Amanda Scott (11 page)

Lady Marsali said, “I did think your house would be larger, Bella.”

“Then you know little about London houses,” Mrs. Thatcher said calmly. “With the exception of the palaces of the great aristocrats and the rookeries of the very poor, nearly everyone in London, from earls to artisans, lives in this sort of a house. The object, as I see it, has been to stuff as many houses as possible onto as little land as possible, so the houses all grow upward instead of sprawling out and about like they do in the country.”

“But we passed bigger ones,” Bridget protested. “Even in this street, several houses are wider than this one if not taller.”

“Oh, yes, but that only means the front and back rooms on each floor are wider, my dear, not that there are more rooms in those houses. Most London houses have but two rooms to a floor—except for the great old ones near the river, of course, and some of the grand ones in Mayfair.”

“But how can we possibly hold a ball here, or even a small party?”

“Bless my soul, child, why should we do any such thing?”

In visible dismay, Bridget looked from her brother to her aunt before she said, “Why, for me, of course. Is that not what most people do when they present someone to society?”

Mrs. Thatcher raised her eyebrows. “I suppose some people do hold balls in their own houses, but that would not suit me at all. Only think of the enormous expense—and the work! It mustn’t be thought of.”

“Well, we must think of
some
thing. Tell her, Michael!”

Quietly, Michael said, “Nay then, lass, hold your whisst, lest Mrs. Thatcher find you wanting in manners. I should not think of telling her anything of the sort, in any event. This is her house, after all, and she is generous to share it with us.”

“But—”

Lady Marsali cut in swiftly, “Hush, Bridget. Kintyre is right, you know. Moreover, I explained our needs to Cousin Bella when first I wrote to her, and when she replied, she assured me that nothing could be easier than introducing you to numerous persons in the first circles. Suppose you sit down and let her explain.”

Regarding Mrs. Thatcher doubtfully, Bridget obeyed without bothering to draw the chair she had selected away from the wall.

“There’s a good lassie,” Lady Marsali said soothingly. “Now, then, Bella, tell us how we are to go on in London, if you please.”

“Pshaw, my dear, there is nothing to it. One simply examines one’s invitations with an eye to accomplishing one’s goals, and sends one’s acceptances accordingly. Whom do you wish to meet?”

“Everyone,” Bridget exclaimed at the same moment that Lady Marsali said with a slight chuckle, “Do you receive so many invitations as all that, Cousin?”

“Yes, I do,” Mrs. Thatcher said simply, choosing to answer the latter question first. Then she said to Bridget, “I know everyone, of course, but I daresay you ought to be rather more selective, child, for there are many who would do your credit no good. I shall present you to the queen, of course, and I have already arranged for tickets to attend subscription balls at the new assembly rooms.”

In an awed tone, Bridget said, “Do you really know everyone in London?”

“Bless my soul, what a notion! I should not want to know the riffraff, my dear, but I believe I am acquainted with everyone of consequence. My mother, you see, was sister to a marquess. I was her fourth daughter, however, and even with connections to a marquess, one rarely has fortune enough to endow four daughters. It was quite providential that Mr. Thatcher did not care a fig about my lack of a dowry, and even more providential that he was a man of wealth himself.”

Bridget frowned. “Is a large dowry essential, then?”

“It is of great import, certainly. Other things matter, as well, of course, but without a dowry, a girl is defeated from the outset. You do have one, do you not?”

“She does,” Michael said before Bridget could speak. “I wonder, ma’am, what you can tell us about the Earl of Balcardane?”

“Balcardane?”

“Aye, I was told that he had come to London. Do you know him, ma’am?”

Mrs. Thatcher’s brow knitted for a moment. Then she said, “I cannot claim a personal acquaintance. He is years younger than I am, and I never met his father, for he rarely came to London and I’ve not set foot in Edinburgh since I was a gel.”

“I thought you said you knew everyone,” Bridget said.

“Everyone of consequence,” Mrs. Thatcher said. “Balcardane is cousin to Rothwell, you see, and I do know Rothwell—and his countess, too. Indeed, I was invited to dine at Rothwell House just a week ago, but due to another engagement, I had to send my regrets. Horace Walpole told me it was an exceedingly fine dinner, too,” she added with a sigh. “Indeed, now that I think of Horace, I believe he also told me that Balcardane was there. Is he a friend of yours?” she asked Michael.

