The Scotsman and the Spinster

by Joan Overfield

  "That, Mr. Wellford, is quite the wrong way to make an offer in form," she told him coolly. "You are not to offer for Miss Jenkins in this manner unless you wish her to refuse.

  "I-I-I s-s-see, M-M-Miss T-T-Terrington," the terrified young man stuttered, staring at Ross as if he were a demon sprung straight from hell. "I c-c-certainly s-s-shan't do t-t-that."

  Satisfied, she glanced back at Ross. "Now, sir," she said to him with cool condescension, "if there will be nothing else, I am afraid I must ask you to leave."

  Ross tossed his hat and gloves aside, advancing on Adalaide with the determined gait of a predator. He stopped a few inches from her, and then flicked a cold look at the younger man.

  "What was your name, again?"

  "W-W-W-Wellford, my l-l-lord. R-Richard Wellford."

  "Mr. Wellford." Ross sent the lad a smile that nearly set him to swooning. "You may be the first to wish Adalaide and myself happy, for we are to be married within the week." And without giving Adalaide time to protest, he swept her into his arms, taking her lips in a kiss that was as singularly wondrous as it was completely scandalous.

  Twelve

  Ross's mouth was warm and demanding, taking her lips in a kiss that sent Addy's head spinning. It was every bit as wild and wonderful as the last kiss they had shared, and once her shock subsided, Addy was helpless to resist its power. Her arms lifted, twining about his neck as she held him close. She thought he would deepen the kiss, but he was already lifting his head, a look of cold determination shimmering in his eyes as he gazed down at her. It was that look that brought her to her senses with a jolt, and she began struggling to free herself.

  "Let me go at once!" she exclaimed, pushing against Ross's chest and flushing with indignation. "What the devil do you think you are doing?"

  "Claiming you," Ross said, bending his head to press a quick kiss against her lips. "Now do as I say, mo céile, and go fetch your bonnet. We've much we must do."

  "I most certainly will not!" Addy succeeded in fighting her way free of his embrace and glared up at him in fury. "Who do you think you are to come in here and order me about like this?"

  "I . . . p-p-erh-h-haps I sh-should go." Mr. Wellford began inching cautiously toward the door.

  "No!" Addy whirled and stabbed her finger at him. She had no idea what Ross was about, but she was hanged if she would allow him to get away with it. "You will stay right where you are, sir!" she told Mr. Wellford. "He will leave!" She shot Ross a murderous glare.

  "No," Ross replied calmly, "he will not." Before Addy could respond, he turned to Mr. Wellford. "I thank you, sir, for your understanding," he said with a cool smile. "Be so good as to shut the door on your way out."

  Much to Addy's disgust, Mr. Wellford turned and fled the room, making such haste he was all but falling over his feet. When the door slammed behind him, Ross turned back to Addy.

  "Annsachd," he began, his expression somber as he confronted her, "this is not the way I thought to ask you, but we neither of us have a choice. My cousin named you as my mistress, and so it must be marriage between us."

  "Do not think to argue me out of this," he added when she began sputtering furiously. "I'll not be badgered from doing what I must do."

  "What you must do? What of me? Am I to have no say in any of this?" she cried, feeling as if her heart was breaking. She had dreamed Ross might one day love her enough to offer marriage, but she'd never dreamed he could offer it like this, so coldly, so unemotionally, and for no reason other than because he had no other choice.

  "No." His voice was resolute as he took her hand. "This is your name we are speaking of; your honor. Do you truly expect me to stand by and do nothing when both are questioned?"

  The door flew open without warning and Aunt Matilda stood in the doorway, her hands on her hips as she surveyed them both. "What the devil is going on here?" she demanded querulously. "I could hear the shouting clear up in my room!" She fixed Ross with her sternest look.

  "Well, sir?" she snapped suspiciously. "I trust you have an explanation for this?"

  "Aye," he said, "I do." And in the starkest terms imaginable, he told Aunt Matilda what he had just told Addy. When he was done, the older woman lowered herself onto the nearest chair, visibly shaken.

  "I see," she said, looking so wan, Addy went at once to her side. "Well then, my dear." She reached out to take Addy's hand, her fingers trembling and cold. "Pray accept my felicitations. We shall have the ceremony here, of course. It won't put an end to all the tattle, but it should help stop most of it."

