How to Marry a Highlander (8 page)

Only that morning when he had escorted her and her sisters to the shops where they encountered no gentlemen except one portly popinjay entirely arrayed in puce, the earl had promised he would attend the ball tonight.

Faithless barbarian
. But he owed her nothing yet. Mr. Baker-Frye had taken up Moira in his carriage to the park, and the bookseller had personally delivered a rare volume to Abigail at the hotel. Otherwise, despite a sennight of hard work altering gowns and schooling Lily and Effie on proper behavior, bachelors had not been banging down the Eads ladies’ door.

Tonight, however, that was being corrected.

“You did it,” Tobias said beside her.

“I did it,” she agreed.

Earlier, as the seamstress sewed darts in the bodice of Teresa’s white muslin so it would hug Effie’s smaller bosom, Elspeth had complained about the expense of the gown that Diantha lent her. She would not don it until Diantha assured her that much of the income from Mr. Yale’s estate went toward the plight of suffering children in the Welsh mines and only some of it toward pretty clothes. Mollified, Elspeth allowed Annie to affix a chain of cameos around her long neck.

Sorcha had refused to attend the ball. But her sisters were all gowned and coiffed beautifully, even Abigail, whose cheeks glowed as she slipped away to Lady B’s library. Lily and Effie were giggling at the refreshment table, their dance partners waiting attendance upon them. Moira was surrounded by young gentlemen, Lady B in their midst making introductions. And Una and Elspeth were dancing.

Teresa could not have prayed for better.

“Why aren’t you dancing?” Tobias asked. “And where is Eads? I thought he’d meant to attend.”

“I did,” the earl said behind her.

She pivoted. He wore a black cutaway coat, gorgeously arranged neck cloth, and dark waistcoat, with a drape of blue and black plaid pinned to his shoulder. The kilt that fell to his knees revealed his muscular calves.

“My lord.” Teresa curtsied somewhat unsteadily. He bowed with great elegance. No one watching could have imagined that their chance encounter eighteen months ago in this very ballroom had resulted in a scandalous secret wager.

Una approached with Elspeth.

“Ladies, you dance charmingly,” Tobias said.

“I occasionally allou maself a country dance for the benefit it affords the lungs and heart,” Elspeth said. “’Tis like a bracing walk across a meadow.”

“I daresay,” Tobias said pleasantly. “But what of the minuet or quadrille?”

“Or—heaven forbid—the waltz?” Una said.

Lady Elspeth paled. “Niver the waltz.”

“Perhaps Lady Lily would like to waltz,” Teresa said to her brother. “She mentioned her fondness for it just this afternoon,” she invented.

“A lady after my own heart,” Tobias said with a smile. “Do you enjoy the waltz too, Lady Una?”

“Verra much, sir.”

He offered his arm. “Then it’s lucky the orchestra seems to be in accord with our preferences.” He led her away.

Teresa felt the earl’s attention on her as she looked toward his youngest sisters. Effie had a cup of punch in each hand. Lily was laughing gaily.

“What’re they doing there?” Elspeth said. “Effie’s cheeks be aflame, like last Christmas when she took too much . . .
Ach
, Lord’s mercy. Brither, ye’ll wish to see to this,” she said ominously and set off toward the twins.

“What happened last Christmas?” Teresa asked.

“Whiskey.”

“I see. But Lady B is only serving punch tonight, so Effie is safe.”

“Why are ye trying to throw Lily at yer brither’s head?”

She snapped her eyes up. “I—That is . . .”

Amusement creased his cheek and his hair hung loosely. She wanted to reach up and touch it to test if it was as silky as it looked. He was a remarkably well-made man and ladies all around them were staring from behind their unfurled fans.

“He seems to like her,” she said.

“Be ye such a fine judge o’ a man, then?”

“Apparently not, for I thought you would not come this evening.”

“I’m a man o’ ma w—”

“Word. Yes, you’ve said that. Still, I will forgive your lateness if you ask me to dance.”

“I dinna dance. But there be plenty o’ swains here for ye to chuise from.”

“I cannot dance with those gentlemen. I consider myself betrothed.”

He grinned. “Yer mad.”

