by Julia London
“I will tell you once more, as I’ve told you numerous times in our short, but significant acquaintance—you must trust me. He will offer.”
Maura looked away from him. She absently fingered her necklace.
“Maura?”
“Mmm?” She glanced at him from the corner of her eye.
“Donna even think of it. It will no’ go well for you if you do.”
“Think of what?” she asked innocently.
He smiled wryly—he knew her well. “If you do something that forces Mr. Cockburn to call off, I will deposit you on the side of the road without your necklace, aye?”
Maura smiled saucily. “You’ll have to take it off me, Mr. Bain.”
He leaned forward and whispered, “I command that you donna smile at me like that. It makes it bloody well difficult to think.” He lifted his hand and stroked her cheek. “Why you, Maura Darby? Why now?” he murmured.
“Why you?” she whispered, just as mystified. Her vision blurred as unshed tears filled her eyes. “Why now?” This was a tragedy. A Shakespearean, gut-wrenching tragedy of epic proportions, and Maura knew her heart would never recover from this break.
If there was a break. She didn’t know how, but she was determined to find a way to convince him.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
THERE WAS SO MUCH Nichol wanted to say to Maura that he had no right to say to her, especially since he’d already done the worst damage. I esteem you, I admire you, I want you. I want to give up all and plant fences around us, Maura. I want you.
He bit his tongue and said nothing. This was his fault—in a rare moment of despair, of feeling lost, he’d turned to her, had let his desires push aside all reason. He’d done something unthinkable, especially for a man like him, who valued his integrity and honesty above all else. He’d acted on emotion rather than rational thought, had been made weak by the very hint of affection toward him, and as a result, had created a quagmire for them both.
I want you. I want you. I want you.
The words chanted at him over and over in his head as they rode along.
He wondered what Maura was thinking. I hate you, perhaps. He deserved it.
He deserved her complete disdain.
Whatever she thought, she said very little in those two long and final hours to Luncarty. It was strangely disconcerting—she’d been exuberant all day, her skin flushed with happiness, her eyes sparkling...all the telltale signs of blossoming esteem. She’d had affection for him so true that he’d felt it in his bones, had experienced it in his arms and he craved it like a dying man craved salvation.
And what was he to do with himself now? Watch her walk into the embrace of Dunnan Cockburn? Ride for Wales as if nothing happened? He had no idea how he would manage the shambles he’d made of his thoughts and emotions.
The day grew colder, the skies leaden. He suspected more snow, and felt Maura shivering against him. The day was deteriorating, right along with his heart.
Nichol desperately needed more time to sort things through, but unfortunately, they arrived in Luncarty before he was able.
“That’s it, then?” she asked, her voice small.
“Aye, it is.” He had pulled the horse to a halt on a hill above the estate. Luncarty was as grand and imposing as he’d told Maura it would be.
“It must have twenty chimneys,” she said, her voice betraying her awe.
“Twenty-four by my count.”
“Why has he never married, then?” she asked curiously.
A fair question—one did not reside in an estate like this and lack the attention of eager parents and their unmarried daughters. “He is clumsy,” Nichol said simply. “Awkward in the company of the fairer sex. He deserves compassion, for it is no’ from a lack of trying that he has failed. He is a good man, aye? But he is quite shy.”
“That is the oddest thing I’ve ever heard,” she said curiously.
It was indeed odd, but then again, Maura had not yet met the unique Dunnan Cockburn. She would come to understand, just as he had. Hopefully, she would come to esteem Dunnan in some way.
In some way. It was madness to think of it, but Nichol’s single hope was that she would never esteem Dunnan as she had esteemed him.
He spurred the horse to carry on, and they moved down the road to the drive. When they reached the house, Nichol came off the horse and helped Maura down. He took the reins of the horse, his intention to tie them to a hitching rail, but the pair of tall wooden entry doors suddenly swung open, and a host of people began to spill out of it and onto the drive and lawn, looking at Nichol and Maura as if they were two exotic creatures.
Maura took a step backward.
