So mellow, in fact, that when Elizabeth breezed through the door, looking lovely and rested, his heart only gave a little jump.
“Well, that was perfect timing,” Anne said with a small smile. “We’ve just finished.”
“Finished? Finished what?” Was it his imagination or did her gaze linger a little too long on his lips?
“We’ve drawn up our plans for the season.”
Elizabeth’s smile faded. “But I wanted to help.”
“Tut,” Esmeralda warbled. “Cannot be helped. We’re all done.”
Elizabeth sighed and dropped onto a Hepplewhite, holding out her hand. “Let me see it.”
Esmeralda handed over her hastily scratched list and Elizabeth scanned it. “Oh dear,” she said with a glance at Catherine. “Tiverton’s?”
Her friend smiled blindingly. “I’m not going to that one.”
“He is rather . . . insistent.”
“He is.”
Esmeralda glowered. “You gels are missing the point.”
“Which is?” Anne drawled.
“We are not going to Tiverton’s party to consider Tiverton, but to consider his friends.”
“Preeble is his friend,” Elizabeth reminded her.
“It goes without saying we are not considering Preeble either,” the matron responded in stentorian tones.
“Thank heaven for small favors,” Anne said, sotto voce.
Hamish grinned and took another sip of his whisky. Though he had not liked Henley terribly this morning, this afternoon he was fast becoming a dear friend. When he held up his glass, the butler was right there with a refill.
As he took a sip, his gaze clashed with Elizabeth’s, and the little wench smiled. It was a wicked smile, one that brought to mind his assertion of earlier that she would drive him to drink.
Well, she would. She did. She was.
He took another healthy drought.
“Don’t get pickled,” Lady Esmeralda said, and it occurred to him that he needed to mind himself because others were watching.
But still, his gaze was drawn to Elizabeth again and again and his mind floated back to that kiss . . . and what might have happened, what could have happened . . . until he became quite uncomfortable in the trousers.
He set his glass on the table and adjusted his seat.
It did not help.
“So will you be dancing with us at the balls?” Elizabeth asked. That she asked it of Bower annoyed the hell out of Hamish.
Ranald chuckled. “I dare say we will no’.”
“Do you not know how to dance in Scotland?” Anne asked, a trifle too acerbically.
The baron stilled and his gaze locked with Anne’s. “Aye, lass,” he said in a low tone. “We do indeed.” It was duly noted that Anne shivered and then pointedly looked away. “But during this season, we will be present as chaperones only.”
“A reminder, if you will, to all and sundry that we have the duke’s blessings,” Esmeralda added.
“To that end, we shall be wearing the Sinclair kilt,” Ranald said.
His timing was unfortunate, as Anne had just taken a sip of tea. Which now spewed forth. “What?”
“Och aye.” Ranald held her gaze again and then winked.
How interesting that a blush arose on those alabaster cheeks.
“I think that is a wonderful idea,” Elizabeth said.
Anne’s brows rose. She sputtered for a moment and then managed, “What nonsense!”
“Kilts are verra attractive.” Elizabeth affected a brogue.
“They are savage.”
Hamish could tell the moment the words escaped, Anne regretted them. Her face turned beet red.
“I mean . . .”
“We know what you mean, lass,” Ranald said. “And if it’s the truth you’re wanting, savagery was our intent.”
“Oh yes,” Esmeralda said, clapping her hands in delight. “Just so. An excellent way to remind the members of the ton that our duke is a Scot through and through. And what better way to begin as we mean to go on than to attend Almack’s tonight?”
Hamish swallowed heavily. Tonight?
Oh. Perhaps he shouldn’t have had that second whisky.
“Almack’s?” Anne frowned. “But we have not received vouchers.” It was a well-known fact—even in the far reaches of Scotland—that without the approval of the patronesses, one would be barred at the door.
Esmeralda’s smile was wicked. “Of course we have received vouchers. Are we not connected to the Duke of Caithness?” She winked. “It doesn’t hurt that Lady Jersey is a friend.”
