Glenrothes chuckled in response to the siblings’ argument. “So, the scheme is working as we planned? This wasn’t simply a ruse to enticement me from my seclusion? You’ve found a wealthy woman to wed and save your estates? When do I look her over?”
Abby tsked in disgust. “I can’t believe you’re going to help him make such a calculated decision, Francis. This is a terrible reflection on your views of womankind.”
Francis had much to say about womankind that certainly wasn’t kind at all. However, he’d known Abby since she was a girl. By this point, she should be well aware of his reasons. Not wanting to offend her by itemizing them, Francis looked to Richard for assistance. “What say you, brother?”
Stepping into the fray, the younger MacKintosh put his arm about his wife’s shoulder. “Now, Abby, my angel. Some men have reason not to fully appreciate your gender.”
She looked at her husband with narrowed eyes. “If that is the best you can do, Richard MacKintosh, you’d best keep your thoughts to yourself.”
She turned on her brother-in-law with the same look, and Francis was tempted to back away defensively. Abygail might be a tiny, innocent looking girl, but she had the fierceness of the angriest bull. Angel, indeed! Avenging angel was more like it.
“Aye, I know you, Francis. I know you like women not at all, and perhaps you do have good reason for those sentiments—”
“Perhaps?” both Francis and Richard gasped in unison.
“Very well, you do have reason.” In fact, Francis had very good reason to dislike women. His wife had made his life miserable for a decade, plaguing him with embarrassment and humiliation. “However, that is not the case with my brother. Life with the ladies has been too easy for that rogue. He looks at them now as unwanted pets. He’s a cad. He would never treat a lady as she deserves.”
“I say,” Jack exclaimed, taking offense. “I am right here, you know.”
But Francis held his ground. “Not all ladies deserve to be treated well.”
Abygail threw up her hands in exasperation. “Francis, when are you going to realize all ladies are not like Vanessa? She is the exception, not the rule.”
Francis chuckled and stepped forward to place a hearty buss on her cheek. “Nay, my dear, you are the exception, and my brother doesn’t deserve you.”
“I couldn’t agree more,” Richard chimed in, placing a gentle kiss on her other cheek.
Abby blushed with pleasure but refused to be swayed from the topic. “But Vanessa—”
“Enough about that damned woman ” Francis cut in. “I would have come anyway for the ball any way. Don’t give me that look. I would have. But Jack needs a deciding vote here, and I will give him one as I promised. Once he has his rich wife, his problems will be solved. Either she’ll make his life hell, or they’ll end up living peaceably…away from one another. End of argument.”
“Perhaps, then, Jack will fall in love,” she suggested.
The men all chuckled. “I hardly think that is an option, my love,” her husband told her.
“And I’m inclined to agree with Richard,” Francis added.
“As am I,” Jack cast his vote as well.
Abygail wrinkled her nose. Like her brother, the men of the MacKintosh clan were stubborn, obstinate men who were never wrong, at least in their own minds. Some day they would fall, and fall hard, and she prayed that she would be there to see it. “One day you’ll end up head over heels, Jack, and I will have the last laugh.”
All three men laughed in clear disbelief, and Francis slapped his friend on the back. Abby turned on him, also silencing her husband with a look. “I would not laugh so hard, Francis MacKintosh. I’d be willing to wager your day will come as well. I remember a time when not all women were so repulsive to you.”
Francis’ mind slipped back years ago when a beautiful lass had filled his heart and mind but shook away the feeling. Reality had shown him a much different tale. One filled with misery that had taken over his life. There was little happiness; laughter was rare and cynical. “I’d take that wager. Women have their uses, but the day I truly fall for a woman will be a cold day in hell,” Francis predicted grimly.
“Then I will see you there.” Abby crossed her arms and nodded in satisfaction as she considered Francis and her brother. Aye, it would happen, she thought, with a bit of a shiver as a feeling of premonition overtook her.
Things were definitely about to change.
“Fifty pounds?” she asked.
