Her mother gave her a quick glance. “Well, I suppose it doesn’t really matter whether we like her or not, does it? It means nothing to us.”
That’s what Edie had been trying to tell herself. “Correct, Mamma. It doesn’t matter one bit.”
Except, of course, that it did.
Alec waited for Edie and Lady Reese in the entrance hall, even though the rest of the family was already gathered in the main drawing room. The Haddons had arrived early for dinner, blast them. Donella and her mother were obviously eager to claim ownership over him as soon as possible.
At least Glenna Haddon certainly did on behalf of her daughter. When Aunt Glenna, a slight, pinch-faced woman who’d aged very little, had rushed into the drawing room where he’d been waiting with his father and grandfather, her pale blue eyes had glittered with triumph. When Alec had bent to respectfully kiss her cheek, she’d sunk her nails into his sleeve, digging in as if she had no intention of ever letting go. She’d effusively greeted him, referring to him as her son to be.
And hadn’t that sent a chill skating down his spine?
Aunt Glenna had then soulfully proclaimed that Donella had barely survived the tragic separation that had sent her into a decline, all but claiming her life.
Grandfather had then gruffly ordered Glenna to stop acting like a totty-headed female, an awkward moment for everyone except Donella. She’d stood placidly silent throughout the gruesome little scene. She neither blushed at the sight of Alec, fluttered, nor looked the least bit discomposed either by his long absence or by his return.
In short, she was inscrutable as always.
Donella had always been a quiet child, her only true interests her needlework, her studies, and the religious instruction she took with the local vicar. She’d never shown any emotion for Alec other than the mild affection one expected between cousins who had nothing in common. Alec and Fergus had been the best of friends, but Donella had always seemed to regard them as nasty boys who did everything they could to raise hell and annoy their elders. As a result, he and Fergus had always given her as wide a berth as possible.
And if his cousin had spent the last ten years pining for him, as her mother insisted, Alec couldn’t see any evidence of it.
There was another reason, of course, why Aunt Glenna was so hell-bent on seeing Alec marry her daughter. To his aunt, it was a case of natural justice, since Alec stood in the way of the man she considered the rightful heir to the earldom—Fergus, the next male in the family’s line of descent.
Although the rumors that Alec was the bastard son of the Duke of Kent had died down over the years, he knew they’d not been forgotten here. Certainly not by Aunt Glenna, though she’d never had the nerve to come right out and say that Alec was the cuckoo in the nest, especially not in front of Walter or Grandfather. As far as Aunt Glenna was concerned, the only way that Alec—and the Earl of Riddick—could mitigate the great injustice done to Fergus was by making her daughter the wife of the next earl.
The hell of it was, Alec could see her point. He was the cuckoo in the nest. And although the Haddons lived a genteel life in a tidy little manor house at the other end of the valley, they’d never been rich. If not for Alec, Fergus would now be heir to a wealthy earldom, and Donella would be a prize catch on the marriage mart. Instead, Fergus had to work for his uncle, and Donella had to make do with a modest dowry.
But if Donella became the future Countess of Riddick, the family’s fortunes would of course significantly change for the better.
He scowled up at the old heraldic banners that hung over the stone-fronted fireplace of the entrance hall. Big enough to hold an ox, the deep hearth hosted a blaze that roared against the chill of the November eve. This hall, with its suits of armor and ancient weaponry hung on the walls, spoke to his family’s history, one of conflict, drama, and complicated relationships.
At the sound of footsteps on the spiral staircase in the antechamber at the end of the hall, Alec turned to see Lady Reese and her daughter. The meeting between Edie and Donella was not one he was looking forward to. He’d made some progress in softening up Edie these last few days, or at least he thought he had. But meeting his fiancée in the flesh might prompt in the lovely Miss Whitney some unfortunate display of female loyalty. He’d hoped to be much further along in his campaign of courtship and prayed that he wouldn’t lose further ground tonight.
One of the junior footmen led Lady Reese and Edie in. The viscountess was looking both imposing and elegant in a stylish gown of wine-red silk, but Edie took his breath away. For a few seconds, he stood and stared like a dumbstruck fool.
