Questions for a Highlander

by Angeline Fortin

  “I was quite ill for some time but am on the road to recovery.” She met his gaze ever so briefly but he read relief in her lovely aquamarine eyes. Very familiar eyes. Bloody hell, who was she?

  “We’re so happy to hear that,” the more bubbly of the pair gushed. “Do you plan to take part in the remainder of the Season while you’re in Town?”

  “I hadn’t thought to.”

  “Oh, but you must!” she continued. “We’re having a ball to celebrate my sister’s engagement tomorrow night. Please say you’ll join us.”

  Richard’s gaze returned to the angel who was now watching him steadily from beneath her lashes. Was she the sister who was now engaged?

  “Oh! There’s St. Owen!” The flighty miss’s attention turned as quickly as a hound’s at the scent of a fox. “I must go. It was very nice to see you again, Mr. MacKintosh, Captain MacKintosh!” She waved her hands in a capricious manner. “You must come tomorrow! We won’t take no for an answer.”

  With that, she turned and hurried away, waving her hand with unseemly enthusiasm to catch the attention of a gentleman across the room. Thankfully, her departure kept him from responding to her invitation. How could he do such a thing we he hadn’t a clue who they were? It seemed rude at this point to ask.

  “You must forgive Sara,” the angel spoke once more in that low and melodious voice. The very sound of it sent a shudder of pleasure down Richard’s spine. He had almost forgotten what it felt like to feel something of that nature. “The excitement of her first Season seems to never wane.”

  “She is most enthusiastic.”

  “You needn’t attend the ball if you’d rather not. I can see your hesitation.”

  “My wounds haven’t yet allowed for much socialization,” he prevaricated.

  “W-were you badly injured?” she asked hesitantly and Richard could see the worry in her eyes.

  He felt the urge to wrap his arms around her and banish the worry away with a kiss. Richard shook his head wondering at the absurd thought, saying only, “It’s a tale unfit for a lady’s ears.”

  “I can only thank God then that you are recovering and well.”

  “I am better every day…”

  Francis arrived then, taking a glass of champagne from the refreshment table. “I haven’t seen Stanhope depart from the receiving line yet but CB is in the card room, Richard. I think this would be a good time to strike up a bit of casual conversation… oh, hello brat. I didn’t know you were in town.”

  The angel offered a soft smile and her hand to Francis who took it warmly in his own. No polite, social bow from his brother or a curtsey from her. Damn, Richard thought, he really should know her. “Oona insisted. Father has taken a house on Mount Street for the Season.”

  “Have you seen Jack? He is supposed to be in Town, as well.”

  “Is he?” Her voice held surprise and an edge of excitement. Richard wondered how she knew Jack Merrill. Recognition niggled at the back of his mind, but continued to elude him. “I would love to see him.”

  “I’ve gotten a townhouse recently and invited him to stay with us.” Francis responded handing the woman one of his calling cards. “I’m expecting him anytime now.”

  “Will you let him know that asked after him?” She shifted gazing at Richard from under her lashes. “And, uh… I believe Oona might have sent you around an invitation recently. I’m sure everyone would love to see you again.”

  “I’ll have to look into it.”

  The angel’s gaze shifted behind them and her expression softened slightly. Richard turned to see a young, dark-haired gentleman in his early-twenties approaching with a wide smile. He was dapperly dressed and handsome enough to turn the heads of other ladies as he passed. Richard hated him on sight.

  “Gentleman, if you’ll excuse me, I believe Lord Aylesbury has come to claim me for our dance.”

  “I’ll look for that invitation,” Francis responded with a wide smile, a rare sight these days. “It’s been a pleasure seeing you again, Abby.”

  “Lady Abygail, I believe this is our dance?”

  “Goodbye, Francis.” The woman cast her cool gaze over Richard, assessing him and apparently finding him wanting. “Richard.”

  “Abby?” Richard’s voice cracked as the angel took the young man’s arm and moved off toward the dance floor. “Abby Merrill?”