He nodded and held out his hand. “Done.”
Chapter 11
Charles Worth once said a lady spends most of her life either pregnant or in mourning and had endeavored to make a fashionable wardrobe available for both of these situations. The Countess of Shaftesbury shone in Worth’s latest creation, proving that mourning wear could hold its own at the height of fashion. Never had Eve felt more sophisticated or elegant than she did as she stood for what seemed like hours in the reception line, welcoming the guests to the ball. She held out her hand and greeted all politely from under her carefully cultivated veneer.
Her gown was a black satin with cut black velvet floral motifs covering the bodice and skirt detailed with rhinestones that flashed and winked as she moved. The bodice was cut in a low V ruching that led to a point at the waist. Chantilly lace over white ruched chiffon served as sleeves, fluttering about her arms above her long white gloves, matching the black lace and feathers of her fan. She wore no jewelry other than a diamond choker recommended by Monsieur Bonhomme, as Worth was known. Modest in appearance so as not to overwhelm the glory of the gown, the choker consisted of 540 round and princess cut diamonds on silver filigree with several large teardrops dangling from the bottom edge. Threaded through her hair was a black ribbon, studded with tiny diamonds that caught the lights and gave her an almost ethereal look.
As the designer had assured her, she was the perfect portrait of a wealthy widow—cool, poised and stunning. The looks she received—from flirtatious men and envious ladies—told her the gown had presented as promised. If nothing else, its elegance served to project an image she was far from feeling.
Finally leaving the receiving line, Eve embraced her role as hostess and moved through the crowds, assured that everyone was having the time of their lives. She stopped here and there along the way to chat politely with the guests, the brides and future grooms. Despite her sophisticated presentation, internally her nerves were stretched nearly to their breaking point.
Edinburgh Society was much more casual than London’s and certainly more so than New York’s Knickerbocker set. Rather than simply raising a gloved hand to be kissed or shaken, the Roper lasses had accepted hugs and kisses from their well-wishers in a manner completely inappropriate by London standards or even those of New York. When approaching Eve in the reception line, some guests had seemed uncertain how to greet her, this unknown American whose cool beauty seemed to alienate the ladies and awe the young men present.
Moving farther into the room, her bustle and long train swished provocatively behind her, drawing the appreciative stares of many of the men in attendance. Looking for an escape from their tentative overtures and hesitant approaches, she joined Abby and her other longtime friend, Moira MacKenzie, off to the side of the ballroom where Abby settled herself into one of the lounging chairs brought in for the older ladies in attendance.
Abby was full of praise for the event and Moira, who’d never had the chance for a Season in Edinburgh or elsewhere, was excited to have her dance card already filled for the evening. They chatted politely for a while but when Moira went off for a dance and other local ladies approached to greet Abby, Eve stole the opportunity to escape the crush through the open doors of the ballroom leading out to the terrace. Standing just outside, she flicked open her lace fan and gazed up at the starry sky, breathing in the fresh Highlands air. The rocky hills and cliffs and the sea reminded her a bit of Newport, Rhode Island where she had spent the summers of her youth.
Wh
at would she do now, Eve wondered helplessly as she gazed out on the grounds and to the firth beyond where the moonlight twinkled off the calm waters. The past two months had been filled with purpose and promise for better days ahead. Whereas the past year had been spent in near solitude at Saint’s Haven, she had enjoyed the social events and activity of her time here in Edinburgh. Despite her cocoon of solitude, she didn’t want to hide away from the world again in Dorset. When the house party was over at the week’s end, she’d have to think of some task to keep herself busy so as not to fall back into the decline of the past year.
Waving her fan idly, she pondered the possibilities.
* * *
What am I doing here? Glenrothes brushed away an imaginary piece of lint from the sleeve of his tailored jacket as he finally arrived at the ballroom door. He had skipped the engagement dinner, unable to face the nearly hundred guests invited for that event, and another hour of hesitation and prevarication since had brought him late to the ball as well.