She wore a velvet dress trimmed with gold lace and spangles that lovingly shaped her ample curves and imparted a creamy glow to her perfect complexion. The plush fabric combined with her equally plush body put him in mind of a kitten, one he would like very much to stroke. Her thick hair was piled into a high, artfully disheveled fall, with streams of gleaming gold falling down the back of her neck. Her big, blue eyes gazed back at him from behind the spectacles that he was still inordinately pleased to see her wearing. Her full mouth curved up in a smile that sent a bolt of heat right to his groin.
She was bonny, all right, and the cheeky lass knew it, too.
Lady Reese swanned forward, and Alec mentally shook his stunned brain back into action. “Good evening, my lady, Miss Whitney,” he said with a bow. “Allow me to say that you both look exceedingly lovely.”
Lady Reese snapped open her fan and gave him a gracious smile. “Thank you, Captain Gilbride. You cut quite the figure tonight, as well.” She waved a vague hand at his body. “That’s a very authentic looking outfit.”
“It’s called a kilt, Mamma,” Edie said in a sardonic voice. “Don’t you remember Captain Gilbride’s dress regimentals for the Black Watch? Although tonight I do believe he’s wearing a costume more closely associated with his clan.” Her gaze dropped somewhere below his waist. “Sporran and all,” she finished in a low purr.
Kitten my arse.
She was a she-devil who knew exactly the effect she had on him. It took a stern mental command to quell that part of him twitching beneath his kilt.
“This is a splendid hall,” Edie said, switching from notorious flirt to enthusiastic guest in an instant. “And really quite cozy given how imposing it is. Are we to meet the rest of your family here?”
“No, my family is gathered in the drawing room.”
She let out a dramatic sigh. “What a shame. This room is so splendidly medieval I feel like I’ve stepped back in time. One almost expects a band of howling warriors to come crashing through the door at any moment.”
“Not to worry, Miss Whitney,” Alec said. “Our drawing room is feudal enough to satisfy even the most bloodthirsty of souls.”
“Dear me, that sounds positively dreadful,” Lady Reese said.
“Au contraire, Mamma,” Edie said in a droll voice, “it sounds most exciting. I suspect it will be the perfect setting for meeting Captain Gilbride’s family.”
Alec could only hope she didn’t realize how prescient her comment was. “Shall we go in, ladies? The family is waiting.”
After he escorted them through the door of the drawing room, Edie and her mother stopped dead in their tracks, their eyes widening in comically identical expressions as they took in the decor.
He couldn’t blame them. After all, it wasn’t every day that one walked into a room that bristled with dozens of mounted stag heads, their racks reaching up in neat rows to the ceiling. For good measure, there was a gigantic stuffed eagle, wings spread and mounted over the fireplace in a symbolic reference to the Graham heraldic crest, which featured an eagle dismembering a hapless stork. Under the visual onslaught of dead wildlife, it was difficult to even notice the elegant and quite modern furniture or the expensive Axminster carpet that graced the polished floorboards.
“My goodness,” Lady Reese said in a weak voice.
“You certainly weren’t exaggerating the bloodt
hirsty part,” Edie said with something of a snicker. Then her gaze latched onto his family, and she went stiff as a fencepost.
The men were lined up in front of the fireplace, his grandfather and Fergus eyeing the new arrivals with scowls even more forbidding than this afternoon’s display. While Walter had a smile on his kind face, it looked thin and strained, as if he’d been arguing with the others while Alec was out of the room.
As for Donella, his cousin was inspecting Edie with a surprised lift to her elegant brows, as if she didn’t know quite what to make of her. With his aunt, however, there was no mystery, since the glare she directed at Edie and Lady Reese was positively murderous.
Edie slid him a sideways, mocking glance. “Tell me something, Captain Gilbride,” she murmured. “How do you think Mamma and I will look on the wall with the rest of the trophies?”
