask?”

  “Obviously you are the epitome of sense and rationality at this moment.”

  Georgiana’s hands flew into the air. “Oh, please don’t mock me now, Bernie. I can’t bear this, and you’re the only one I can talk to about the situation. The only one who knows.”

  “I also know that the calm, collected duchess I’ve known for most of her life has been replaced by a nervous wreck,” Bernie mocked. “Look at you, Georgie. Face it, if it didn’t matter to you, you wouldn’t be half so frazzled. I think you are disappointed it wasn’t him. I daresay somewhere deep inside you wish it had been.”

  Gads, she was right. For that split second before the relief had struck, there had been a crush of disappointment. Questions Georgiana wanted to ask denied by seeing the colonel where Mal might have stood. Leaving unanswered the years of wondering where Mal was, what he was doing, how he was doing, if he’d married, fathered children…died.

  That was the worst of it. When Mal left her all those years ago, he’d gone into battle. A brutal one, if the news articles she’d devoured were true. All this time, she hadn’t truly known if he’d survived. The unknown haunted her, leaving her despondent for days whenever she considered the possibility. Many a time, she’d contemplated looking into it but never had, afraid what the truth might hold.

  If she had turned tonight to see Mal there, even wrinkled and gouty, at least she would have finally known he’d survived.

  Georgiana’s knees softened to jelly and she sank to the floor in front of her friend, laying her head in her lap. “I would like to know.”

  “Know what?”

  “What’s become of him,” she whispered.

  Bernie stroked her hair back with a soft chuckle. “Not whether he pines for you? As you pine for him?”

  Georgiana raised her head. “I do not.”

  “Liar.” Another laugh. “I’ll admit you make a realistic show of it, but you forget how well I know you. You’ve been a devoted wife and mother, yet there remains a young girl in you who longs for her first love.”

  Shaking her head, she climbed to her feet and glowered at her friend. “I do not—fine! But even if I did, none of that matters. Bernie, I need your help figuring out a way to stop this madness. Maisie will persist in her search and I fear she might succeed.”

  “There would be one way to thwart her plans.”

  “What is that?”

  “To find him first.”

  Georgiana gaped down at Bernie. “Find him? How would that solve anything?”

  “For one thing, it would halt the parade of Malcolm MacKintoshes through your front door. It would eliminate the element of surprise. Allow you to be prepared for the moment.” Bernie ticked off the list one finger at a time. “And if you do find him, whatever the result, Maisie will have no further reason to pursue this. Am I correct?”

  “I hate it when you employ logic with me.” Georgiana swept up her empty snifter and went to the side table to refill it. She swallowed it down along with the hard lump forming at the base of her throat. A knot of apprehension so thick, she almost choked on it. “Oh, Bernie! I can’t do it. I can’t see him again. You know that.”

  “It’s been two decades, Georgie. That’s a long time to wonder.”

  “B-but look at me. Even if I found him…if he remembers me at all, I’m not the girl he’d recall. I’m almost forty years old.”

  “You’re eight and thirty and only just that. Hardly an old hag.”

  “I’m nearly a grandmother.”

  “Imagine his disappointment.”

  She was. All too well.

  Georgiana poured more brandy and tossed it back. At this rate, she’d soon be drunk as a lord or even passed out on Bernie’s parlor floor before the clock struck the hour. Either option was more appealing than facing Mal after all this time.

  “On the bright side,” Bernie smirked, “he may look exactly as you described the colonel.”

  It wouldn’t matter. With a groan, she lifted the glass again, getting no more than a drop or two for the effort. What an utter wreck she was.

  Retur
ning to the settee, she sat again, filled with envy for Bernie’s unwavering composure. Of course, it wasn’t her heart at stake. No, the keeper of hers was snoring away so raucously the rumble echoed throughout the house.

  “There is no bright side in this nonsense. It cannot go well.”

  Bernie clucked her tongue reproachfully. “Stop imagining the worst. Why not wait and see what happens before wallowing in doom and gloom?”

  Since there was no chance she’d conceive of an optimistic scenario given a hundred years of preparation, Georgiana argued instead, “I wouldn’t begin to know where to locate him. I do know Maisie is barking up the wrong tree searching in London though. He wouldn’t be there.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “He loved his family home, loved Scotland.” She sighed at the memory. “The way he spoke about the rolling hills, the rugged landscape. The colors. The water. He missed it. Longed for it.”

  “So, we’ll go to Scotland.”

  “We?”

  “Oh, dearest, I wouldn’t dream of letting you do this alone.”

  Georgiana hugged her friend but then her shoulders slumped in defeat. “To what end though, Bernie?” she asked, her voice raspy. There was only one scenario she could envision. “I find him, talk to him perhaps, and then what? I walk away with fresh heartache to plague me for the rest of my days. That’s what will happen, you know. Nothing will come of it. Nothing could come of it. Even if I begged him, he wouldn’t have me.”

  “But what if he would?”

  What if he would.

  Longing scored her heart. “Now you sound like Maisie.”

  * * *

  It was the early hours of the morning before Georgiana returned home. She sent the groom who’d accompanied her on the short walk to Bernie’s townhouse to bed but was too restless to seek her own. Walking around to the back of The Crescent, she made her way to the mews used by the residents. She slipped through the door and ran down the shadowy row of gated pens until she reached the last in the row.

  She clucked her tongue and there was a shuffle of straw. By the time she’d unbolted the gate and stepped inside, a welcoming nudge bumped her shoulder.