He moved to the table where men’s dancing gloves were laid out though he was certain he would not dance. After taking the pair the footman held out for him, he leaned a shoulder against the archway leading to the ballroom, casually slapping the gloves against his palm, careful not to meet anyone’s eye or encourage any of the guests to approach.
The urge to turn away was strong. It had been four or five years since he’d ventured out socially. Most of his time was spent in seclusion at Glen Cairn or one of his other estates, building the family fortunes and rebuilding the ravaged reputation that scandal had brought upon his family name. When he did spend time in Edinburgh or London it was for business purposes only. Over time, he’d found that he preferred the solitude and absence of any society beyond his family and friends.
It was easier, he thought, to be an earl outside the public eye. Coming out into Society was an event unheard of for him. It had been years since he last attended a ball, and he wondered again how he'd managed to get talked into coming here for this occasion. He’d already congratulated his brothers in private at their estate at Glen Cairn. They would have understood if he hadn’t come but had indeed been thrilled by his appearance. This one night, he allowed, then he would return to Glen Cairn away from the guests remaining for the house party and from the speculation that usually surrounded his rare appearances.
One night to celebrate his brothers’ good fortunes. Sean and Colin’s marriage to Baron Teynham’s daughters was a triumph, a sign that perhaps the scandal that had rocked his family was abating.
Of course, there was Jack’s ‘prospect’ to look over as well. When he suggested that his friend marry well and quickly to alleviate the debtors calling at his door, Francis had expected the man to choose a young heiress from Edinburgh or London, not a widow. A young lass might be molded at will into a pleasant companion or placed in the country without argument when one tired of her. A widow might be more set in her ways and a demanding tyrant when things did not follow that path. Indeed, Jack had already said the countess he’d chosen was a frosty woman who did little else besides look down her nose at him.
MacKintosh had reminded his friend that he would need an heir one day from the woman, but Jack had merely chuckled and admitted it would be no burden to bed the lady despite her cold demeanor. Apparently, she was possessed of enough beauty to overcome even the frostiest reception to her bed. If that alone wasn’t enough, envisioning her bank account would be sufficient to get the job done.
Francis was most curious to meet her.
He surveyed the assembled crowd now wondering which lady was the one Jack had chosen so dispassionately. As he did so, realized he recognized almost no one present beyond a couple of business associates from Edinburgh. Oh, his brothers were scattered here and there—Tam and Ian dancing with a pair of young debutantes; James flirting with a lovely widow; Dorian home from Cambridge looking as awkward as any young buck down from university; Connor teasing a smile from one of their cousins; and there, his young sister Fiona dancing with a man who seemed to be holding her a tad too closely.
He scowled fiercely in their direction wondering if he should step in. Ah, there was Sean to lure her away from the danger.
Toward the rear of the room, Richard hovered over Abby as she reclined on a chaise, chatting with her longtime friend Moira MacKenzie. It was almost uncomfortable to watch the couple sometimes. His brother loved his young wife so deeply, Francis often feared that someday in the future he might be completely undone by her. He shook his head against the idea. Abby was Abby. He’d known her the whole of her life. She hadn’t a deceitful bone in her body and did love his brother deeply in return. Aye, she was truly an exception.
He continued to scan the gathered crowd searching for someone whom he might know other than his siblings. Shaking his head, he realized he truly been out of polite society’s grasp for much too long if he couldn’t find a soul he knew—not even among the ladies. Had it been so long since he’d even engaged in the mildest flirtation?
Thinking his evening might be better spent at cards, Francis was about to turn away when, between the couples dancing to a lively highland fare, he was caught by the sight of a lady standing at the doors that led to the terrace. Though she had her back to him, a feeling of déjà vu washed over him.
It was not her gown that caught him, though she was dressed predominantly in black and richly as well, with diamonds winking out of her hair. It was her stance. The tilt of her head intrigued him, the color of her hair awoke a memory of a smile and a touch of Paradise lost.
