A limpet, and now a hen? He wanted to protest at the unflattering descriptions, however much truth they might contain.
Emily mustered a tremulous smile. "I’m looking forward to chatting with your mamma, Hamish. Go."
His heart heavy with foreboding, Hamish went.
***
"Shall we sit by the fire? It’s probably the coziest spot in the room."
"As you wish," Emily said close to inaudibly, although nothing she’d seen in this huge house counted as cozy. She’d attended a dinner here to celebrate her engagement, and of course this was where her wedding breakfast had been held. On both occasions, she’d been so nervous and heartsick that she hadn’t paid attention to anything beyond resisting the urge to run away.
Tonight it was too late to run away – it had been too late to run away the minute Hamish dragged her into the garden at Pascoe Place – and she finally took in the details of Douglas House. And felt sick with nerves all over again. Its grandeur could offer no greater proof that she’d wed outside her class.
She hadn’t wanted to marry Hamish, but looking around this elaborate room, she saw why Hamish wouldn’t want to marry her. Lady Glen Lyon – she might charmingly claim she was now the dowager and Emily held the title, but Emily didn’t feel like she did – moved in the highest circles. His mother must have hoped her only son would make a better match than this one, with an impecunious scientist’s daughter.
As she perched on the couch by the blazing hearth, Emily glanced across to where Hamish stood with Fergus and Diarmid. He was watching her, probably waiting for her to make some faux pas, she guessed. Although to be fair, he’d been true to his word tonight, staying nearby and helping her to navigate her way through all these people.
She mustered another shaky smile. When he crossed his eyes at her and made a scary face, a smothered giggle escaped, more hysteria than amusement.
Her mother-in-law took the place beside her. Hamish bore a strong resemblance to his mother. Both were tall and golden and resplendent. It had already struck Emily as wholly appropriate that these magnificent creatures should come from a place called Glen Lyon. There was something leonine and regal about both of them.
"I must say I’m so relieved to see such genuine affection between you and my son."
"Such genuine…" Emily cut off her horrified response before she said something unforgivable. While she and Hamish did nothing but argue, his mother didn’t need to hear that. "I’ve known Hamish a long time, my lady."
"Yes, you have. But the gossip made me fear that this marriage came about purely to head off a scandal."
Emily blushed. Nobody at the previous family gatherings had dared to mention that night at Pascoe Place. Her heart sank as she braced for a scolding. "I hope all the talk didn’t trouble you."
"I’m old enough to weather a bit of gossip." Hamish’s mother sent Emily a searching regard from eyes the same bright blue as her son’s. "Don’t look so bilious, child. I’m not going to eat you."
Only because they’d just had a good dinner, Emily was sure. "It wasn’t what people said it was," she said in a thin voice. "We didn’t—"
"I know how tales grow as they spread. My son is a man of honor."
That at least Emily could agree with. "Yes, he is."
"And you’ve known him since you were a girl."
"Yes. He was always my father’s favorite student."
"I met Sir John at the wedding."
"He’s not what he was."
"I’m sorry to hear that. Hamish told me of your devoted care for your father. My son admires you most sincerely, you know."
No, she didn’t, but she could imagine that he’d done his best to put their sudden marriage in the best light.
His mother was still speaking. "Hamish told me that you were discussing mathematics and lost track of how long you were alone."
"It’s true. We were." After a hesitation, Emily dared to share at least a little of the truth. She’d approached this conversation sick with dread, but so far Lady Glen Lyon had been very understanding. "I told him the calculations in his paper were wrong, and he didn’t want to quarrel with me in full view of the crowd."
To her surprise, Lady Glen Lyon laughed. "That sounds like my boy. Once his temper gets the better of him, there’s no talking sense."
Encouraged, Emily went on. "He dragged me out into the garden to tell me I was mistaken. No harm would have come of it, except my dress snagged in a bush and it started to rain. He was trying to get me back to my carriage, when someone noticed us and we had to come back inside, looking like—"
"Drowned rats was the story I heard."