Chapter Twelve
Edie had only been half-joking about ending up with her head mounted on the wall of the splendidly barbaric drawing room. Fortunately, no one besides Alec and Mamma had heard the comment. It was a good thing, because Lord Riddick and his relations, with the exception of Mr. Gilbride, still seemed more inclined to murder their English guests than welcome them into their midst.
By the time they moved into dinner, she’d deduced the primary reason for their resentment—Mrs. Haddon, Fergus, and possibly Lord Riddick all saw her as a threat to Donella. Since she’d only just arrived at Blairgal she certainly hadn’t had time to leave that sort of impression, but she supposed it might seem suspicious for the prodigal son to return home after a long absence escorted by a single young lady and her mother. Given the sometimes cutthroat tactics employed by the girls of the ton and their matchmaking mammas—and she presumed those tactics applied in Scotland, as well—it was a reasonable assessment to make.
Interestingly enough, Donella wasn’t nearly as outraged as her relations. Oddly, she spoke to Edie with more warmth than she did to her erstwhile fiancé. True, they hadn’t seen each other in ten years, but Alec was a devastatingly handsome and charming man who could make most any woman tumble into his lap.
Donella, however, seemed to suffer no such inclination.
After a mercifully short interval in the drawing room, Lord Riddick had overcome his dislike long enough to observe appropriate decorum. He’d escorted Edie’s mother into the family dining room, which to Mamma’s evident relief had contained no animal heads, only elegant green wallpaper and burgundy velvet drapes drawn against the chilly Highland night. Fine crystal, silver, and china gleamed in the light of a vast number of candles, and the parade of dishes that graced the table would have rivaled any meal served in the best houses of the ton.
By all rights it should have been a delightful evening, especially after so many long days on the road. Unfortunately, it was shaping up to be anything but.
Well, when it came to strained domestic relations Edie would put her family up with the best of them. While Alec might find his relatives a challenge, as far as she was concerned he’d gotten off lightly. Girls didn’t have the luxury of running off on adventures or to dashing military careers. They had to stay home and learn to manage their parents and siblings, and hope they would eventually find a husband they could stand to look at day in and day out.
Edie stole a glance at her host, who was glaring at no one in particular while grimly eating his soup. She’d concluded that Lord Riddick’s fractious mood resulted mostly from poor health and badly unsettled nerves. His lordship reminded her of her maternal grandfather—gruff and prone to barking at people, but underneath a kind and generous man. The earl simply liked to get his own way, which made him no different than the average aristocratic male. Edie had no doubt she’d be able to make her way past his prickly façade in short order.
The rest of the family was another story. Mrs. Haddon could barely bother to be polite. She’d even made a few digs about Edie’s spectacles and delivered several veiled insults about English people in general. She’d behaved as badly as one could imagine—except to her prospective son-in-law, who seemed to welcome her attentions as much as he’d welcome a rash on his backside.
Fergus Haddon, stuck next to Edie at the dinner table, had done his best to ignore her. Three times she’d tried to strike up a conversation but had been rewarded with nothing but blighting comments. The idea of dumping the contents of her soup bowl over his head was remarkably tempting.
Clearly, it was going to be war, with Alec as the spoils.
As for the third member of the Haddon family, Edie found Donella rather fascinating. She appeared completely uninterested in capturing her fiancé’s attention. Although she replied to Alec’s queries or comments in a thoughtful, soft-spoken manner, one would never have guessed they were engaged.
And unlike the rest of her family, Donella was a paragon of elegant decorum. She was also a beauty—tall and willowy, with gorgeous auburn hair that looked like it never frizzed. She had stunning green eyes and a pale complexion that mimicked the finest of ivories. Edie had been seized with the most dreadful pang of jealousy when she’d first set eyes on Miss Haddon, and it had taken a great deal of effort to wrestle it under control. That particular emotion had always struck her as a foolish waste of time, and she’d yet to meet a man worth the expenditure of energy.
Until now, unfortunately, thanks to blasted Alec Gilbride.
Edie smiled at the footman who was removing her plate from the first course. She almost felt like striking up a conversation with him, since he had to be an improvement on her current dinner companions. With Fergus on one side and Mrs. Haddon on the other, she might as well be in Outer Mongolia.