Eden.
Mesmerized, he stepped forward so quickly he nearly stumbled like a gauche youth. What? Was this real? Was it possible that after all this time she would walk back into his life? His head shook in unconscious denial as he approached her slowly, taking a circuitous route around the ballroom. Hesitation marked each step as he dreaded that she might turn and dash his wild hope. Then she did turn her head slightly to greet one of the guests. In profile, he saw the tilt of her nose, the curve of her chin peeking from behind her lace fan. He closed his eyes as the years fell away.
His heart seemed to skip a beat as he pictured her in his mind, then set up a rapid tattoo that was nearly painful in its intensity. Surely, he was mistaken? Francis looked again but the vision remained unchanged. So astounding was the joy he felt that, if he were a lesser man, he might have been brought to his knees. Instead, the earl threaded his way around to his brother, nudging him in the ribs and ignoring the ladies entirely.
“Richard,” he rasped hoarsely, his Scottish burr graveled with emotion. “Who is that?”
“Good evening to you as well, Francis,” Richard replied dryly. “I’m sure Moira is warmed by your courteous greeting also.”
Francis glanced at the red-headed fireball who had risen to greet him and managed a brotherly smile. “Aye, Moira, greetings, but you wouldn’t perhaps know who that lady is?”
“Which lady?” Moira questioned, glancing at Abby and then Richard who was bemused by his brother’s lack of manners as Francis was usually studiously polite, in mixed company at least.
“The lady across the room…”
The trio’s eyes followed Francis’ mesmerized gaze across the ballroom, noting that the faces of many ladies might be seen in that direction. “Could you manage a more precise description?” Abby asked.
“The one in black,” Francis murmured in rapture, his eyes never leaving that lady’s face.
Richard shot Abby an amused glance, for neither had ever before seen Francis so completely unnerved and, well, as awkward as a schoolboy. Then he realized whom his brother was so focused upon. “Evelyn?”
“Aye, Evelyn.” The name came out with a swift release of breath. Not his imagination then. It was truly her. “Introduce me.”
Richard frowned. Surely his brother didn’t know who the lovely lady was that had captured his attention? If he did, he wouldn’t have such a hungry, predatory look in his eye, to be sure. “Franci
s, I think you should know—”
“Introduce me.”
Richard gaped in amazement at his brother’s commanding tone and actually felt his jaw sag as Francis paused a moment to straighten his coat and cravat. He even ran a hand over his hair. Nervously? His brother, Earl Glenrothes, was actually going to try to impress a female? It was unheard of. Lord Francis MacKintosh never put himself out to dazzle a lady, or anyone else, for that matter. He didn’t have to. Women fawned over him and fell at his feet.
Glenrothes was like a legendary Scotsman, tall and broad with arms and legs thick and muscular. His hair was black with faint touches of red and brown from the sun and his skin darkly bronzed. With his roughly sculpted features, flashing white grin, and heavy-lidded green eyes, the earl often had women turn and stare unabashedly at him before they remembered themselves. True enough, he’d gathered the eyes of many upon his approach, though Richard was sure Francis hadn’t taken notice.
Indeed, never in all his years had Richard ever seen his brother stand agape at the mere sight of a woman. Never had he seen him anxious to make one’s acquaintance. It was definitely comical and well worth the near blackmail it had taken to get him to come to this occasion. But Evelyn? Obviously, his brother did not realize by whom he was so taken. Richard shared a speaking glance with his wife, who could do little more than shrug.
“Come along, then, brother,” he conceded with a wry smile. “And close your mouth, won't you, old man? You look like a fish out of water.”
Missing the significant look Abby and Moira, Francis’s eyes never left Evelyn’s face as they approached. Finally, he would be able to touch her again. Finally, he would know that his dreams these past many years had been founded in reality. Still twenty feet away, his heart pounded fiercely at the thought of taking her hand in his. He hadn’t felt anything like this giddiness since…well, since he last saw her, he supposed.
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