“I probably am. It must be all that country air from bracing walks. It does strange things to the head.” Like make her believe she could coerce a Scottish lord into wedding her. She’d made an enormous mistake. But at least she was helping seven young women find the loves of their lives, even if she would never be allowed her own. “But do look over there, my lord.” She gestured toward Moira dancing with Mr. Baker-Frye. “Aren’t they gorgeous together? He is staying at the King Harry.”

“Is he?”

“Oh yes. He is a merchant from Philadelphia. Fabulously wealthy, of course. Lady B was happy to include him on the guest list. She isn’t particular about a gentleman’s pedigree when he’s as handsome as Mr. Baker-Frye. And he really is so handsome, don’t you think?”

He lowered his brow.

“Are you scowling because I arranged their introduction or because you cannot say whether or not he is handsome?”

“I’m no scowling.” His eyes sparkled. “’Tis ma thoughtful look.”

“I see. Well then, do bend your thoughts to how Mr. Baker-Frye appears more than halfway smitten. This ball is turning out to be a fabulous success for your sisters, it seems.”

A crash sounded from the direction of the punch bowl. They both looked around.

Not from the direction of the punch bowl—in fact, from the punch bowl itself.

Shards and chunks of crystal were everywhere. Lily’s eyes and mouth were wide in dismay. Effie’s maidenly white skirt was awash in punch.

“Guid lord, Lily!” rang Effie’s lilting Scottish brogue over the orchestra’s lilting Austrian waltz. “Couldna ye wait till I’d anither cup afore ye went and spilt it all over me?” She burst into peals of laughter.

Elspeth snagged the lobe of Effie’s right ear and gave it a good shake. Lily grabbed Elspeth’s wrist, lost her balance, and thumped to her bottom in the puddle of punch.

All around fans fluttered at top speed. Dozens of pairs of eyes stared.

The waltz lilted on.

Teresa lifted her chin, averted her gaze from the dark scowl of the large, handsome man beside her, and walked toward the refreshment table.

W
hile she’d never been clumsy herself, Teresa did not think Lily deserved Elspeth’s stern lecture or Effie’s drunken rehash of every detail of the disaster as they drove home. Tobias had accompanied Una, Moira, and Abigail in the other carriage, so Teresa disembarked before the King Harry, bid the sisters goodnight, and joined her brother for the ride home. Lord Eads had ridden, and she was for once glad not to see him and bear the consequences of what she had allowed to happen.

Allowed
. As if she could control seven strong-willed Scotswomen! She would have better success finding husbands for every unwed lady in Harrows Court Crossing, including the elderly spinster sisters who lived above the parsonage and the butcher’s old sow. Except herself, of course.

“It was going so well,” she sighed.

“They’re new to it yet,” Tobias said easily. “They’ll learn. And Lady B didn’t mind it.”

She peered at him. “You seem cheerful. Did you enjoy yourself?” Despite Lily’s mishap?

“I did.” He turned his face toward the window and the light from the street lamp without illumined his drawn brow.

“Toby? Are you regretting having given your consent to this project after all?”

“No. It’s only . . .” He shook his head. “It’s nothing to worry your head over. Ah, look, we have arrived. You must be fagged to death.” He handed her out and sent the carriage on its way.

“Won’t you ride home?”

He took a deep breath and stood tall and square shouldered on the walkway. “I could use a stroll to—well, to clear my head. And my rooms aren’t far. Now you go on and I’ll watch you inside.”

She went onto her tiptoes and bussed him lightly on the cheek. “I don’t know what is amiss with you, but I do hope it will be well in the morning.”

He nodded shortly. She went up the steps and he waved as the door closed behind her.

“What time is it, Michael?” she asked the sleepy footman as he drew the night bolt.

“Half past one, miss.”

“I suppose Mrs. Yale has long since gone to bed?”

“Yes, miss.”

She would’ve liked a cozy chat with Diantha. But the baby was waking her friend at all hours; it would not be fair to bother her now. And of course Diantha might not be alone in bed. She was fortunate enough to be married to a man she loved and who loved her in return.

“Thank you, Michael. I will sit in the parlor for a bit. I’ll put out the candles on my way to bed.”

“G’night, miss.” He bowed and disappeared into the back of the house.

She took up a candle and went into the parlor to the writing desk, and drew her latest pages out of the drawer. A few minutes working on her newest story would cheer her. Freddie would split his seams when he read about the blacksmith and curate’s wife getting trapped in the old cider house. A smile twitched her lips.