“No, ma’am, but I intend to seek him out at the first opportunity. Indeed, I do not think I shall await an opportunity. I need only to learn where he resides.”

“Now, that I can tell you, because he has hired Faircourt House, which is quite near Hyde Park. Its property backs up against Chesterfield House, which will make it quite easy for you to find.”

“Excellent,” Michael said. “Then I shall visit him first thing tomorrow.”

“Perhaps you should wait until after eleven o’clock,” Mrs. Thatcher suggested. “Most gentlemen do not welcome callers earlier than that, but fortunately—since I believe you still require proper clothing to put you in the mode—it is quite à la mode now to pay calls in buckskins and a plain frock coat. You can even wear your own hair, sir, although to visit an earl on such a venture, I recommend that you powder it, at least.”

Accordingly, dressed in much his usual fashion but with powdered hair, Michael presented himself at Faircourt House the following morning on the stroke of eleven. One look at the house—along with his memory of what Mrs. Thatcher had said about London houses—gave him to suspect that he ought first to have sent a message, requesting an audience. As he hesitated, the front door opened, and an energetic-looking young man emerged, stopping on the step when he saw Michael.

“Good morning, sir,” the youth said.

“Good morning,” Michael replied. “Is it possible that Balcardane is at home this morning, and would agree to welcome a caller?”

“Aye, he’s in the bookroom. Peasley’s lurking about somewhere in the nether regions though. Shall I take you in, myself, sir? I am MacCrichton. I live here, too.”

“Kintyre,” Michael said, shaking the offered hand and thinking he had chosen well for his sister. Young MacCrichton was a well-set-up gentleman, one he thought Bridget might even deem handsome. “I’d be obliged to you, lad,” he said.

Moments later, he was facing the Earl of Balcardane, and his confidence had diminished. The earl was of another sort entirely, and Michael remembered that many men still referred to Balcardane as Black Duncan Campbell. From the stern look he encountered when young MacCrichton presented him, he decided the name likely had more to do with temper than with Balcardane’s black hair.

Pulling himself together, he said quietly, “I’ve come to you on a personal matter of business, my lord.”

“Leave us, Chuff,” Balcardane said.

“Your servant, sir,” MacCrichton said with a slight bow to Michael as he took himself off.

Balcardane said, “Have we met before?”

“No, sir,” Michael said. “Indeed, you may think me presumptuous or mad, for at times I think I must be. Were it not for circumstances that make it necessary to approach you boldly—”

“I will accept that such circumstances exist,” Balcardane interjected bluntly. “What do you want of me?”

“I would like your agreement to arrange a marriage between MacCrichton and my sister, sir. Lest you think her unworthy, let me assure you that—”

“I will allow that she is worthy,” Balcardane said. “However, MacCrichton is not of age yet. I doubt that he has even begun to think of marriage.”

Michael chose his next words with care. “When he does think of it, sir, he might wish to ally himself to an honorable, ancient title. He might also desire to increase his land holdings. My sister is entitled to a third of my land as her dowry. I would see her marry well, and very soon.”

Balcardane had not invited him to sit, and the expression that crossed his face now reminded Michael of his least favorite schoolmaster. “Why so very soon?” Balcardane asked.

“When my father died three years ago, he left a debt that he had been unable to pay. He offered our estates as surety, though they are worth much more than the debt. If I cannot repay the debt, his lender will seize my land.”

“You would prefer to sell your sister?”

Michael felt heat rush to his face. “I do not sell her, sir, but desperate times require desperate measures. You will agree that the situation in the Highlands these twenty years past has led many to do what they otherwise would not do.”

“Agreed. How would her marriage to MacCrichton help you?

“The debt is owed to a Campbell,” Michael said, realizing that frankness would serve him best. “I had hoped that we could work out the marriage settlement so that he would get his payment and I could save our land.”

“Who is he, exactly?”

“Sir Renfrew Campbell, sir. His mother was a MacDonnell, and after the Forty-five, the Crown awarded him her family’s estates and forest lands. He is burning them to fuel his ironworks, sir, denuding the land for profit. I do not want that to happen at Mingary if I can do anything to stop it.”