Emily felt her cheeks heat. The memory of that night still made her queasy. "I thought we could weather the talk, but Hamish was sure we couldn’t."
"Hamish was right. The scandal was too delicious."
"Yes, his calculations about the comet might have been wrong, but his assessment of London’s appetite for gossip was spot on," she said with a trace of grimness.
"And now you’re wed." Hamish’s mother smiled. "It’s clear that you two are the perfect match, however the match was made."
Emily only just stopped herself from setting her mother-in-law straight. Hamish really must have told her some dreadful lies. "He’s a good man."
"Yes, he is. And a kind and generous one."
"I’m not a conventional choice."
"No, but he’s not a conventional man, and it gladdens my heart that he’s found someone to share his life who can also share his interests. All of my children are clever, but Hamish outstripped the others from the first. His mind moves in a world where very few can follow him."
Emily regarded Hamish’s mother in astonishment. "You really don’t mind that he married me?"
Another of those fond laughs. "Good Lord, I don’t mind at all. Why on earth would you think I did?"
Because we wed under a cloud of scandal.
Because he doesn’t love me.
Because I don’t love him.
"Because I have no fortune."
Lady Glen Lyon took her hand and squeezed it. "Nor did I – or nothing to compare anyway – when I married Hamish’s father. He said he had plenty of money for both of us."
"That’s what Hamish said."
"He’s very like his father – although he looks more like me. No, my dear, you have it quite wrong, if you imagine the family disapproves. It was time for my son to marry, and I couldn’t be more delighted that he chose a woman of brains and common sense."
"But the tattle…"
"The best revenge is living happily, and I can already see you’ve made an excellent start on that. I’m especially pleased to see that you don’t put up with any of his nonsense. Never apologize, my dear, or fear you’re not good enough. In my opinion, my son was lucky to find you. He’s inclined to walk all over most people. It’s that combination of charm and good looks and daunting intelligence."
Hamish wasn’t the only Douglas who possessed those particular qualities. "You’re very kind."
The lovely face brightened in another smile. "I can be a dreadful harridan, as I’m sure you’ll discover over the coming years." She paused. "I can remember being a new bride. It was such a mad whirl of surprise and uncertainty and happiness. Nor is it easy to find your feet when you set up home with a husband. But you’re clever and determined – and pretty enough to put a spark in my son’s eyes. You’ll find your way."
"Thank you. I hope so."
"If you’ll take my advice—"
"Gladly," Emily said fervently, which prompted another laugh.
"See? I said you’d make an ideal daughter-in-law." Her voice lowered to seriousness. "Go to Glen Lyon as soon as you can. Hamish may sound as English as the Duke of Devonshire, but he’s Scots through and through. His intellectual life is here in London, but his heart and soul are in the Highlands. You have no chance of truly understanding him until you see him on his estates."
Emily’s gaze shifted to
the other side of the room, where Hamish seemed to be involved in an equally intense conversation with Fergus and Diarmid. "He always seems to fit in here."
"Yes, he does. He grew up in London, much as he hated it. But the war effort needed his father, and my Graham had a powerful sense of duty. As you’ll discover does Hamish."
She already knew he did. If he didn’t, he wouldn’t have married her to save her good name. "Yet he stays in London."
"He has a career to make. Although I hope you’ll encourage him to spend more time at Glen Lyon. It’s good for him."
Emily wanted to say she had no influence over what her husband did, but stopped herself. Better by far that his mother continued in her happy fancies. She didn’t need to know that her hopes for her son’s marriage were fated to fail. "I’ll try."
"Once you have children, Hamish won’t need much persuading. He’ll want the bairns brought up as good little Scots. He always claimed he’d marry a Scots girl, so nobody questioned whether his children belonged in the Highlands."
With that, Emily’s pleasure at her mother-in-law’s welcome corroded into guilt. Because there would be no bairns to roam Glen Lyon. There would only be two people yoked together for life, in what was sure to become worsening estrangement. Lady Glen Lyon would never dandle Hamish’s babies on her knee or watch a grandson groomed to become the next laird.