There were a dozen or so souls, all of them in towering powdered hair, in perfectly curled perukes, in brightly colored silks and satins. Nichol couldn’t fathom what this was. They looked as if they were preparing for a ball. But their clothes were more...exaggerated than that. Bloody hell, what was Dunnan about?
“Who are they?” Maura asked nervously, stepping back again and bumping into the horse.
“I donna know,” he said irritably.
A lad came rushing forth from the crowd, his wig set back on his head so far that Nichol worried it might fly off. He wore white gloves with his livery, bowed deep and said, “I’m to take the mount, milord.”
Nichol reluctantly handed him the reins. The lad tugged on the horse, who stubbornly refused to budge, but then Gavin appeared from somewhere behind Nichol and took the reins from the lad. He nodded at Nichol, as if he knew precisely what he was to do—care for the horses and wait.
The horse followed Gavin willingly, and the lad with the white gloves made a sound of exasperation.
Just then, Dunnan appeared on the top step of the entry, his mother on his arm.
Those two were inseparable, a fact he had failed to mention to Maura. Nichol would have to speak to Dunnan about that. It was time for him to be inseparable with another woman.
“Is that him?” Maura whispered.
Nichol couldn’t tell from her voice what she thought of him. “Aye,” he muttered, and took in Dunnan’s round figure, his freshly powdered peruke. He was reminded that the last time he was here, Dunnan had chastised him for wearing his auburn hair in a simple queue.
“I donna have a place to keep all the accoutrement that a peruke would require, aye?” Nichol had said with a laugh.
“But this,” Dunnan had complained, gesturing at Nichol’s hair, “’tis no’ fashionable, Bain.”
Dunnan was fashionable, all right, in his new suit of clothing: a gold brocade coat with very large sleeves, over a blue silk waistcoat that had been embroidered within an inch of its life. His cuffs and neckcloth were fine lace, his stockings pristine white, his shoes highly polished. At least he’d dressed for the occasion of meeting the woman who would be his wife.
But Nichol noticed something else—Dunnan’s face was florid, as if he’d exerted himself to appear in this manner. Nichol knew Dunnan, and knew that to be a sign of nerves. Dunnan’s nerves were easily frayed.
Dunnan stood on the top step, one leg stretched before him, his smile cast to those below him.
Nichol glanced at Maura from the corner of his eye, who was staring at Dunnan with a look of pure wonder. “Brace yourself, leannan,” he muttered, and strode forward to greet Dunnan.
“Bain!” Dunnan cried gaily, as if he’d just this moment spotted him. He promenaded with his mother down the steps to the drive, then bowed over his extended leg, an affectation, Nichol noted, that was new since the last he’d seen him. “You’ve come as promised, that you have. Dearest, you recall Mr. Bain, do you no’?” he asked his mother.
“Of course I do!” she trilled happily. She was likewise dressed in new clothing. Her fichu was so delicate that it looked as if her large bosom might possibly devour it. “Mr. B
ain, it is a great pleasure to welcome you to Luncarty once again,” she said, and curtsied. “Look!” she added gaily, and cast her arm wide. “We’ve made a party for you!”
A party. Nichol wanted to strangle Dunnan.
“You were no’ to tell him, dearest,” Dunnan pouted. “I wanted it to be a surprise.”
“How could it be a surprise when the troupe is all here, dearest?” his mother shot back.
Troupe?
Dunnan reached for Nichol’s hand and shook it with great verve. He had yet to look at the woman he’d said he would marry and acted as if she wasn’t even present. But Nichol knew by the determined way in which Dunnan was still shaking his hand that he was very much aware of Maura. How could he not be? She was bonny.
“Dunnan...let go of my hand, then,” Nichol murmured.
Dunnan instantly let go and stepped back. He smiled uncertainly. He glanced at his mother, who was gazing at him with foolish pride. “’Tis been a long journey for you, has it, Bain? How did you find the roads, then? I’ve heard they are terrible, quite impassable. Did you no’ say the roads were impassable, Mr. Givens?” he said, turning his back to Maura to face his little crowd.