“I can understand that,” Balcardane said, his harsh features softening at last. “I face much the same problem. The bloomeries offer such sums for wood that my tenants, if they dared, would doubtless sell them my forests.”

Michael remained silent. The notion that Black Duncan’s tenants would dare do any such thing was patently absurd.

“Very well, lad,” Balcardane said after a momentary silence. “I will not throw you out on your ear. However, MacCrichton will marry when and where he chooses. The best I can offer you is that I will not forbid him to marry your sister.”

It was far from what Michael had hoped, but he knew that it was fair. Moreover, he told himself as he took leave of the earl, he did not think MacCrichton—now that he had seen him—would prove invulnerable to Bridget’s charms. Thus, if he could just persuade his headstrong sister to keep her temper in check—

His reverie shattered when the footman escorting him through the hall opened the front door and four large, liveried men entered, bearing an elegantly appointed chair. The front pair, forced straight on by the pair at the rear, nearly collided with him before he gathered wit enough to step out of their way.

“Pray, forgive us,” the chair’s inhabitant exclaimed as they set it down. She pushed open the chair door herself right in front of him before any of her bearers could open it for her, and extended one small hand for Michael’s assistance.

“Aye, sure,” he said, unable to think of anything more intelligent to say as he grasped her hand in one of his much larger ones. Even through his glove and hers he could feel the warmth of that little hand. It sent an odd, tingling tremor right up his arm, while another tremor struck him nearer the core of his body. He could not imagine that there was anything for which to forgive her.

As she emerged, honey-gold curls tumbled around her pixielike face, and a pair of large blue eyes regarded him with candor. The wide skirt billowing from her tiny waist as its hoop extended made her look even smaller, and more delicate.

“I was just leaving,” he said, wondering what demon possessed his tongue that he could think of no more graceful words, or more polite ones, to say to her.

“Pray, sir, do not let me keep you,” she said, stepping nimbly out of his path. “Dugald, when you have seen this gentleman out, I want to speak to you.”

“Yes, Miss Penelope.”

As the chairmen picked up the chair and disappeared with it into the nether regions, Michael strode from the house, avoiding the footman’s gimlet eye, and feeling more like an awkward, infatuated schoolboy than a belted earl of Scotland.

D
ETERMINED NOT TO REVEAL
unbecoming curiosity about Duncan’s visitor, Pinkie went into a small parlor off the hall to wait while Dugald showed him out. The visitor was a distractingly handsome man, she thought, and she felt strangely attracted to him despite his rudeness. He certainly lacked the polished airs and graces that came so naturally to most of the gentlemen she had met in Edinburgh the previous year, and in London since her arrival.

Dugald’s return put the visitor out of her mind.

Urgently she said, “Dugald, do you know if Master Roddy has permission to be out and about on his own this morning?”

“Nay, miss, he doesna have any such thing. The mistress tellt him tae stay wi’ the bairns till his new tutor arrives this afternoon.”

“Well, I am nearly certain that as my chair turned into South Street I saw him dart round the corner. Doreen ran to see if she could catch up with him, but I am afraid she will be too late. Is my brother at home?”

“Nay, miss, Lord MacCrichton went out nigh on to twenty minutes ago, whilst Himself were speaking wi’ yon gentleman that just left.”

“Who is that gentleman, by the bye?”

“Called himself Kintyre, miss.”

Dearly though she would have liked to inquire about Kintyre’s business with Duncan, she knew better. Dugald would not tell her even if he knew, and the likelihood was that he did not. At the moment, however, she had a greater worry.

“We must find Master Roddy, Dugald; and, if my brother has gone out, I expect I must do it myself. Perhaps if I go after Doreen and the two of us walk over and have a look in the park—”

“Nay, ye mustna do that! Himself forbade any female in the house to go into yon park without a proper male escort. He said there be footpads and such, miss, and it’s no safe for a lady. I could go, however,” he added quietly.

“Then go quickly, because if it is not safe for us, it is no safer for a child. I’ll run up and make certain that he is not in the house, but I am nearly as sure as I can be that I saw him. If I do find him upstairs, though, I’ll send a lad after you, so if you do not find him quickly, turn back, and we will decide what next to do.”