“Surely they will not allow them in.” Anne waved at Ranald in a thoroughly dismissive manner. Hamish did not miss his frown.
“Nonsense. Of course they shall.” She patted Hamish’s knee. “In fact, no doubt, our savage Scots will be the talk of the town.”
Hamish and Ranald exchanged wry glances. Aye. No doubt indeed.
Like a general to her troops, Esmeralda rose to her feet and bellowed, “Well, gels, what are you waiting for? Let’s get ready for the season to begin!”
Chapter Five
It wasn’t something Ranald often did, preparing for a formal event. It was a rare occurrence, even in his capacity as Baron of Bower. But that did not account for his nervousness tonight. Which was ironic, if one thought about it.
He was an outsider here, and the Brits didn’t pull any punches in reminding him of that. He’d been to London many times and was used to it. In fact, he hardly cared. But for some reason, Lady Anne’s scorn cut him to the quick.
He sighed as he attached his sporran to his kilt and tried to focus on his reflection rather than the lines of her beautiful face haunting his mind. He’d thought they’d made some progress in the library. He’d thought they’d come to an understanding, but her derision had risen again in the parlor as they’d gone through the schedule for the season.
It would be wise to give her time, he supposed.
Hell, he would be wise to forget about his attraction to her and focus on the job at hand.
The enmity between the English and Scottish had deep roots and, even in this day and age, some people could not see past their differences.
Hamish knocked on his door and entered without waiting for a response.
“Ach!” he said. “You look fine.”
Ranald gave his friend the once-over and nodded. “As do you. Do you think we’re intimidating enough?”
Hamish thought this over and said, “A claymore, perhaps?”
“A good idea. Do you suppose they have one in the attic?”
“This is the Duke of Caithness’s home.”
“That it is.” They both laughed at the thought of strolling into Almack’s with swords at their sides.
Hamish sobered. “I’m no’ looking forward to this evening,” he said with a sigh.
“Nor am I. But it’s important we make a good show of it. For the duke’s sake.”
“Aye. And for the girls as well.”
“Indeed.” Ranald’s thoughts flew back to Anne and he grimaced.
Hamish didn’t miss his expression. “What is it?”
“Nothing. I had a conversation with Lady Anne.”
Hamish barked a laugh. “I imagine that was fun.”
“Fun is no’ the word I was thinking. She’s not pleased to have Scotsmen in her home.”
“I would imagine so. Considering her past.”
Ranald stilled and glanced at his friend. “Do you care to elaborate?”
“A familiar story. A disastrous holiday romance.”
“With a Scotsman?”
“Aye. She was quite young.”
“That does explain a lot.” It did, but it frustrated him because he hated being tarred with another’s brush.
“Hopefully they will all come to see that we are honorable men.”
“Aye.” But how long would he have to wait? And would there be a chance for them at all?
Only time would t
ell.
* * *
“Well. I, for one, am glad they’re here,” Victoria said, and Elizabeth winced at the glee in her tone.
“They are quite handsome,” Catherine said as she buttoned up Elizabeth’s gown. It was a pallid white confection, one she quite abhorred, but when one attended Almack’s, one wore the uniform. “Especially him.”
Heat crawled up Elizabeth’s neck and she murmured, “Hmm?”
“Bower. He’s quite handsome, don’t you think?”
Bower? Her stomach unknotted. “Oh yes.”
“He’s a Scot,” Anne said. She was staring into the mirror and fluffing her hair.
Catherine laughed. “That doesn’t stop a man from being attractive.”
“It does in my eyes.”
“I like Hamish,” Victoria said, twirling around until her gown belled out. “Red hair is so . . . iconic for a Scotsman, don’t you think?”
It took everything in Elizabeth to keep from growling at her sister. Of all of them, Victoria was by far the most beautiful. If she set her sights on Hamish, Elizabeth wouldn’t have a chance.
Well, that thought caught her unawares.
Even though she hadn’t been able to think of much but him since this morning, she hadn’t realized her feelings were quite this strong.
