Rose In Scotland

by Overfield Joan

  “Hell.” He uttered the curse with heartfelt conviction. It had been over a decade since he last stepped foot upon a dance floor, and he could only imagine the fool he would make of himself. Mayhap ’Twould be better to attend the theater instead, he brooded, turning his head toward the window. At least then it wouldn’t be him who was providing the entertainment.

  They stopped for tea at a small inn outside of Reading, and while they dined Hugh took the opportunity to observe his wife. Her manners were impeccable, he noted, watching as she treated the inn’s staff with unfailing courtesy. Having been on the receiving end of snapped orders, oft accompanied by a swift kick to the backside, he could appreciate the degree of consideration she displayed to the servants.

  As if sensing the weight of his gaze, she glanced up to give him a quizzing look. “Is your tea not to your liking, sir?” she inquired worriedly. “I can ring for another cup if you wish.”

  “No. ’Tis fine,” he assured her, and to prove his point he lifted the cup to his lips for a healthy sip. “I was but trying to recall the last time I had so lovely a lady prepare my tea.”

  A pleased flush touched her cheeks, and her lashes swept down over her eyes. “I wish my uncle might be present to hear you say so,” she said wryly. “I fear he thinks little of my feminine skills. Indeed, the last time we spoke he called me a shrew.”

  The artless confession made Hugh pause. “And are you?” he asked, his curiosity piqued.

  She gave a light laugh. “And how am I to answer that, since I do not know what you might mean by the term?” she asked. “Have you much experiences with the species, sir?”

  Hugh thought of Aunt Egidia and grinned. “Aye, that I have. But that doesn’t answer my question, Caroline. Are you a shrew?”

  Her flush grew more pronounced, and he was amused to note she appeared to consider the matter before replying. “If speaking one’s mind and refusing to suffer fools gladly makes one a shrew, I suppose there are many who would name me such,” she said, her gaze level as it met his. “And I am the first to admit I am possessed of a rather independent nature. That is why I had yet to wed. I treasure the little freedom I do enjoy, and I see no reason to place myself under some man’s thumb.”

  Hugh stared at her with something akin to horror. He’d been comfortable regarding her as no more than a spoiled chit, too rich and too willful for her own good. Learning she was capable of feelings so similar to his own was decidedly disconcerting, and he felt an uncomfortable stab of guilt.

  “Caroline,” he began, setting his cup aside and leaning forward to take her hand, “we’ve not yet talked about how we mean to conduct this marriage of ours, and I think this might be a good time to do so. To begin, I want you to know I have no intention of keeping you ‘under my thumb,’ as you put it. Within reason you may enjoy whatever freedom you please, and I’ll not try to stop you. I hope you would not think me such a tyrant as that.” He offered her a teasing smile. It was not returned.

  “ ‘Within reason,’ ” she quoted, eyeing him coolly. “Might I ask what you mean by that?”

  Hugh frowned. He’d thought his offer more than magnanimous, and could not like having it tossed back in his face. “I mean, ma’am, that short of picking up your skirts and dancing a jig in the middle of Piccadilly, you may do as you please.

  “But,” he added, annoyed by her obstinacy, “I would caution you to remember you are now my wife, the lady of Loch Haven, and I expect you to conduct yourself accordingly. I’ll countenance no behavior that reflects poorly on either my name or my honor.”

  She was silent for several more seconds. “I see,” she said at last, pouring fresh tea in her cup and raising it to her lips.

  He waited impatiently, but when she made no further comment he shot her an impatient scowl. “And what, madam, is it that you see?”

  “That I was right to avoid the married state,” she informed him in a voice edged with ice. “It would seem to contain little to recommend it to a lady of even moderate intelligence. I thank God I need only endure it for a year before being truly free. I shall live for that day, Mr. MacColme. It cannot come soon enough to suit me.”

  Chapter 6

  It was early evening when the carriage halted before her grandfather’s residence on Hanover Street. Caroline cast the imposing edifice a worried glance as Hugh lifted her down from the carriage. She’d walked past the house any number of times, but she’d never been inside. Now she would be entering it as the temporary mistress, and as a married woman. The prospect was most daunting.