  Francis cast his brother a frown. “Well, you were talking to her. I assumed you recognized her.”

  “How could you expect that I might?” Richard said in astonishment, feeling the fool. “I haven’t seen her in years!”

  “Nor have I, but the lass has changed nary a bit,” his brother returned with a shrug. “I recognized her immediately.”

  Richard hadn’t. To him, this otherworldly Abby Merrill was a dramatic change from the tomboyish, sassy scamp he remembered from years past. In his memories, she was forever grimy, her hair tangled and loose, and her figure the last time he’d seen her had been that of a child. The Abby he remembered fondly was a jolly friend always up for a spot of fishing, racing or other boyish pastimes.

  This Abby… well, this Abby was polished to a high gloss. Tidy, elegant and mannered. And Sara – ahh, her sister, Sara Merrill – had said that they were having an engagement ball. Was it for Abby? Wasn’t there another sister? He hoped so and wondered why.

  “Shall we find CB, Richard?” his brother prompted.

  Richard watched Abby rotate around the dance floor for a moment longer, absorbing the sight of her fair hair flashing white in the light from the chandeliers. Abby Merrill, he thought shaking his head. Richard couldn’t believe it. “All right, then. Let’s do it.”

  Chapter 10

  To be yourself in a world

  that is constantly trying to make you something else

  is the greatest accomplishment.

  - Ralph Waldo Emerson

  He hadn’t recognized her!

  Abby could scarcely believe it.

  Upon seeing him through the crowd looking so smartly handsome in his uniform of the Scots Guard, she stared so hard that Sara had finally stopped talking to follow her gaze curiously. The bright red coat with its gold braid and trim stretched across Richard’s broad chest. The black belt hugged his waist as tightly as the black britches did his thighs. It had been all she could do not to sigh over him – which she had been content to do from a distance – until Sara recognized him and insisted they say their hellos.

  Of course, the uniform of an officer was like a beacon to Sara’s young eyes.

  With her greatest fear unfolding itself before her, Abby’s first urge had been to run away and spare herself his reaction. Desire to see Richard up close had warred with that fear, winning out in the end and Abby had gathered every bit of composure she had to calm herself and follow her sister. Her eyes ate him up as they approached, noting the changes the years had brought - the sword at his side, the cut of his hair, and the tightness of his jaw as her sister had prattled on and on.

  Then he’d spoken directly to her with that deep, sensual tone. It had seemed that Richard might have been flirting with her, even if it was just a tad, and her heart had soared, pushing aside her nerves. Her fear. Even her curiosity over his injuries. But then, when Francis had greeted her so casually, she had seen the confusion on his face. When he’d realized who she was, the denial.

  “What has you so glum?” her partner asked, drawing her attention as they reached the center of the dance floor and he drew her close for the waltz. Harrison Brudenall, the Marquis of Aylesbury, owned a Belgrave Square townhome just next door to the Boughtons. Abby had met him shortly after their arrival in Town and found in him a caring friend.

  “Nothing at all, Lord Aylesbury,” Abby responded carefully, placing a hand on his shoulder and catching her skirts in her left hand just in time for him to spin her about in the opening bars.

  “You’re not at all your normal bright, cheery self this evening.”

  Though the marquis was an excel
lent dancer whose strong lead did allow for some conversation during the dance, Abby found herself with no words to explain. She opted for wrinkling her nose. “When am I ever bright and cheery, my lord?”

  “My lady, I assure you, you have a definite potential for both,” he countered with one of his wide smiles and Abby could feel herself relax. Aylesbury was just the sort to put everyone at ease.

  The marquis was young, handsome, and personable. He was also unfailingly courteous and caring. What Abby appreciated most about him, however, was his ability to look her in the eye when he spoke to her. Unlike so many others, his eyes never wandered to the side or lingered on the scar that curved across the right side of her face.

  Self-consciously, Abby tilted her head away from Harry, presenting him with her unmarred left side. Abby thought there was nothing worse than living with people who reminded her daily of her diminished worth, unless it was receiving more of the same from complete strangers.