The parlor door opened. “Miss, a gentleman is here calling on you,” the footman said with a twisted brow. “Should I turn him away?”

“A gentleman? At this hour?”

“Says he’s a lord, miss.”

She ran to the window and peeked through the draperies. Her heart did a miserable little thud.

“He should not come inside,” she said because she knew it to be true but also because she could not bear to face what was about to come. “I will go to the door. You can go ahead to bed now. I’ll bolt it after he leaves.”

“Yes, miss.”

The Earl of Eads looked as handsome in the candlelight slicing through the cracked open door as he did beneath the brilliant illumination of a ballroom chandelier.

“You needn’t say a thing,” she said with heavy resignation. “I already know.”

“Invite me in, woman,” he only said.

“I really shouldn’t.”

“Ye will, nivertheless.”

Her throat was thick as she drew the door open. She clasped her hands before her, the pale pink lace reticule that matched her gown still dangling from her wrist, albeit limply; it had soaked up Effie’s punch.

“All right,” she said dully. She’d never imagined defeat would come so early and in quite this manner. “Say what you have come to say.” She wanted to shout, “No!” She had feared this moment—the moment when he would tell her that the game had been amusing but now he was putting a halt to it.

“I came to tell ye why I was late to the ball,” he said.

She blinked. “You did?”

He glanced toward the open parlor door. “What’re ye doing awake?”

“I was . . . That is, I was . . .”

“Writing a story?”

Her heart tripped. “What?”

“I read yer story th’ither day while ye were upstairs.” He stood solid and powerful and entirely unapologetic before her.

Heat suffused her cheeks. “You should not have.”

“It was a fine piece.”

“You liked it?”

“Aye. Verra much. Ye’ve got a talent, lass.”

She could not withhold her smile. “Thank you. I’m glad you enjoyed it. So glad that I won’t even chastise you for calling me lass.”

His beautiful blue eyes glimmered with candlelight. “I beg yer pardon.”

“You are forgiven. Again.” She felt wonderfully warm and much too happy and he was far too handsome and she was thoroughly infatuated.

“Mr. Abel Brown paid a call on me this eve.”

“What?” She clutched her reticule between her fingers. “That is—who?”

“The proprietor o’ Brown & Cheaver Booksellers.”

“The
bookseller
?”

Lord Eads took a step toward her. “Seems he wishes to court Abigail.”

“He does?” She was short of breath.

He halted so that mere inches separated them. “He said he niver imagined I’d allou such a thing, but he begged for her hand.”

“Did—” Her heart was performing complicated pirouettes. “Did you give it?”

“Aye, I gave it. Who woulda thought Abby’d be the first?” Affection played across his face. He truly cared for his sisters’ happiness.

“Do you consider a bookseller a suitable match for your sister?”

“He’s a guid man wi’ a steady income and a fine shop. If she’s got no trouble wi’ it, I dinna.”

“You must be thrilled,” she babbled because his eyes had taken on a gleam of pure intentionality and now that the moment she’d been dreaming of for eighteen months was finally happening
she had no idea what to do
. “I must congratulate you on this happy news, my lord.”

“’Tis I that should congratulate ye.”

“Oh, no. I really didn’t have anything to do with it.”
What was she saying?
“They’d already met be—”

He slipped his hand into her hair.

“Oh!” she sighed. His touch didn’t feel like she had dreamed it. It felt
infinitely better
, strong and warm and confident, and as he bent his head she got dizzy on his scent of exotic spices. Her eyelids fluttered down. “I have never kissed a man who was wearing a skirt before,” she whispered.

“’Tis no a skirt.”

“Be that as it may . . .”

“But ye have kissed a man?” he said over her lips.

“Once.”

“What was he wearing?”

He was laughing at her again, even at this moment. Or rather,
with
her. She liked it. It made her heart feel light and deliciously free.

“Muddy boots and a coat that smelled of shotgun smoke.”

“Bounder.”

“Definitely a bounder. He cornered me in the gunroom after he returned from shooting with my brothers. I thought I would give it a try, to see what all the fuss was about, you know,” she said airily.

“What did ye discover?” He was drawing this out, to torture her or because he didn’t wish to do it. But he had come in the middle of the night to pay his debt on the wager. Perhaps he was as eager as she.

“Discover?” she breathed.

“Aboot the fuss?”