“Tell me, Miss Whitney, are you finding everything at Blairgal quite to your satisfaction?” asked a deep, masculine voice that jerked her from her ruminations. “I do hope your bedroom is as comfortable as you could wish it to be.”
It took her a moment to register that Alec was speaking to her from across the table, and in a tone of voice that made the innocent question sound a bit like an innuendo. She blinked at him, taking in the gleam in his eyes and the smile that curled his lips. She’d seen that particular smile more than once over the last few days, and she thought she knew what it meant.
Would he actually flirt with her in front of his family and his betrothed?
Out of the corner of her eye, she could see Mrs. Haddon staring at her nephew with a look of mute horror. She then slowly turned her Medusa-like gaze on Edie, as if threatening to turn her into stone if she dared respond to so shocking a breach of etiquette.
Strictly speaking, Mrs. Haddon’s reaction was overblown, given the small size of their group. Still, Mamma would expect Edie to observe the established rules, regardless of the informality of the occasion, and not engage in conversation across the dinner table. What she should do is give Alec a vaguely disapproving frown and an even more vague reply, and then keep her attention firmly on her plate.
But with the evil eye of Mrs. Haddon upon her and Fergus fuming away on her other side, Edie couldn’t bring herself to listen to her better angels. After all, if there was one thing she could never resist, it was a challenge.
“My bedroom is perfectly delightful,” she said. “Thank you for asking, Captain.”
“You’ll be sure to let me know if you need anything,” he replied. “Anything.”
Edie arched an eyebrow at his darkly seductive tone. Good Lord, it was a family dinner, after all. “I will be sure to do that,” she replied politely.
Mrs. Haddon let out a dramatic gasp. “Well, I never,” she huffed. “Such indelicate manners are not to be borne.”
The dreary woman was glaring right at her, not her nephew. Anyone with eyes could see that he was the one indulging in flirtatious behavior over the creamed onions, not Edie.
And why was he acting so outrageously in the first place, and with Miss Haddon sitting right next to him? Not that his betrothed seemed to mind. She glanced first at Alec and then at her mother before accepting a spoonf
ul of turkey with dressing from the footman.
“Mamma, there’s no need to work yourself up over nothing,” Miss Haddon said. “Alasdair was simply being polite to one of Uncle’s guests.”
At the head of the table, Lord Riddick suddenly decided to pay attention to the conversation. “Alasdair, what the devil are you talking about that has upset your aunt? This isn’t London, you know. I’ll not be welcoming any of your smart town ways to my dinner table.”
Alec’s eyes narrowed on his grandfather. Edie intervened before he could further inflame the situation.
“Captain Gilbride was simply making sure I was comfortable,” she said, smiling down the table at the old man. “He wanted to know if I needed anything.”
The earl’s bushy white eyebrows climbed up his forehead. “If you need anything, lassie, you’ll take that to the housekeeper or butler. You’ll not be asking my grandson to be jumping like an English jackanapes to indulge your every whim.”
Before she could even think how to respond to that startling rejoinder, her mother leapt into the fray. “My daughter is never self-indulgent, Lord Riddick. One cannot find a more biddable or sweet-natured girl anywhere in England. Or Scotland, for that matter, I’m sure.”
That was humbug, naturally, but Edie appreciated her mother’s loyalty.
“That’s not what I heard,” Fergus said in a nasty tone. “Quite the opposite.”
That froze everyone at the table for a good five seconds.
“And what do you mean by that, laddie?” Alec asked.
His voice had gone low, his brogue dark around the edges. Edie had to repress a shiver. She’d heard that tone in his voice on a few occasions, and it never boded well. Not that she needed the reappearance of his brogue to tell her that. The frigid glare he directed at Fergus was ample evidence of his sudden shift in mood.
“I’m sure Fergus meant nothing by it,” Walter Gilbride said in a genial but firm voice. “It was just a silly, offhand remark, wasn’t it, my boy?”
How to Marry a Royal Highlander Page 15