  “Caroline?” Hugh’s hands lingered on her waist, and she glanced up to find him studying her. “Is something wrong?”

  She shook off her trepidations to give him a quick smile. “Everything is fine,” she replied. “I was but wondering if Uncle might be waiting inside.”

  Hugh’s expression darkened ominously. “If he is, you are to leave him to me. I’ve dealt with bullies before, and I know how best to deal with his sort.”

  Caroline’s gaze dropped to the sword he’d buckled about his lean hips. “You aren’t going to kill him, are you?”

  “Only if he deserves killing,” came the oblique reply as he turned her toward the door. “If he keeps a civil tongue in his head and makes no move to cause you harm, he may live to be one hundred for all of me, If not …” He shrugged, leaving the threat to dangle tantalizingly.

  The alacrity with which the front door was opened made it plain their arrival had not gone unnoticed. A short, plump man in butler’s togs stepped forward to greet them.

  “I am Begley, His Grace’s butler,” he said, bowing first to Caroline and then to Hugh. “Pray allow me bid you welcome to Hawkeshill House.”

  “Thank you, Begley,” Caroline said, standing quietly as Hugh removed her cloak and handed it to the waiting footman. “Have we had any callers?”

  The butler proved his worthiness by not pretending to misunderstand. “The earl of Westhall was here not a quarter of an hour past,” he said, his gaze flicking to Hugh. “He wished to wait, but I had orders from His Grace he was not to be admitted under any circumstance. His lordship was …” He paused delicately. “… most distressed.”

  Beside her Caroline felt Hugh tense. “Was he now?” he said, a hint of steel in his voice. “Then he shall have to learn to live with his distress. The general’s orders stand. If the earl should find fault with those instructions, notify me. I would be pleased to explain the situation to him. Is that clear?”

  The butler bowed again a look of newfound respect softening his austere features. “Quite clear, Mr. MacColme,” he intoned. “Will there be anything else?”

  In response Hugh turned to Caroline. “I’m sure you must be feeling weary,” he said, his green eyes meeting hers. “Why don’t you go to our rooms and lie down? You’ll want to be well-rested for the ball tonight.”

  His suggestion was all that was polite, but by his tone it was clearly a command. Caroline’s independent nature rebelled at such highhandedness. Trust a man not to realize there were a hundred things to be done, to settle in.

  “Very well, sir,” she said, not wishing to wrangle in front of the servents. “I shall see you later this evening.” She turned to go, when he caught her arm in his hand.

  “A moment, my lady,” he drawled, drawing her back against him. She frowned in confusion, guessing his intentions only as he bent his head and claimed her with a kiss. As if he were oblivious to the presence of the butler his warm lips clung to hers, and he flicked his tongue against her closed mouth with a daring sensuality that had her gasping. He took advantage of her shock to deepen the kiss, and she briefly tasted the potent sweetness of his mouth before he released her.

  “To remember me by,” he murmured, the smug satisfaction stamped on his handsome features adding to her indignation. “Rest now, annsachd. I look forward to escorting you to our first ball as man and wife.”

  Once she’d completed her tour of the house, Caroline spent the next few hours
elbow-deep in work. In between sending out letters to friends advising them on her new address, she arranged for her clothing and other personal effects to be brought from her uncle’s house. She also met with the housekeeper, going over even more lists and making tenuous plans for the remainder of their stay. She didn’t know how long they would be in London, but if they were going to be here more than a few weeks, she knew they would be expected to host some small entertainment.

  It didn’t help that Hugh had abandoned her within an hour of their arrival, leaving no word as to where he had gone or what time she might expect him to return. The only message he had left was that if he wasn’t home by nine of the clock she was to begin preparing for the soiree without him. His casual treatment hurt her, a reaction she was careful to keep from the prying eyes of the servants. She had her pride, if nothing else, and she was hanged if she would allow them to pity her.