A man wearing silk trousers of pale blue looked startled. “I said no such thing, I’m certain of it,” he said, and looked at the others around him. “Did I say it?”
“Well, someone has said it,” Dunnan insisted and looked at the others accusingly. “I am certain of it—”
“Mr. Cockburn, if I may,” Nichol interrupted. A snowflake flitted its way to the ground between them. “May I introduce Miss Maura Darby?”
Dunnan jerked around as if Nichol’s presence had startled him, in spite of having just greeted him. “Pardon?”
“Miss Maura Darby,” Nichol said, glaring at his friend. He turned to Maura, who had not moved a muscle, her blue eyes wide as she took in this crowd. “Miss Darby, if I may, Mr. Dunnan Cockburn of Luncarty, and his mother, Mrs. Cockburn.”
“How do you do,” Maura said demurely, and dipped into a curtsy. Dunnan stood there stupidly.
Maura rose and glanced at Nichol.
“Well, are you no’ a bonny lass, Miss Darby,” Mrs. Cockburn said enthusiastically, having clearly taken no notice of her son’s oafish behavior. “Is she no’ a bonny lass, dearest?” she asked, presumably of Dunnan, but she was still studying Maura, her gaze taking her in from top to bottom, her gaze fixing on the necklace.
“Ah. She is indeed.” Dunnan cleared his throat. “Good evening, Miss Darby,” he said, and bowed over that leg again. “Welcome to Luncarty,” he said solemnly, and with a flourish of his hand, indicated his house. He seemed oblivious to the snow that had begun to fall lightly. He cleared his throat again and looked anxiously to the group assembled behind him.
“Thank you,” Maura said. She was studying Dunnan as intently as his mother was studying her.
Dunnan shifted his weight onto a hip. He forced a smile. Was he put off by the sight of Maura? That was impossible—there wasn’t a man in Scotland who could be put off by the sight of her. But Dunnan was acting a fool.
As if he understood what Nichol was thinking, Dunnan glanced uncertainly at him. It was as if he didn’t know what to do. “Perhaps you might invite us in,” Nichol suggested, arching his brow. “It has begun to snow, aye?”
“What?” Dunnan looked up. “Well, then, it has indeed! Aye, of course, of course!” he said, and waved his arms at the others. “It’s begun to snow! Look will you, it is snowing! We should all be inside, should we no’? Where is Fillian, then? Mr. Fillian, where are you?” he called, seeking his butler. “We’ll need the hearths refreshed!” He put his arm around his mother’s waist and hurried her along inside behind his guests, who had noticed the snow well before he had, and were eager to return to the warmth of his grand salon.
Nichol watched them all fleeing inside in a rainbow of blues and golds and greens and pinks. He realized that Maura had not moved and risked a look at her.
She slowly turned her head and glared up at him. “You must be mad,” she said.
“It is entirely possible,” he agreed. “Give him a wee chance.”
She stared at him in disbelief.
“Donna judge him too harshly,” Nichol begged. “As I said, he’s rather awkward. He’ll come round, he will.”
Her eyes narrowed with sharp skepticism. “Will he?”
Nichol knew better than to respond to a woman in a full fit of pique. Not that he had an answer for her. A fortnight ago, this scheme had all seemed perfectly reasonable and logical. He’d had no regrets, had even mentally congratulated himself for having killed two family crises with one stone, so to speak, and for a handsome sum at that.
But now? He was questioning everything he’d ever known.
Maura knew it, too, because she muttered impatiently beneath her breath and struck out, her cloak billowing around her as she strode to the door while snowflakes danced merrily about her.
Nichol didn’t blame Maura for her fury—he was rather furious himself. Dunnan had made an unforgivably bad impression. How could a man grown be so bloody inept?
He reluctantly followed Maura inside.
Maura was still in the entry. She’d removed her cloak and had handed it to the footman. Her gray day gown seemed quite plain in comparison to what the other ladies were wearing, and yet Nichol thought she was the bonniest of them all. Her cheeks, rosy from the cold, made her appear more youthful and vibrant than anyone else. Her hair, poorly bound at her nape, was a dark crown to her pale skin. To the casual observer, she might have looked as if she’d come from the village, but for the priceless necklace she wore around her neck. She had not removed it since he’d returned it to her.