  The Season hadn’t disappointed in that respect. She’d gotten everything she expected and more. In the superficial world of the ton, the stares and whispers followed her each time she left home.

  They conveniently grew in volume whenever she was in earshot.

  Her family hadn’t been at their first garden party for more than an hour before she’d heard Oona sighing pitifully for her dear, beloved stepdaughter’s horrible fate, hinting that the unseen scarring beneath her clothing was even worse than Abby’s face.

  Abby had wanted to hide away from them all, just as she had for years. She didn’t want pity, couldn’t bear the revulsion. How did Oona think Abby was to find a husband when the eligible men looked at her so? When she stoked their morbid curiosity? While Abby had little interest in marrying, she hated even more the thought of being wed only for her fortune.

  For some reason – be it God’s pity, an angel’s blessing or Oona’s prompting – Harry Brudenall seemed to have taken a liking to her, overlooking Abby’s most obvious faults. Of course, he liked everyone and everyone liked him in return. He was extremely popular, favored by all the young ladies because he distributed himself among the wallflowers with enthusiasm. It was their Season as well, he told her. Every lady deserved to dance during her Season. It gratified him to bring that pleasure to them.

  Abby liked him a great deal. It was hard not to when he cared so much for others. Abby didn’t think he did so out of pity for the wallflowers or even for her, at least to any great extent. As hard as it was to comprehend, given the usual tendencies of the London ton, Abby believed that Harry actually did enjoy being kind.

  Even though his father had died the year before leaving Harry, his only son, with more responsibility than most young men liked to have, the new marquis bore that as good-naturedly as he did everything else.

  He had as much pressure on him as Abby currently bore to marry, though he tended to go about it in an unperturbed fashion. His need to marry and beget an heir was most likely the reason why Oona had quickly latched on to him, changing Aylesbury from tentative friend to suitor – her only suitor, if the truth were known – much to her father’s delight.

  That was the reason the Earl of Haddington was bearing the expense of a Season, after all. From his perspective, it was going well for him so far. Her sister, Catharine, was making a match of it with George Lyle, Lord Westbourne, while Sara held decent odds of getting Christopher Jervis, Viscount St. Owen, to propose. Unless, Abby sometimes thought, Sara kept talking to him.

  For Abby, it was to be Aylesbury.

  Though Abby saw his courtship as nothing more than a charitable act that would provide him some benefit in the end, she knew that if she had thought to marry, she could do much worse than Harry Brudenall. The marquis was rich, funny and intelligent, as well as dashing and handsome with black hair and vivid blue eyes.

  Everything about him was all that a woman could hope for.

  But when Abby had seen another man’s mossy green eyes warm when they met hers tonight, she had known that a comfortable marriage to a friendly face wasn’t going to be enough for her.

  Her worst fear. Her greatest hope.

  She had never dreamed that Richard would come back. Oh, she had always prayed that he would return home safely but she hadn’t pictured him entering London society for any reason. Yet here he was after all those years and she wanted him still, loved him still, though clearly he had changed from the frivolous youth he had been. He looked harder, tougher. The lad he had been years before was gone. There was a pain in his eyes, beneath his warm appraisal, that hinted at hardship. Was it merely his injuries? Abby wanted to find out, search him out and soothe his pain away.

  Would it be worth the risk to seek him out? Abby chewed her lip thoughtfully. The ballroom, as brightly lit as it was, still held the cast of evening and Abby had been careful to keep her head turned away from him. Richard hadn’t seen her scars yet. What would he think? Would he shudder with horror as so many had and draw away? Would he stare rudely, leaving her uncomfortable and longing for solitude?

  To Abby’s surprise, the waltz drew to a close then and Lord Aylesbury whirled her about one last time before bowing low over her hand.

  “You are a graceful a partner as always, Lady Abygail,” he said as he offered her an arm to lead her from the dance floor. “I sometimes think dancing is the one thing you truly enjoy.”