  Addy was horrified at her aunt's words. "But Aunt," she began, her voice trembling with the force of her emotions, "you don't understand. I have no desire to marry his lordship!"

  Ross's response was to grow even colder. "Your pardon, Lady Fareham, but I would like to be alone with Adalaide. We have much to settle between us."

  "We have nothing to settle between us!" Addy leapt to her feet, her eyes flashing in defiance. "I won't marry anyone to satisfy convention!"

  Aunt Matilda silenced her with a single look. "I will speak with my niece, sir," she said, and then turned to Ross. "You, my lord, would be better served obtaining a Special License as quickly as it can be arranged. And take Lord Falconer with you while you're about it. You cannot leave him pacing in my entry hall; he is upsetting the staff."

  "Lady Fareham—"

  "Now, your lordship," she interrupted, giving Ross an imperious stare. "If you please."

  Ross looked as if he much desired to protest her aunt's edict, but in the end he did as he was ordered; slamming out of the room and muttering heatedly in Gaelic.

  Addy wasted little time before pleading her case before her aunt. "Ma'am, you must see why this cannot be!" she implored, her eyes wet with tears as panic clawed at her. "I cannot be forced to wed against my will!"

  Instead of softening, her aunt grew even more rigid. "To be sure, you cannot," she said, rising stiffly to her feet. "But that is not the issue. As for now, I should prefer speaking with you in my sitting room."

  "But Aunt—"

  "Your will humor me in this, Adalaide," her aunt interrupted, trembling visibly with emotion. "For I vow, I have had all I care to endure."

  Much cowed, Addy trailed after her aunt. She'd never seen the older lady so stricken, and she worried if this latest scandal might prove too much for her health.

  "There," Aunt Matilda said, after settling on her settee in the privacy of her room. "I trust we should be safe from the prying eyes and ears of every servant. Heaven knows you've already given them enough to gabble about."

  "You speak as if this was all my doing," Addy complained, settling her skirts about her as she sat beside her aunt.

  "Since you were the one doing all the shrieking, I should think the answer to that rather obvious," her aunt responded with a sniff. "But enough of that. Tell me the real reason why you are refusing to marry his lordship."

  "And don't waste my time prattling about your pride and your independence either," she added, meeting Addy's gaze with surprising compassion. "Tell me the truth. You love him, child. Don't you?"

  The tears Addy had been fighting pooled in her eyes and began trickling down her cheeks. "Yes," she said, her voice shaking at the enormity of her confession. "Yes, I love him."

  Her aunt gave a satisfied nod. "I thought as much," she said, sounding smug. "Else you shouldn't have been so vehement in your determination not to marry him for propriety's sake. Any sensible female would feel the same, but I fear it makes no difference in the end. You must marry St. Jerome, and that is all there is to be said."

  "But it is so unfair!" Addy said, wiping angrily at her cheeks. "We've done nothing wrong!"

  "Of course you have not." Her aunt patted her hand. "But you have been in Society long enough to know how little that matters. Perception is all, and in the eyes of the world you have been compromised. You're not a green gel who goes in ignorance of such things, child. You know what this will mean not just to yours
elf and your entire family, but to St. Jerome as well. He has only just proven himself a hero. Would you now have him thought a villain?"

  The quiet words had Addy bowing her head as she accepted the inevitable. "But it is so unfair," she whispered, her eyes closing in anguish. "Why should Ross be forced to pay the price for his cousin's villainy?"

  Lady Fareham reached out a gnarled hand to gently stroke Addy's hair. "I am an old woman, my dear, and it has been my observation it is always the innocent who suffer most from the acts of the wicked."

  "However, I shouldn't weep overly much on St. Jerome's account," she added with a soft chuckle. "I've a feeling he won't find marriage to you quite so onerous as you fear."

  Addy froze at that, hope flickering cautiously to life in her heart. She raised her head, the tears drying on her face as she met her aunt's knowing gaze.

  "Do-do you think he loves me?" she whispered, hardly daring to speak the words aloud.

  In answer, her aunt gestured at a nearby table where a bouquet of beautiful creamy white roses were arranged in a cobalt blue vase. "Do you see those roses, my dear?"