She shot a dark look at Nichol over her shoulder as he shed his greatcoat, then turned and walked into the salon, halting just inside the door. Nichol walked to stand behind her.
Dunnan’s salon was a sight to behold, overdone with its velvet draperies and gold braided ties, the fresco paintings and banquet scenes that hung in thick burnished frames around the room, and the elaborate plaster ropes and medallions that covered the ceiling. Maura seemed riveted by it as her gaze traveled overhead, then to the thick carpets, and around the paintings and consoles with the various works in marble.
Dunnan’s guests were milling about, and the atmosphere was quite gay. Oddly enough, it reminded Nichol of a carnival he’d attended in London. Footmen moved between them with glasses of wine and whisky, all of which were snatched up with eagerness.
What the devil was in Dunnan’s head? He knew very well that Nichol was expected with Maura. Had he changed his mind about marriage? Did he think he could hide behind all these people? As Maura took in her surroundings and shyly accepted a glass of wine from a footman, Nichol took the opportunity to have a word with Dunnan Cockburn.
He was standing with two admirers, his laughter at whatever they said so loud and long as not to be believed. Nothing could be that amusing. As Nichol reached Dunnan’s side, he noticed a trickle of perspiration had escaped his wig and was making its way down his temple and cheek.
“Mr. Bain! You’ve not yet had the pleasure of making the acquaintance of my friends—”
“Aye, and I look forward to it, I do, but might I have a word first?”
“Oh,” Dunnan said. He smiled uneasily at the two standing beside him. The female half of the pair smiled saucily at Nichol and flicked her gaze over him in an overtly appreciative manner.
“A word, then?” Nichol pressed him.
“Aye, of course,” Dunnan said, and moved awkwardly from the couple, as if he was still uncertain he ought to step aside. So Nichol did it for him. He took him by the elbow and wheeled him about, forcing him to walk several feet away and out of earshot of anyone else.
“What in bloody hell is the matter with you, then?” he demanded sternly.
>
Dunnan’s brown eyes widened. “Pardon? Whatever do you mean?” he asked, and self-consciously put a hand to his wig, as if Nichol was complaining that it was crooked.
“You do realize, do you no’, that Miss Darby is the woman for whom I received your favorable reply to consider offering for her hand in marriage?”
It seemed impossible, but somehow Dunnan’s round face grew redder. “Aye, of course I do. I’m no’ a bloody ninny.”
That was observably debatable. “Then act like it, man!” Nichol barked at him.
Dunnan swiped at the trickle of perspiration, which had now reached his chin. “Aye, I will,” he said firmly, then hesitated. “But what am I to do?” he added uncertainly.
“Diah, for the love of all that is holy, talk to her. Ask after her journey. Anything at all would be better than the way you’ve received her thus far.”
“Aye,” Dunnan said nodding. “I will. I will.”
“What are all these people doing here, then?” Nichol demanded. “They are a distraction to the business at hand, are they no’?”
Dunnan looked at the group as if he’d not noticed them before. “Performers,” he said. At Nichol’s puzzled look, he clarified. “They are members of a theatrical troupe. I’ve seen them perform and they are quite exceptional, they are. I thought they might perform a musicale in Miss Darby’s honor, aye?” He spoke hopefully, as if perhaps Nichol would understand his reasoning and suddenly think it a brilliant idea.
Nichol did not think it a brilliant idea. He thought there was something fundamentally wrong with Dunnan’s block of a brain. “Dunnan, lad, think of it—you canna host a musicale in her name if you’ve no’ met her. You donna yet know her name. It is premature to do something so grand for someone you’ve yet to greet properly, do you no’ see? She is no’ prepared for this, Dunnan, of course no’. She’s only just arrived, has only laid eyes on you for the first time.”
“But I... I thought she might rest, naturally. We’d have the performance after supper. After I have...learned her name,” he muttered.