Right now, Emily felt like the greatest imposter in Christendom.
Chapter 14
Hamish tried to keep an eye on Emily, so he could dive in and rescue her from his mother if need be. But it was difficult when he had his own troubles, battling to convince the two people who knew him best that he was reconciled to his marriage. Not to mention hiding the humiliating truth that he’d never share his wife’s bed.
Fergus and Diarmid might laugh. Even worse, they might feel sorry for him. That he couldn’t bear.
"She’s gey bonny, laddie. Did ye spark the scandal just so you could win her?" Fergus asked.
"It’s not a bad idea, but no." He struggled to keep his voice even. As he bore their teasing, his smile had become more and more fixed. "I lost my temper with her when she told me I’d made a mistake in calculating my comet’s velocity."
"She understands that guff ye scribble down?" Diarmid said. "I admire her even more."
"I told you this, Diarmid," Hamish said through his teeth.
His cousin’s grin was mocking. "Aye, ye did. But I still like to see you squirm."
Fergus was watching Emily. "Well, who would have thought?"
Hamish shifted on his feet and smothered a growl. "That I could persuade a pretty girl to wed me?"
The flashing green glance Fergus shot him reminded Hamish that he hadn’t liked the Laird of Achnasheen when he’d first met him. At fourteen, Fergus Mackinnon had been an arrogant bugger. He was even worse at thirty-four.
"There’s that. But I’m actually talking about the miracle that your volatile temper has finally had a positive result. Most of the time, it lays waste to everything within a ten-mile radius."
To Hamish’s regret, Fergus’s description of the devastation he caused was accurate, even if he was wrong about the positive result this time round.
"Which doesnae mean ye should exercise it more often," Diarmid said. "A happy marriage requires patience and understanding, no’ ye blowing up like a volcano every time things dinnae go your way."
Right now, Hamish would dearly love to tell his two dearest friends to stick their opinions up their arses. But he had a horrible feeling that would only confirm their smug assessment of his poor self-control. His tone was strained as he replied. "I don’t need your advice, Diarmid. Or yours either, Fergus."
Diarmid clapped him on the shoulder. "Your marriage hasnae started under the most auspicious circumstances. Ye might want to listen to your more experienced friends."
"More experienced? Have you forgotten I always had more luck with the lassies than you did, chum?"
Which wasn’t entirely true. Diarmid had that poetical, brooding air that made women weak at the knees. He suspected that he and his cousin shared equal honors when it came to catching a comely wench’s interest. Not that Diarmid had eyes for anyone but his beloved Fiona these days.
Fergus studied Hamish with an expression that looked like pity, God rot him. "That’s lassies, my friend. A wife is something very different."
"I don’t see why," Hamish said mutinously, even though he might in private admit that his dealings with Emily had nothing in common with his bachelor conquests. For a start, she wasn’t going to end up in his bed. At last, the world gave him permission to swive a female as often as he wanted – and his honor consigned him to sleeping alone. Somewhere the fates were rolling about laughing.
"Ye will." Diarmid’s expression turned pitying, too. Damn it, did both his dearest friends want him to give them a bloody nose? "If ye dinnae, you’ll never have a happy life."
"She’ll come to heel." Hamish hoped they didn’t hear the false note underlying his bravado.
"A wife doesnae come to heel. She walks at your side as a partner." Diarmid sent another glance toward Emily, who hadn’t yet fled the room in tears. That was a good sign. Perhaps for once, his mother was behaving. "You’ll never cow that lassie in a month of Sundays, anyway."
"She’s a wonderful girl," Hamish said with some heat, although his cousin’s remark hadn’t sounded like criticism.
Fergus nodded. "That’s the first smart thing you’ve said tonight. Aye, she is. Look at how she’s managing your mother. So dinnae mess this up."
"Mess this up?" Hamish asked on a rising note. "You’re treating me like the village idiot."
"I’m just saying that for a braw clever man, ye can do the stupidest things."
