How mortifying. “Please—”
Thankfully, Elaine was there with a pretty morning dress, so she was not naked for long.
“Oh dear,” her sister said as she picked up the gown. “Are you having your courses?”
Elizabeth stilled and stared at the small stain on her dress. A reminder of last night. “I . . . ah . . . must be.”
“Pity. That was a pretty gown.”
“It can be saved,” Elaine said, gathering it up. “I’m sure of it.”
“Thank you, Elaine.” Oh dear. Elizabeth sucked in a breath and faced herself in the mirror. Her hair was a horror. “But we’d better deal with this first,” she said, gesturing to the nest of curls.
“Of course.”
“Well,” Victoria gusted. “My work here is done. I shall go downstairs and have Henley bring you another chocolate in the sitting room. I’ve had all of yours.”
And her sister was gone before Elizabeth could even scowl her displeasure.
* * *
It occurred to Elizabeth that morning calls were, beyond all things, irritating.
And it wasn’t just the overwhelming scent of Twiggenberry’s lilies pollenating all over the room. The family’s reemergence into the season had unleashed a wave of curiosity about the St. Claire sisters and all the gossips came to call.
Lady Callinda Frey arrived with her companion, the beak-nosed Althea Clark, and they stared about the room like birds seeking crumbs. Belinda Battersby was there as well, along with the venomous Sally Albright, though none of the St. Claire sisters even remotely considered her a friend.
That was the horrible thing about polite society.
On occasion, one had to be polite.
Elizabeth sat on the divan and sipped her chocolate and listened as a truly distasteful conversation swirled around her. All the allegations of last night were regurgitated and explored over and over again. But Elizabeth let Aunt Esmeralda do the talking. For one thing, her aunt was infinitely better at setdowns, and for another, Elizabeth was happy to sit silently and reflect on last night.
Over and over again.
“Do wake up.” Victoria nudged her with an elbow. Thank heaven her chocolate was all gone.
“I am awake.”
“You’re hardly participating.”
Elizabeth gifted her sister with a sardonic look. It said: Who in their right mind would?
“I heard you had Scots,” Lady Callinda said suddenly, and apropos of nothing, in a sharp—yes, birdlike—tone.
“So had I,” Miss Althea Clark parroted. “Where are they?”
Esmeralda gored them with a quelling glance. “Scotland, I daresay?”
“They’ve gone?” Callinda said on a pout. “I was so looking forward to meeting them.”
“Hamish is back,” Victoria said, which earned her a glower from their aunt.
“Oooh. Hamish,” Callinda gusted. “Sounds delicious.”
“Lady Jersey did say he was delicious,” Miss Althea said.
“Do call him down,” Callinda demanded.
Esmeralda’s eyes narrowed chillingly. “He is not a trained monkey who performs on command.”
Lady Callinda blinked. “He is a Scot.”
“He is not here for the entertainment of the ton. He is here to protect the duke’s dear cousins. His Grace does adore them so.”
“Does he?” Lady Callinda strafed them all with a dubious glance.
Her condescension made Elizabeth’s hackles rise. “He has given us his house, purchased our wardrobes, funded our season, and gifted us with very generous dowries,” she snapped. “I daresay he does care for us.”
“Well, it must be nice to be the sole relatives of a wealthy duke.”
“It is. It is indeed. But Lachlan is a wonderful man.” Hardly a lie. Surely he was.
Lady Callinda blanched. “Lachlan, is it?”
Elizabeth glowered. “It is.”
“Funny,” Miss Althea whispered in a whisper that was far from faint. “I’d heard Scots weren’t generous in the least.”
“I’d heard that as well.”
All the nasty ladies nodded and agreed, making Elizabeth want to tear out her hair.
Or, better yet, theirs.
Esmeralda must have suspected an eruption was imminent, because she said, “Elizabeth, dear, will you go ask Henley to bring more cakes?” when they all knew full good and well that a tug on the bellpull would accomplish the same.
“I would be delighted,” she gushed, with all sincerity.