Was it silly to fall so fast?
Was it silly to let one kiss blind her to all else?
Probably.
“I can’t wait to see them in their kilts,” Victoria said. “I hear they are half-naked in them.”
Catherine laughed. “Hardly naked. But their legs are bare.”
“And other things,” Anne muttered. Then, when everyone looked at her in shock, she added, “Or so I’ve heard.”
“Does Duncan wear anything under his kilt?” Victoria asked, and Catherine blushed.
“I’m sure I wouldn’t know,” she sputtered, though it was clear that she did.
Elizabeth’s curiosity suddenly went wild.
Did Hamish wear anything under his kilt?
She would have to be sure to ask.
“There,” Catherine said, giving her a pat. “All done. Turn ’round and let me have a look.”
Elizabeth whirled and Catherine sighed. “You look lovely.”
“Do I?” She examined her reflection in the glass. White was not a flattering color.
“Of course you do,” Anne said. “You all do.”
“You look lovely as well,” Elizabeth murmured. In fact, on Anne, with her blond hair and her rosy complexion, the lack of color suited her. She had the aspect of an angel. While Elizabeth, on the other hand, was something of a sallow dumpling. The fluttering lace didn’t help.
“I think we are all beautiful,” Victoria chirped, which was generous of her.
“We all look alike,” Mary added.
They did. “Like matched horses.” Elizabeth whirled around and frowned at her sisters. “Why is it they want us all to look alike?”
“To remind us we are cattle?” Anne suggested. There was hardly any bitterness in her tone at all.
Catherine chuckled. “Don’t be silly.”
“You can be blasé,” Elizabeth said with a grin. “You are betrothed. We, however, are on the marriage mart.”
Anne sighed. “Cattle at auction.”
“Come now. It’s not so bad.”
“Again, you can be blasé.” Elizabeth pulled on her gloves. “By the way, will Duncan be coming tonight?”
“To Almack’s?” Catherine said on a laugh. “I think not.”
“Our Scotsmen will be there,” Mary said.
“I think Duncan would rather be drawn and quartered than attend the assembly houses.”
“As would I,” Anne muttered.
“You could always plead a megrim,” Catherine suggested. “It works for me. In fact, now that I mention it, I do believe I feel one coming on.” She set her hand to her forehead and flopped back on the divan.
The younger girls laughed, but Elizabeth was not amused. “Never say you are crying off! This is Almack’s.”
“As you so generously pointed out, Elizabeth, I am betrothed. There’s no need for me to attend.”
“You’re my friend. You should be there to support me.”
“I would only get in the way.” Oh, her grin was wicked. “All those beaus flocking to my side and all.”
Elizabeth put out a lip. She was not keen on attending Almack’s herself, after all the stories she’d heard. It was, apparently, stuffy to the extreme—both in atmosphere and mood. “I think I feel a megrim coming on myself,” she announced.
“Oh no you don’t.” Catherine shook a finger. “You have to go.”
Anne snorted. “Aunt Esmeralda would not be fooled. I daresay she would drag us to the coach by the hair, megrim or no.”
Victoria nodded solemnly. “She is very pleased about the vouchers.”
Indeed. They were something of a coup.
“It is only right for us to appreciate all the work she’s done on our behalf,” Anne said on a long-suffering sigh. She glanced around the room. “Shall we?”
And with that, and one more quick glance in the glass, they headed downstairs, leaving Catherine relaxing on the divan with a smirk on her face.
Halfway down, Elizabeth caught sight of something in the foyer, something that made her breath stall, made her heart patter.
Hamish. Tall, muscular, and absolutely glorious in a full Scottish dress kilt.
Oh, had he been handsome before?
Now he was breathtaking.
When he caught sight of her and stared with that piercing glance, she nearly lost her footing and tumbled down the stairs. How mortifying would that have been? She took a moment to collect herself and then, clinging to the banister, made her way, as gracefully as she could, to the ground floor.
She tried desperately to keep her gaze trained on anything but him. The baron stood next to him looking equally grand, but for some reason, he did not make her weak at the knees.
