“Well said, lad. I wasna that sure aboot m’own wife when I met her. Growling at each other was all we managed tae do for a time, though love snuck up on the both o’ us, I’m thinking. And perhaps ye’ll be telling me what sort o’ life ye’d be offering our lass?”
“Certainly. I have inherited two fairly large estates, one in England from my uncle on my mother’s side and one here in Scotland that comprises quite a few properties both up north and in the Lowlands.”
Lachlan raised a brow. “Scotland, eh? And who would that be from?”
“My father was Donald Ross.”
Lachlan sat forward. “I’ll be damned! I knew him. I was sorry tae hear about his accident. Yer mother still lives nearby, doesna she?”
“Yes, though I don’t. I was sent to live with my uncle after my father died. I’ve made my home in England with his family.”
“And why is it ye’ve forsaken your da’s name?” Lachlan asked.
“That I would never do. My full name is Lincoln Ross Burnett. There was an English title involved, however, and no other close male heirs on that side of the family, which is why my uncle petitioned to have his surname given to me. I am the seventeenth viscount Cambury.”
“I’ll own tae a bit o’ surprise. Ye dinna look or sound like a Scotsman, ye ken.”
Lincoln smiled wryly. “I’ve spent the last nineteen years in England, which included most of my schooling. My teachers were somewhat determined to pound the Scottish burr out of me.”
“Amazing, but I suppose if ye live among the English long enough, ’tis easy enough tae become one o’ them.”
“You don’t bear ill will toward the English in general, do you?” Lincoln asked hesitantly.
Lachlan laughed in good humor, explaining, “M’wife is English, lad. My aunt was English. I’ve good friends that live there as well. Nae, the only thing I dinna like about England is ’tis so bloody crowded, a mon o’ m’size tends tae draw far too much notice. M’height has always made me somewhat uncomfortable, ye ken.”
Lincoln nodded in perfect understanding. At six foot four, he’d found himself the tallest in the crowd more than once and was never quite comfortable with it either. Which was one reason he hadn’t minded losing his burr. Since he was taller than most his age even as a child, the height and accent together had accounted for quite a few embarrassing moments after he’d first moved to England. Children, after all, were quick to make fun of “outsiders,” which he’d been deemed for many a year—until he stopped sounding like one.
He jumped in now with both feet, heart in hand. “May I have your permission, then, to court Melissa?”
“I have no objections tae ye courting m’lass, nor tae her marrying ye, for that matter, if she finds ye as much tae her liking as ye’ve found her. Her happiness is all her mother and I are concerned wi’. Though we hoped she’d marry closer tae home, there’ve been no offers forthcoming so far.”
Lincoln smiled hearing that. “May I see her? I won’t mention marriage to her—yet.”
Lachlan sighed. “I’m afraid ye’ve missed her this visit. She returned home this morn, but as quickly was dragged off by her mother for some last-minute shopping afore she leaves for London tomorrow.”
“She’s going to London?”
“Aye, she’s tae have a season there. We fully expect her tae be coming home affianced. So any courting ye mean tae do will need tae be done there. Will that pose any problem for ye?”
“On the contrary, that actually will be much more convenient, since I’ve been elected to chaperon my cousin this season in London as well.
“Excellent. I wish ye luck then, lad, no’ that I think ye’ll be needing it.”
Eight
MELISSA was disappointed that she’d missed seeing Lincoln Burnett when he stopped by Kregora the day before she departed for London, but she didn’t really have time to let it bother her too long, especially after her father assured her that she’d be seeing the viscount Cambury—he’d stressed the title with a wink—in London soon enough.
She had meant to grill her father about his conversation with Lincoln, but with all the last preparations before the trip, she never got around to it. Not that it mattered that much after his assurance that Lincoln would be partaking of the season as well, and she’d much prefer to be asking him directly, everything she’d like to know about him.
It was an uneventful trip to England—not her first, but it was her youngest uncle’s first, so he was actually more interested in the getting-there part of it than she was. She loved her uncles, all of them, but Ian Six, the youngest of the sixteen brothers and last to be named Ian, was a good friend as well, so she’d been delighted when it was decided that he’d be her escort there.
Having turned twenty-six only a few months ago, Ian was as tall as his brothers, all of whom ranged in height from six to six and a half feet. He was one of the few who didn’t have the dark gold hair and light green eyes that most of them sported, same as their father. His hair was a brownish red, more on the red side but not so bright as some, and his eyes were a soft azure blue. He also had a wealth of freckles—inherited, like his hair and eyes, from his mother—which gave him a boyish look that made him seem even younger than he was. He was also one of the more playful of his brothers, and teasing, though he took his duty as her escort and confidant most seriously.
She’d talked Ian’s ear off about Lincoln for nearly the entire trip, so even he was looking forward to meeting the chap who’d snagged her interest so thoroughly. Of course, he also cautioned a few times that she not ignore the other gentlemen she’d be meeting, wanting her to have as wide a selection as possible to choose from in the end. But then Ian was one of her uncles who was feeling a bit guilty that he’d been partly to blame for ruining her prospects at home, so he intended to withhold his own opinions—if that were possible for him—and just let nature take its course.