It was supremely wonderful to escape the room.
She took her time wandering to the kitchen. Though she wouldn’t have, had she known Hamish was there. He was sitting at Cook’s rough-hewn table wolfing down an enormous plate of eggs and bacon. She smiled at him and he smiled back.
Henley, however, did not smile. He reared back and stared at her with an outraged expression. This was, of course, the equivalent of her invading his private kingdom. “Lady Elizabeth,” he barked. “Is something wrong?”
“Yes.” She nodded effusively. “Aunt Esmeralda would like more cakes.”
“Is there something wrong with the bellpull?” But it was a rhetorical question. He knew there was not. He hustled into the pantry to fill a new tray.
Elizabeth sashayed over to Hamish’s side. She didn’t touch him, because it would probably scandalize Cook, who was watching her warily from the corner of her eye. “That’s a lot of eggs,” she observed.
“I’m hungry.” He winked. “For some reason.”
Her grin matched his. “I cannot imagine why.”
“Was there something wrong with the bellpull?” he asked curiously.
“No. I needed to leave the room or I might have killed someone.”
His eyes widened and he laughed through a mouthful. “That bad?”
“Worse, actually. Apparently word’s gotten out that we have a trained monkey and all the ladies want to see him perform.”
His beautiful brow quirked. “I dinna realize we had a monkey.”
She leaned closer and whispered, “A Scotsman.”
“Ah.” He took another bite and chewed. “Should I come in then and perform for them?”
“Please don’t. I don’t want to give them the satisfaction. Besides, judging from Lady Jersey’s response to your overwhelming manliness, you might not be safe.”
“Really?”
“Ladies on the hunt are a frightening prospect.”
“So I’ve noticed.” His grin was wicked. He sobered, was silent for a moment, and then asked, under his breath, “I don’t suppose you’ve had a chance to talk with your aunt yet?”
Elizabeth made a face. “Not even close. We’ve been inundated with visitors. And it will probably get worse before it gets better.”
“Pity that. I should probably go hide in my room.” He stood and hovered over her, and she had the distinct impression he was going to kiss her. But then he recalled himself, nodded to Cook, and said, “My thanks for breakfast. I shall . . . ah . . . see you later, Lady Elizabeth?”
“Of course,” she said in a blasé tone.
But damn, she hated this.
She hated pretending.
And she hated the fact that they could not kiss.
But soon.
Soon she would talk to Aunt Esmeralda and everything would be sorted out.
Then they could kiss as often as they wanted.
* * *
Anne thought it patently unfair that Elizabeth got to escape from the drawing room and she had to stay. She’d been on pins and needles ever since Hamish returned, because Ranald was expected at any moment.
Her heart fluttered with each carriage that passed the bow window, each time Henley entered the room, and, well, whenever she thought of him.
It was said that absence made the heart grow fonder and frankly, she’d never believed that platitude. Now she wasn’t so sure. She couldn’t wait to see Ranald again. But she was nervous and excited at the same tim
e.
What a pity she had to sit politely in this room and pretend to be pleased to have company. Especially when said company made her want to scream.
Belinda Battersby wasn’t bad, but Callinda Frey and Althea Clark were horrible. Sally Albright was just downright mean. They all took pleasure in deriding the Scotsmen, even though they’d never even met them, which was unfair at best.
It took a great deal of fortitude not to slap them silly.
Which was odd, because Anne had always been the logical, sober St. Claire sister, the one not given to emotional outbursts or fits of melodrama. Somehow these feelings that Ranald had awakened in her had unleashed other beasts as well, and she was untried at containing them.
It was not easy.
Sally Albright really was the worst. She sniggered as she told the tale of a certain grande dame who’d come home from a trip to Scotland with a red-haired second son, and Anne tolerated it. But when Sally referred to the child as an unfortunate and inferior breed, she couldn’t stop herself. She leaped to her feet and opened her mouth to command Sally to shut up.
Fortunately, before she could unleash the kraken and ruin herself utterly in social circles, the parlor door opened and she caught sight of something that stole her breath and made her pulse surge.