"You’re all looking very serious over here, tesoro. I thought this evening was meant to be a celebration for Hamish and the bella new Lady Glen Lyon."
The arrival of Fergus’s half-Italian wife Marina saved Hamish from having to respond to her husband’s patronizing comment. Which was probably a lucky thing.
His best friends were mistaken to think he was blind to the changes in his life, now he was married. If nothing else, he was uncomfortably aware that his actions reflected on his wife, for good or ill. Which meant he must forgo giving Diarmid a black eye and knocking that smirk off Fergus’s face.
More was the pity.
"Thank you for saving me from these two blockheads." Hamish liked Marina, he always had. Although if anyone had told him before the marriage that Fergus would choose an independent, self-confident woman like this, he’d have scoffed. Fergus had always said he’d marry a meek little miss who would put up with his dictatorial ways.
But Marina was perfect for Fergus. She’d brought him down to earth and taught him that he wasn’t the King of the Highlands.
Nor had Diarmid married the sort of woman Hamish imagined he would. After enduring a chaotic childhood with his vain, flighty mother, Diarmid had sworn he’d never wed a beauty. Yet Fiona was one of the loveliest women Hamish had ever seen.
So what lesson could Hamish draw from his friends’ marriages? That an unexpected bride might end up the ideal choice? Emily was certainly unexpected. Even aside from their quarrels, she was English, when he’d always vowed that he’d wed a good Scots lass.
If only his wife’s Englishness was the biggest problem facing them.
"They’re both laying down the law, I’m guessing." Marina slid her hand around Hamish’s elbow. "The gospel for a happy marriage, according to St. Fergus and St. Diarmid."
"Aye, and why no’, mo chridhe?" Fergus asked. "We manage pretty well, would ye no’ say?"
"Si, caro, I would. But it took us time to learn how to live together, and what works for us won’t necessarily work for other people. It wouldn’t be right for Diarmid and Fiona, for example."
"Aye. Dinnae take this the wrong way, but there’s a wee bit too much push and pull between the two of ye for me," Diarmid said fervently. "I like a
quiet life."
"Hamish and Emily will find their own way, too. You don’t need to march in with your big heavy boots, my love. Per l’amor di Dio, sometimes discretion is the better part of valor."
Hamish took unworthy enjoyment in seeing his autocratic friend scolded by his spectacular wife. "Discretion isn’t Fergus’s style."
"I’m just giving him the benefit of my experience in taming a termagant," Fergus responded in a haughty tone, then looked offended when everyone around him burst out laughing.
***
"That wasn’t nearly the ordeal we expected," Hamish said in relief, as they sat in the dark carriage on their way back to Bloomsbury.
"Speak for yourself," Emily retorted from the opposite seat.
If they had a real marriage, he’d be sitting next to her with his arm around her. If they had a real marriage, he’d take advantage of the privacy to steal a kiss or two and a few cuddles.
If they had a real marriage, those kisses and cuddles would lead to a night of bliss in Emily’s bed. He’d long suspected that Emily would be a lover a man would never forget. Under her cool exterior, she was all fire. Even when she was annoyed with him, she was an exciting woman. The thought of how she’d flare up in the throes of passion made the blood thunder in his ears.
And all for nothing. They’d return home, say good night, and go their separate ways. What a waste.
He’d spent weeks telling himself there was no point getting het up about sleeping with Emily. It wasn’t going to happen. But the company of all those happy couples tonight made his marriage seem more barren than ever.
"You didn’t enjoy it? I thought you did. Everyone liked you, at least."
"They’re putting a good face on things for your sake."
"I know them all well enough to see when they’re just going through the motions. You impressed them."
How could she not? She was pretty and funny and clever, and interested in other people. The perfect wife, in fact. Hamish wondered why he’d never thought of marrying her before.
No, he didn’t. They didn’t like each other.
Except he did like her. He always had, despite her eternal quest to puncture his vanity.
The Highlander’s English Bride: The Lairds Most Likely Book 6 Page 12