  “Nonsense, my lord, I love to ride,” Abby countered. She had spent the better part of the last several years on horseback, riding across the highlands to better avoid her family at Glen Sannox House. Certainly, she’d done far more riding than dancing.

  “And you have an excellent seat,” Aylesbury went on smoothly. “I feel, however, that this is the first time I’ve been in your company when I feel I haven’t had your company at all.”

  Abby winced, her cheeks flushing. “I’m sorry, my lord. I’m afraid I’ve a bit on my mind this evening.”

  “That is easy enough to see. What is it that has you thinking so deeply?” the marquis pressed with clear curiosity.

  Abby sighed. How could she tell him that it wasn’t what was bothering her as much as who? Harry was a good man, good company and a good friend. She had no desire to hurt his feelings by showing preference for another.

  “I shall guess, then,” the marquis went on. “It is that chap in the regimentals who has distracted you so. Aha, with that blush, I see that I am right! Who is he?”

  “The gentleman of the Scots Guard is Captain Richard MacKintosh and the other was his older brother, the Earl of Glenrothes. I grew up with them. They are old family friends,” Abby responded as casually as possible.

  “Old family friends, hmm?” Aylesbury raised a brow. “Is that all then?”

  “Certainly,” Abby told him. “Anything else you saw was merely concern on my part. The captain was recently injured and is home to recuperate.”

  “I don’t think I saw concern at all in the man’s eyes when I led you out to our dance,” he argued. “I think I would call it… astonishment.”

  “Because he hadn’t recognized me!” Abby blurted out. “He was merely embarrassed because he hadn’t recognized me.”

  “Had it been so long?”

  “Six years, I think.”

  Aylesbury laughed out right then. “I think I see it now, poor fellow!”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “It’s the look of a man who discovers that the child he once knew is a woman grown,” the marquis explained, “after he’s already had indecent thoughts of her. Old chap probably feels a bit queasy about now.”

  “He’s always seen me as a child,” she told him but was unable to hide the disappointment in her voice.

  “To my eternal regret, I don’t believe he does now. Once his self-flagellating moment has run its course, I fear I might find myself with some competition for your affections,” Aylesbury said mournfully.

  For a brief moment, Abby’s heart raced with hope and possibilities before it sank. Tracing a hand ab
sently down her cheek, Abby just shook her head. “You are my one and only suitor, Lord Aylesbury. No other man has found me worthy of any affection at all. I doubt Richard MacKintosh would be any different.”

  “London is peopled by fools of little depth and character,” he countered, tracing his knuckles down the path her own fingers had just followed. It was his first open recognition of her scars but Abby didn’t feel any pity from him, just an acknowledgement of her pain. It made her like him all the more. He went on, “I cannot be the only one in this entire town who is not.”

  “Ahh, but Harry, what if you are?”

  “Then I will take the best prize of them all and consider myself a lucky man.”

  Chapter 11

  Politicians and diapers should be changed frequently,

  and for the same reason.

  - Mark Twain

  “I don’t know what to tell you lads,” Henry Campbell-Bannerman said gruffly in his Scots brogue. “Hadn’t heard a word of this before.”

  “I rather assumed you hadn’t, CB,” Glenrothes nodded tightly. The sub rosa habits of the government and military of the British Empire had ceased to surprise him more than a week before.

  Richard had explained the matter to Campbell-Bannerman, the man who’d held the office of War Secretary the previous year when the mission had been ordered, and Francis had read the surprise registering on the politician’s face as he spoke. Regardless of Palmer’s claims, the former secretary knew nothing of his brother’s capture and escape, much less the continued imprisonment of Vin, Jace and the others. It went to follow that if CB – the head of the War Department when the incident occurred – didn’t, then Stanhope, his successor, didn’t either. The urge to smash Palmer’s nose with a strong right made Glenrothes clench his fists. The under secretary should be glad he wasn’t there.

  “What would you like me to do then?” the politician asked.