Ranald had returned.
Ah, he looked wonderful. Dusty and scruffy and wonderful.
He caught her eye and flashed her a warm grin. She couldn’t have stopped her responding smile if her life had depended upon it.
Callinda and Althea noticed, of course, and whipped around to pin Ranald with gimlet gazes.
He flinched as he realized what he’d walked into.
“Ohhh. There’s one,” Sally said in a lurid tone. “Do come in and sit with us.”
It was almost amusing, watching Ranald’s Adam’s apple bob. “I, ah . . . couldn’t.” He tried to back out of the room, but Althea patted the seat beside her.
“Nonsense.”
“I apologize, ladies. I’ve just returned from a long journey. I should probably, ahem, freshen up.”
“Nonsense.” Again, with the beating of the cushions.
Ranald glanced at Anne in a save me kind of way, but she was not inclined to send him off. It was too pleasant to be in his company again.
“Do come have some tea,” she said. “You must be parched.”
He glanced at the tray. “Ah, yes. Tea.”
“Panacea for all wounds,” Aunt Esmeralda warbled. It was clear she was delighted to see him, but most probably because he would steal all the attention and she would have a respite from dealing with these buzzards.
To hedge her bets, Esmeralda commanded Henley to find Hamish and send him down as well.
With any luck, they would survive this morning call.
But Anne found it suddenly exhilarating.
Because Ranald was back.
Chapter Fifteen
Hamish did come to the morning room after all, but only to save Ranald who, Henley informed him, had returned from his journey and unwittingly stepped into a nest of vipers.
And vipers they were.
Although raptors was closer to the mark.
When he stepped through the door—and yes, he had taken a moment to dress in full kilt—their heads swiveled around like birds of prey and they stared, unblinking, at his person.
He swallowed heavily and suppressed the urge to run. But Ranald’s grateful, and slightly panicked, glance forestalled his flight.
Ranald had saved his life once. He probably owed him at least as much.
“Och, Bower. I see you’re back,” he said, deliberately thickening his brogue.
“Aye.” Ranald stood, much to the chagrin of the beak-nosed lady who was attempting to maul him. He made haste to Hamish’s side. “We should probably go do that thing.”
Hamish blinked. “That thing?”
Ranald nudged him with an elbow. “That thing we were going to do.”
Was it wicked to grin so widely? “Ach. That thing can wait.”
His friend shot him a disbelieving frown.
Hamish pulled him closer and whispered, “These ladies are here for a show. Shall we give it to them?” They wanted performing monkeys? They would have them.
“I . . . ah . . . What kind of show did you have in mind?”
“Fisticuffs?”
“In the parlor?” Ranald shot a look at Esmeralda and winced. “She would no’ want us breaking her china.”
“Ach. True. Tippling whisky then?”
“Much better.”
“And perhaps we could speak Gaelic and expect them to understand?”
“You are an evil man, Hamish Robb.”
He grinned at his friend. “Watch. I’m going to sit on the divan and spread my legs a bit. Do you want to place wagers on how many of them swoon?”
Ranald snorted a laugh. “I’d much rather place bets on how many try to crawl up your kilt.”
Hamish clapped him on the back and laughed. “Come then. Let’s have some fun.”
And fun it was. And though Esmeralda glared constant daggers at them as they played out this farce—belching and slurping and acting as uncivilized as they could manage without dissolving into peals of laughter—Hamish saw the smirk hovering beneath her ferocity.
As for Elizabeth, she merely sat, prim and proper in her seat, clutching her hands together and nibbling her lower lip. Even Anne seemed amused. Hamish hoped he was winning her over. When he married Elizabeth, they would be family, after all.
“I do say, Sir Hamish,” Lady Callinda said after a bit.
“No’ Sir Hamish,” he said, leaning to the side to issue a fart. He grinned at her. “Just Hamish. Bower is the one with a title.”
“I see. Well . . . Hamish. Is it true what they say about Scotsmen?”