  Addy turned to give the bouquet a confused frown. "Yes, of course I do, but—"

  "Where do you think they came from?"

  Addy blinked at the question. "From the florist, I would suppose," she said, wondering if her aunt was feeling quite the thing. "Really, Aunt, what has that to do with anything?"

  "I grew those roses," her aunt replied, leaning back with a sigh. "From a small cutting I took from my mother's house. I've spent years growing it; nurturing it through killing frosts and blistering sun. I can't tell you how many times I've felt like washing my hands of it and letting it die, but I never did. It's my only memento of my mother, you see, and each year when it blooms it is like having her back with me again." Her gaze met Addy's.

  "Love is like that, Adalaide. It takes a great deal of care and attention, and one must be constantly vigilant to nurture it against every adversity. But when it blooms"—her smile grew dreamy—"oh, my dear, when it blooms you will know that love is worth any pain." She laid her hand on Addy's cheek.

  "You truly love Ross?"

  Addy nodded, too moved to speak.

  "And is his love not worth fighting for?"

  Addy didn't have to think before responding. "Yes, Aunt," she said, her voice fierce. "It most certainly is."

  "Then fight for it," her aunt advised, leaning down to kiss Addy's cheek. "This may not be the most auspicious way to begin a marriage, but it is a beginning. What you and Ross make of it will be up to you."

  Addy considered that for several seconds, and then a slow smile spread across her lips. On impulse, she stood up and gave the older woman a fierce hug. "I love you, Aunt Matilda," she said, hugging the irascible woman who had been both parent and dearest friend over the last seven years.

  "And I love you, poppet," her aunt replied, returning Addy's embrace. They clung to each other for several seconds, and then her aunt was drawing back, her voice suspiciously gruff as she said, "Look at us, sitting around and sniveling like a pair of old women." She laughed and dabbed at her streaming eyes. "I've a wedding to plan, and you, young lady, need to make yourself presentable. You'll want to look your best when your fiancé comes to call. Off with you now."

  Addy allowed herself to be dismissed, drifting toward her rooms with a dazed smile. Fiancé, she thought, her heart welling with happiness. She rather liked the sound of that.

  Mr. Reginald Terrington announces the coming marriage of his sister, Miss Adalaide Terrington, to Rosslyn Arthur Gordon MacCailan, Viscount St. Jerome. The ceremony will be performed in the home of Lady Fareham, the bride's aunt.

  The discreet notice was printed two days later in the morning addition of The Times. Studying it, Ross felt a disturbing mixture of relief and trepidation. Adalaide was his fiancée, but she felt as much a stranger to him as when he'd opened his eyes to find her sitting beside his bed. Now she was a soft-spoken, well-behaved stranger who possessed the spirit of a bowl of day-old porridge, he realized, lowering the paper to his desk. Where had his fiery Adalaide gone, and what was he to make of the circumspect creature who had taken her place?

  When he'd returned from procuring the Special License, he'd been prepared to go to war if that was what it took to get Adalaide to marry him. Oddly enough, he'd actually been looking forward to it, the warrior in him eager to do battle. But instead of greeting him with flying crockery and heated words of defiance, Adalaide had met him with soft words and a shy smile, quietly agreeing to marry him whenever he could arrange it. He'd been so shocked, the words of love he'd meant to offer had stuck in his throat, and there they'd remained.

  "No luck with any of your cousin's friends, Captain. They claim not to have any idea where he might have run to ground." Nevil's voice brought Ross back to the present, and he turned his attention back to the corporal.

  "Like as not they're lying to protect him," Ross said, rising from behind his desk to begin restlessly prowling the room. He was too used to physical activity to enjoy sitting about. He thought better on his feet, and Nevil's words reminded him he had something to think of. Finding his damned cousin. Finding and killing him, Ross amended, his hard lips thinning in a smile.

  Nevil shook his head. "Not likely, Captain; Atherton owes most of them money. They'd hand him to you on a platter did they know where he's got. I'm thinking he's looking to flee the country, and I want your permission to hire on some more men. We'll need to cover the docks."