  When the clock struck half by nine and there was still no sign of Hugh, her hurt gave way to embarrassed anger. This was their wedding night, she brooded, and although theirs was but a marriage of convenience, it was still a marriage. The least Hugh could do was to be there to escort her to the Greshams’ ball. So much for his fine vow to protect her from Uncle Charles, she thought, slamming her brush on to the dressing table.

  “Is something amiss, my lady?” The middle-aged maid who had been her abigail since her coming out inquired, eyeing her anxiously. “Is your gown not to your liking?”

  “What?” Caroline blinked, flustered at having been caught woolgathering. “Oh, no, Helene, everything is fine,” she assured the maid, casting her reflection a quick glance. The gown she was wearing was cut in the French style, and the rich gold brocade robe with its low, square neckline and three-quarter-length sleeves lavishly trimmed with silver lace made her look quite the woman of the world. A woman, she told herself, reaching up to touch her pearl and diamond necklace, who would not sit about waiting for an errant husband’s return.

  “Have my carriage summoned,” she said, her heart pounding as she rose to her feet. “I will be going out for the evening.”

  “Out?” Helene’s dark eyes bulged in horror. “But—but my lady, ’Tis your bridal night! You cannot go out alone! What will your husband say?”

  He can say what he pleases, and may he choke on the words, Caroline thought, although she was too wise to voice such things aloud. For all she knew, the servants, Helene included, could be in her uncle’s pay, and she was not about to provide him with the fodder to have the marriage overturned. Thinking quickly, she gave the maid a haughty glare.

  “As it was Mr. MacColme’s suggestion we spend part of the evening at Lady Gresham’s soiree, I assume he will say precious little,” she said, her voice edged with ice. “Now kindly have my carriage summoned. I do not have all evening.”

  While the chastised maid rushed to do her bidding, Caroline fought not to feel guilty. She seldom spoke to servants so harshly, but in this case she didn’t feel she had any other choice. Not for the world would she let anyone know she was going out because she refused to spend her wedding night meekly awaiting her husband’s return. And in the event Hugh did return and inquired after her, he would know she had gone ahead of him. Provided he even cared enough to ask, she thought resentfully, settling the folds of her scarlet domino about her shoulders.

  Thirty minutes later, she was being helped from her carriage in front of Lady Gresham’s town house. The duchess was a vicious gossip whose company she usually eschewed, but unfortunately her soiree was the only function to come to mind. Hiding her trepidations she went inside, and had scarcely surrendered her cloak when her hostess was upon her.

  “Lady Caroline, how utterly delightful to see you!” the older woman gushed, her welcoming tones at odds with the malice evident in her sharp eyes. “But I must say I am surprised you came. One would think a bride had better things to do on her wedding night than sip punch and gossip.”

  Caroline stiffened at the taunting words. She was fairly certain the announcement had yet to be published, which left but one source for Her Grace’s information: her uncle.

  “Indeed?” she asked, raising an eyebrow with cool hauteur.

  An angry flush bloomed beneath the powder and paint on the duchess’s fleshy cheeks, but her insincere smile remained firmly in place. “But where is your husband?” she demanded, making a great show of peering over Caroline’s shoulder. “I hear he is a soldier, and a Scotsman as well. Will he be wearing a kilt? He must look quite handsome in it, I am sure.”

  Although she had yet to see Hugh in a kilt, it took little effort to envision what he would look like in one, his broad shoulders swathed in plaid and his muscular legs bared beneath the folds of the kilt. “Quite handsome indeed,” Caroline replied, willing herself not to blush. “But the last I saw of him, my husband was properly attired in a cravat and breeches.”

  She knew the words to be a mistake the moment she saw Lady Gresham’s eyes fire with malevolent glee. “The last you saw of him?” she repeated in a voice meant to be overheard. “Poor child, do not say the beast has abandoned you already? You cannot have been married above twelve hours!”

  Caroline could sense as well as feel the sudden silence that descended upon the room, and she mentally cursed herself for foolishly giving in to her impulses. “He had important business that would not wait, and he wished to dispose of it before joining me here,” she said, taking care to keep her own voice level. “But I shall be certain to mention your concern to him,” she added, smiling sweetly. “Not many hostesses would be so solicitous of a guest’s welfare.”