His grin widened. “Probably.”
“What is it they say?” Victoria asked.
Lady Callinda leaned closer and whispered, though she was across the table so everyone heard. “Is it true what Scotsmen wear beneath their kilts?” The question was lurid and inappropriate and utterly out of place at a morning call—even Hamish knew as much—so he responded by crossing his legs.
The lady in question blanched and then flushed, but her gaze went right where he expected it to go. Though with the shadows, she likely saw nothing. He hoped she saw nothing.
Miss Althea, her companion—the one with the long hooked nose, who’d probably never seen beneath anyone’s anything—gasped. And then she swooned. Fortunately she had the good sense to swoon back onto the pillows, rather than face first into her cake.
“Should ha’ gone with swooning,” Ranald muttered.
“Aye. Should ha’.”
“May I remind you there are children present?” Esmeralda snapped.
Mary blinked. “Where?”
Her aunt glowered at her. “Shall we maintain a civil conversation at morning calls?”
“You’re the one who brought Scotsmen in,” Lady Callinda hissed.
“You’re the one who asked them to perform,” Elizabeth responded tartly.
“I say!” Obviously Lady Callinda didn’t care to be called on her bad behavior.
“I thought they did quite well,” Victoria said brightly, and then, she applauded.
Miss Althea, who had revived herself because she didn’t want to miss anything, sputtered. “What do you mean?”
Anne chuckled. “They’ve been bamming you. They really are quite civilized.”
“Yes,” Elizabeth added. “They use silverware and everything.”
“Well, I never,” the good lady huffed.
“Do you no’?” Ranald murmured. “There’s a pity.”
Lady Callinda, and all the ladies, in fact, gaped like a brace of landed trout. “I . . . I . . . I . . .”
“Oh dear,” Lady Belinda Battersby gushed. “Is that the time? I really must be going.”
No doubt she did. The woman had gossiping to do.
&nbs
p; All the women rose then and nodded. They seemed alarmed that Hamish and Ranald rose with them, as though they’d forgotten it was the polite thing for a gentleman to do. “We really must go. So many calls to make,” Lady Callinda warbled as they scuttled for the door.
“So right.” Sally Albright offered a somewhat venomous smile.
“Do have a lovely day,” Esmeralda said with the flick of her fingers. It was clear they couldn’t have left soon enough for her liking.
When the door closed on them, all the St. Claires and a couple Scotsmen collapsed in very inappropriate laughter.
“Hush,” Anne said through a snort. “They’ll hear us.”
“I don’t give a fig,” Victoria said. “How horrible were they?”
Ranald shrugged. “I enjoyed it.” He glanced at Hamish. “After reinforcements arrived, of course.
“Of course.” Hamish clapped him on the shoulder.
“And how was your journey?” Mary asked.
“It was a bluidy awful two weeks.” Ranald shook a finger at the girls. “Don’t any of you get it in your head to hie off to Scotland and elope.”
“Catherine was kidnapped,” Elizabeth reminded him.
“Beside the point. I doona want to have to make that ride again. My arse is sore.”
“Language!” Esmeralda trilled but, judging from her smile, it was clear she was pleased to have them back.
There were more callers, mostly younger girls who seemed to be actual friends of the St. Claires. While they were polite and subdued, it was clear they’d come to get a look at the St. Claire Scotsmen as well.
As the seats filled up, Hamish and Ranald excused themselves to stand by the window and chat. They had to move, though, when the lilies there in the vase made Hamish start to sneeze.
Ranald was in the middle of bringing Hamish up to date on his business meeting—which had been about increasing distribution of their fledgling distillery—when a scratch came on the door. Without waiting, Henley entered and formally intoned, “Lord Twiggenberry and Lord Blackworth.”
A titter went up in the room.
Elizabeth, of course, was not one of the offenders.
The lords entered and then struck a pose in the doorway, waiting a moment for the power of their grandeur to be felt.
A hush resonated.
All the girls—save the St. Claires—stared in awe.
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