  "Hire them," Ross said, thinking it would be just like his cowardly cousin to run from the consequences of his actions. He wondered where the idiot thought he would go, or what he would do when he got there. Then he decided the burraidh probably hadn't given the matter a single thought. Men like that seldom thought beyond the moment, and beyond their own childish needs. A man like that . . . he mused, his brows pleating in thought. Where would a man like that feel the safest?

  "I beg pardon, my lord." James, the diffident young soldier who served as his secretary, hovered uncertainly in the doorway.

  "Yes, James? What is it?"

  "Your fiancée and her aunt are here to inspect the house. Shall I have Cook prepare the tea you ordered?"

  Ross's eyebrows raised at this. "I ordered?" he repeated, knowing quite well he'd issued no such order. To his shame, it hadn't occurred to him.

  It was Nevil who responded. "Ladies like their tea," he said, giving Ross an apologetic grin. "And I knew you'd have seen to it yourself once you'd thought of it."

  "Thank you, Nevil," Ross said, once more thanking the Providence that had brought them together. "You are a godsend."

  "You're welcome, Captain." Nevil inclined his head graciously. "Glad to be of service."

  Smiling, Ross turned to James. "Please tell Miss Terrington and Lady Fareham I'll be with them directly. Oh, and have the housekeeper ready in case Miss Terrington should desire to speak with her."

  After James left, Ross turned back to Nevil. "Are you still keeping Miss Terrington under observation?" he asked, donning the jacket he'd discarded upon entering the study. "The notice of our engagement will be in all of today's papers, and I want to be prepared in case my cousin decides to make fresh mischief."

  "You don't think he'd hurt your lady?" Nevil asked worriedly.

  "I have no proof he would," Ross replied as he opened the door. "But I want her guarded nonetheless."

  "I'll see to it," Nevil promised, rising to his feet as well. "Is there anything else I can do for you, Captain?"

  Ross hesitated, his hand on the door. "Actually, there is one thing," he said, glancing back at him. "My wedding is to take place four days from today, and it would honor me greatly if you would attend."

  Nevil made a strangled sound, and then straightened his shoulders proudly. "It would be my honor, sir."

  "Good." Ross smiled. "Just one more thing, then."

  "Sir?"

  Ross's smile widened. "For the love of heaven, c
all me Ross." And with that he went down the hall to welcome Adalaide to her new home.

  "Tell me, annsachd, what do you think of your home?" Ross asked, accepting the cup of tea Adalaide handed him. "You're free to change anything if 'tis not to your liking."

  "It's lovely, sir." The smile she offered was as brittle as spun glass. "I am sure I shall be quite happy here."

  The stilted reply was not at all to his liking. He gritted his teeth and tried again. "I know 'tis small," he began in dogged determination, "but I've other homes as well. The country seat is in the Lowlands, near to Edinburgh, and is a grand place from all accounts. I was there as a young lad, but I've few memories of the place. I thought we might go there on our bridal trip, if you've a mind?"

  The words had scarce left his lips before she had set aside her teacup, regarding him with the first flash of true emotion he'd seen in days. "To Scotland?" she asked, her eyes dancing with the bright blue fire he'd so missed.

  "As to that, 'tis hard to say," he drawled, pulling his ear and doing his best to hide his pleased grin. "To a Sassenach like yourself, aye, 'tis Scotland, but to a Highlander . . . well, 'tis not so clear a matter."

  "But we may go there?" she pleaded, her cheeks blooming with a lovely color. "I should love to see your home above all things!"

  Nothing she said could have pleased him more. Glad now that Lady Fareham had discreetly returned to her own home to give them privacy, he moved from his chair to join her on the settee. Taking the hand that held the sapphire ring he'd chosen for her, he twined his fingers with hers.

  "My home is in the Highlands, near the village of Avienmore," he said, brushing his thumb over the brilliant blue stone. "My mother's cousin lives there now, but there's an inn in the village where we can stay if you don't mind."

  "That would be fine," she said, the matter of the inn dismissed with a wave of her other hand. "In the meanwhile, tell me more about Scotland. I have always longed to go there."

  Cradling her hand in his, he leaned back against the striped cushions of the settee. "'Tis as wild and beautiful a place as you can imagine," he said, letting himself remember things he'd long shut out of his memory. "The air's so cold sometimes, it all but snaps your nose off, but 'tis so sweet you want to drink of it like the finest wines."