“Here we are,” Aunt Esmeralda warbled as she tugged on her gloves. “Our gels and our Scotsmen.” She gave each man the once-over and then nodded. “Excellent. Quite excellent. You look very daunting.”
“Do we?” the baron said with a grin.
“Indeed you do. Shall we go?” She scanned the gaggle of practically identical nieces and frowned. “Where is Catherine?”
“She has a megrim,” Victoria said with a grin.
“Does she?” Esmeralda’s nose wrinkled. “Sickly gel. Well, I suppose it cannot be helped. Onward!”
They filed outside, where two coaches awaited them. To Elizabeth’s annoyance, all the females were crammed into one, while the men had the other all to themselves. When she complained, her aunt told her in no uncertain terms that it would be wildly inappropriate to arrive at Almack’s in a carriage with a Scotsman. But when Anne asked if it would not also be inappropriate to arrive at Almack’s with Scotsmen at all, Esmeralda waved her into silence.
“They are our secret weapon,” she insisted. “These men, aside from being a reminder that we have the patronage of a very wealthy and powerful man, will create an unforgettable sensation.”
“It seems wrong,” Elizabeth felt compelled to mention, “to put them on display like creatures in a zoo.”
“Nonsense. They are your protectors. And do you know what that implies?”
“What?”
“That you are something worth protecting. Something quite valuable and rare.”
“I rather like that,” Mary said, bouncing on her seat until her ringlets danced. Since her seat was Elizabeth’s lap, this was annoying.
“Do stop.”
“Now, gels, pay attention. Be sure you greet Lady Jersey immediately upon your arrival. And be certain to compliment her on her hair.”
“Does she have special hair?” Mary asked.
Esmeralda frowned at her. “Not that I am aware of. But a compliment is necessary.”
“It will s
eem strange if we all compliment her on her hair,” Victoria said. “Perhaps we should discuss who will compliment what on Lady Jersey’s person.”
Mary bounced again. “I would prefer to compliment her dress.”
Victoria nodded. “Anne can compliment her jewelry and Elizabeth, her hair.”
“What if I don’t want to compliment her hair?” It was probably wrong to be so difficult, but this conversation was far too absurd.
“Fine then,” Victoria said on a sigh. “I shall take the hair. You can compliment . . .”
“What?”
“Her smile?”
“She rarely does,” Esmeralda muttered.
“Oh dear. That is a conundrum,” Elizabeth said through her grin. “I suppose I shall just have to play it by ear.”
“Perhaps you can compliment her ears,” Victoria said with a grin.
Esmeralda ignored this aside, nodding to Elizabeth. “You do that, dear.” She glanced out the window. “We’re almost there. Now remember. When you walk in, chins up, eyes forward, and glide. Your future husband could be in that room at this very moment.”
Anne caught Elizabeth’s eye and grimaced.
It took a minute or two for them all to untangle and exit the coach with some element of elegance, by which time, their Scotsmen were already waiting for them.
Elizabeth dared another glance at Hamish—to be precise, at his knees—and then quickly looked away and sucked in a breath as her head had suddenly gone woozy. Thankfully, she had hold of Anne’s arm, and her sister steadied her. Anne never did anything as frivolous as going woozy, thank heaven.
As they approached the unpretentious façade of the assembly rooms, Elizabeth focused on her demeanor, taking Aunt Esmeralda’s words to heart. This was her first official appearance on the social scene, and she did want to make a good impression.
She hadn’t expected to be nervous, but as they approached those hallowed doors, her heart kicked into a furious rhythm.
Anne squeezed her arm. “You’ll do fine,” she whispered, and Elizabeth sent her a grateful glance.
As they stepped into the grand foyer, they were greeted by an elegant lady with black curls. She was, undoubtedly, the aforementioned Lady Jersey. She caught sight of Esmeralda and her wintery expression thawed. “Darling,” she called, pulling their aunt into a quick hug.
The Highlander Is All That Page 4