Melissa was all for that. Or at least she had been. Now, however, she was pretty sure nature had already taken its course. Still, she was going to be in London for several months. She meant to take Ian’s advice and make an effort to be open-minded and not dismiss other eligible men out of hand, just because she was sure Lincoln was the only one she’d be wanting. Something could go wrong with that, after all. Lincoln’s interest could drift elsewhere. So she’d be foolish not to cultivate as many acquaintances as possible, to keep her own options flexible.
Her second disappointment was that it didn’t appear as if she’d be seeing Lincoln again as soon as she’d hoped to. She’d looked for him throughout the entire evening at her debut. It was a dinner party, a rather large one with thirty guests, yet what the duchess considered small and ideal for “getting her feet wet.” But Lincoln wasn’t one of the guests.
Ian didn’t go, but then he didn’t plan on going to most of the social engagements, considering the Duchess of Wrothston to be all the chaperon Melissa needed. Which was true enough. Who, after all, would dare to step out of bounds with a lady of such high esteem? To get on Megan St. James’s bad side was to court complete social ruin.
But the next day when four gentlemen showed up to call on Melissa at different hours, Ian was right there at her side for each visit. A few of those gentlemen realized that, as Ian was her male relative in attendance, it could only be to their benefit to make friends with him, and they went out of their way to do that. Ian even liked one of the men, as they both shared a love of golf, and they spent a good thirty minutes discussing the sport.
Melissa was amused. She enjoyed golf as well and could have participated in the conversation, but the two men were so enthused over the subject, she decided not to try. It gave her an opportunity to sneak away for a nap instead.
Usually she was a bundle of energy, but even she had to admit that doing a social season in London was going to be exhausting work. Some events would last into the wee hours of the morning, a few until dawn as the duchess had warned. The older folk could sleep late or nap before th
e next evening’s agenda, but the young men and women who were there for the express hope of finding spouses would spend their days either calling on or being called on by all their new acquaintances. None of which allowed much time for sleeping.
Melissa’s second night out was to the opera, and she found herself disappointed once again after watching the audience more than the entertainment. Megan noticed this time, however, and remarked, “Are you looking for someone in particular or just admiring the fashions?”
There was no reason to deny it. “Lincoln Burnett. D’you know him?”
“Can’t say that I do.”
“Perhaps by his title, Viscount Cambury?”
“No, that doesn’t sound familiar either. This isn’t someone you met last night at dinner, is it? I was sure I knew everyone there.”
“Nay, I met him in Scotland only a few days afore we left. He was just there for a visit, though, and Da seemed tae think he’d be here for the season.”
“Well, then, he likely will be. I take it you’re fond of the chap?”
“Indeed.” Melissa grinned. “’Twas amazing how quickly I took tae him, as if we’d known each other forever. Was it like that wi’ you and the duke, when you first met?”
“No indeed.” Megan snorted, but as quickly she chuckled. “I tried to get him dismissed, thinking he worked for my father, and he termed me a brat right from the start. We were extremely attracted to each other, though, can’t deny that—which was probably why we tried to cover up the fact with more animosity than was called for.”
Melissa knew some of the story. She thought it was rather romantic herself. To want to marry a duke—and a particular one at that—but fall in love with and marry a horse trainer instead, only to find out afterward that you’d married the very duke you’d set your cap for after all. She hadn’t known about Lincoln’s title either, when she was so taken with him. Not that it mattered to her whether he had one or not, but at least it wasn’t something he was hiding, as Devlin St. James had done when he first met Megan.
“It’s going to be a long season, m’dear,” Megan added now. “Your young lord will make an appearance eventually. He probably just hasn’t returned to England yet. In the meantime simply enjoy yourself. That’s what you’re here to do. Getting married will take care of itself, I’ve no doubt a’tall.”
Melissa took those words to heart and even started enjoying herself for the rest of that week and most of the next. But when her third week in London rolled around and she’d still neither seen nor heard from Lincoln Burnett, the viscount Cambury, she finally had to conclude that she wasn’t going to.
Nine
LINCOLN might not have gotten to see Melissa that day at Kregora, but he got instead the excuse he needed to cut short his stay in Scotland, which he was eager to do, since it hadn’t turned out as he’d hoped it would. Putting all that old bitterness behind him just wasn’t possible, when it was instead refreshed every time he looked at his mother. And short of confronting her and spilling his guts, as it were, which he suspected would be more painful than he could bear, he was resolved to try burying those emotions again, rather than putting them fully to rest.
Melissa would be able to help him with that, he was sure. She was a bright flower in an otherwise dead garden, which was how he’d recently come to view his life—devoid of amusement, devoid of any real interest, devoid of purpose, and filled with bitter memories from his youth. His aunt and cousin were all that had sustained him prior to meeting the MacGregors’ daughter. Melissa was going to give his life new purpose. He merely had to make her his first.