  The uncomfortable titter behind her made it plain her point had not gone untaken. No hostess with any claim to gentility would dare attack a guest in her own home, and by doing so the duchess had displayed a shocking want of breeding. The tale would soon be on everyone’s lips, and Lady Gresham would be the one to suffer most. Caroline took from that what comfort she could, her chin held high as she moved past the furious duchess.

  The next hour passed in a blur as she was besieged by other guests pressing for more information on her sudden marriage. At first she remained rigidly aloof, saying as little as she could about the matter. But as the questions grew more pointed and her annoyance grew stronger, she became less reticent, a feeling of deep resentment destroying her usual caution. If society should think it so remarkable she would marry a man she’d known less than twenty-four hours, she thought, clutching her glass of champagne more tightly, how much more would they be amazed were they to think it a love match?

  “Of course,” she said, interrupting one of the gentlemen, “I should never have been so amenable to Grandfather’s request had I not been so taken with Mr. MacColme. He is a most worthy gentleman.”

  “Never say you are enamored of the fellow!” A dandy in pink silk Caroline recognized as an intimate of her uncle’s gasped, his quizzing glass held high as he gave a delicate shudder. “From all accounts he is naught but a rough and crude Scotsman! A common soldier who never rose above the rank of sergeant!”

  That he knew so much about Hugh verified her suspicions that her uncle was already spreading his venomous lies, and she decided it might be wise to begin dispelling such untruths now.

  “Sergeant Major,” she corrected, recalling her grandfather’s many references to Hugh’s rank. “And he is not a rough and crude Scotsman. He is the laird of Loch Haven.”

  “How passionately you defend your husband, dear Lady Caroline,” one of the women said, giving a low purr of laughter. “I find that simply enchanting. Perhaps there is something to be said for these arranged matches after all.”

  “Your husband’s name is MacColme, did you say?” an older man in a powdered wig inquired, his brows wrinkling in thought. “I remember seeing his name in the dispatches while I was in the Foreign Office. He was decorated for bravery under fire for saving your grandfather’s life, as I recall. ’Tis said Lord Cornwallis himself offered him a commission, but he turned it down bec
ause he didn’t wish to leave his men.”

  “Ah, but it would seem the good sergeant received his promotion after all.” The dandy who had first spoken simpered daintily, his thick lips twisting in malevolent pleasure. “Tell me, precisely what does one call a man who has married so high above his station?”

  “A most fortunate man, I am thinking,” a cold voice said as a strong arm slipped possessively about Caroline’s waist. “What would you call him?”

  A stunned silence descended upon the crowd and for a brief moment Caroline gave careful thought to swooning. She’d been hoping Hugh would come, but she hadn’t imagined his arrival would be quite so dramatic. Several of the ladies were gazing at him as if he were a devil sprung from the bowels of Hades to carry them off, and the dandy who’d made the snide observation looked close to engaging in a real swoon. Thinking quickly, she moved out of his embrace and turned to face him.

  “It is about time you made your appearance, Mr. MacColme,” she scolded, pouting as she offered him her hand. “I was beginning to think you’d forgotten we were to meet here.”

  He took her hand, his green eyes glittering with icy fury as he raised it to his lips. “Absent-minded I might be,” he said, his accent more pronounced than she’d ever heard it. “But I’m nae so forgetful as to misplace my bride on our wedding night. Are you ready to leave now?”

  There were several nervous giggles behind her but she ignored them, determined to escape without creating an even bigger scandal. The terrified dandy was even now beating an undignified retreat, and several other men were moving away as well, not in the least fooled by his easy words. He had a hard-edged look of violence about him, and it was plain they wanted none of him.

  “I am ready,” she said, her tone as nonchalant as she could manage given the circumstances. “Shall we go?”

  He said nothing, his jaw set as he led her out of the crowded drawing room. There was a short, uncomfortable wait while their wraps were fetched, and then he was hurrying her out of the house and into the waiting carriage. The moment they were off, he turned to face her.