He wasn’t counting, though, on Henriette’s inviting Eleanor to return to England with them, nor on his mother accepting that invitation. He spent an extra day trying to come up with a reason she shouldn’t come to England at this time. But considering his duty for the summer—and that both his aunt and his cousin were going to be in London for the duration with him—there really was no reason Eleanor couldn’t join them there as well.
To simply state the truth—that he didn’t want her anywhere near him—was out of the question. He wasn’t quite jaded enough to be that rude and offensive. And besides, to do so would open the very can of worms he was trying to avoid.
But where he had hoped, briefly, to closely follow Melissa to London, even to stay at the same inns, in effect to get a head start on beginning the courtship, his mother’s deciding to come along put an end to that idea. But it wouldn’t be too much of a delay, his arriving the day after Melissa did. And he knew where to find her, having been told in parting from her father that she’d be staying with the St. Jameses’, who were sponsoring her. Not that he knew any St. Jameses, but it couldn’t be too hard to find their address.
Unfortunately, there were four St. Jameses with residences in London. The most prominent was a duke, whom Lincoln discounted immediately. It took four days to track down the other three. The first was a struggling actor who wasn’t really a St. James. The young man had just borrowed the name because he liked the sound of it. The second address Lincoln found was a captain’s widow who didn’t know anyone from Scotland. The third address was in a poor neighborhood, occupied by a family of ten who barely had room for themselves, much less visitors from Scotland.
Lincoln was left with no choice but to try the ducal town house of Ambrose Devlin St. James, though he was sure he’d be wasting his time. He didn’t really think his bride-to-be could be acquainted with the Duke and Duchess of Wrothston—certainly not closely enough to be sponsored by them—but worse, if she was, he was going to be flat out of luck in getting in to see her. You simply didn’t call on people like Their Graces without either a personal invitation or their calling card as proof that you knew them—or without having legitimate business with them.
Melissa was there. The butler unbent enough to tell Lincoln so—just before he closed the door in his face. Lincoln didn’t knock again. He knew how pointless it would be. He hadn’t had a card in hand, and had had to ask if she was there, both of which told the guardian-of-the-door that Lincoln had no business being there himself.
Moroseness set in long before he got back to the Burnett town house. He hadn’t expected to find Melissa at every one of the gatherings his aunt had lined up for Edith, but he had expected to see her at some of them. He’d also expected to be able to call on her in a normal fashion. Neither of these was a likelihood now. The St. Jameses were simply out of his league, their acquaintances the elite of the realm, the parties they would attend the most premier events of the season.
He knew no one in that crowd, as he had run with a racier set, comprised mostly of bachelors like himself. And the invitations that Henriette had arranged to be waiting on them when they got to town were from her own personal acquaintances, mostly other mamas with hopeful young daughters who had their eye on him.
That he would actually be considered a prime catch himself, due to his being titled and wealthy, would get them many more invitations as the season progressed. Those invitations just wouldn’t necessarily be the right ones. You had to get your foot in the door of those upper circles first, before you had a chance of being included again. He didn’t foresee that happening, when he knew no one who could get the door cracked for him to begin with.
How the bloody hell could his courtship of Melissa suddenly turn out to be so complicated?
Henriette, as astute as ever, noticed his new mood that evening. She also knew him well enough not to attribute it, at least completely, to the fact that Eleanor had joined them for the theater that night.
“You look like you’ve lost your best friend, m’boy. Did something unpleasant happen today that you haven’t mentioned yet?”
“Other than finding out that Melissa MacGregor is being sponsored this season by none other than the Duke and Duchess of Wrothston? No, nothing of paramount importance,” he replied dryly.
“Their Graces, eh? My, that’s quite a coup for the girl. But why are you seeing it as a problem?”
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“We don’t know anyone in that crowd.”
“We don’t,” she agreed. “But you do. You know the girl herself.”
“Aunt Henry, that is not going to get me past that door,” Lincoln said.
“Barricaded, is it?”
“It might as well be.”
“Well, that’s a fine pickle,” Henriette huffed. Then she suggested, “Let me call on a few friends tomorrow afternoon and see what’s what. I haven’t kept up much with the who-knows-who-knows-who sort of thing, but it shouldn’t be too hard to find someone who has.”
Lincoln nodded. His own instinct was just to barge in and insist on seeing Melissa. But that would cause a scandal that would hurt more than help his cause, not to mention get him in the duke’s bad graces, a place no one in his right mind would want to be. And short of appearing the beggar with hat in hand just camping outside the Wrothston mansion hoping to catch her coming or going, which he really couldn’t see himself doing, he was left with few other choices.
One of those few options was to find out where she was going and sneak his way into the gathering, at least long enough to see her. Not unheard of, and something those in his crowd had been known to do on a lark, though Lincoln had outgrown that sort of thing himself. It was, after all, highly embarrassing to get caught in such a situation.
His aunt had no luck with her acquaintances, however, and said so the next evening at the recital they all attended. Which was disappointing in the extreme and started Lincoln thinking of desperate measures after all.
The Pursuit Page 5