“What’s a … one of those?” she asked, deciding not even to attempt the pronunciation.
“A cirein cròin? A great sea monster. It can eat half a dozen whales at one go.”
She snorted, covering her mouth with her hand in a belated effort to hide the sound. “He is very large,” she agreed while Jane elbowed her beneath the table.
“That he is. One time we were repairing the thatch of Widow MacDougal’s roof, and he fell right through onto her bed and broke that, too. I think the old lass wishes she’d been in the bed when he fell, but she’d have been flat as a plank. She did get a fresh roof and a new bed for her trouble, though. Coll saw to that.”
“Is Widow MacDougal one of your tenants?”
“One of our cotters, aye.”
So he meant to spend the morning until Lord Glendarril’s arrival telling tales of what a fine man his brother was. That was well and good, but she preferred to judge for herself. And carefully chosen tales did not paint an entire portrait, anyway. “Does your brother assume all women are empty-headed watering pots?”
That made him frown. “He doesnae.”
“Just me, then?”
“Lass, I—”
“I propose a game of questions and answers,” she broke in. “With no lies allowed.”
Tilting his head, he ate another biscuit. “Nae. A reckon ye want to try to trick me into saying Coll’s nae fit for polite company, and that’s nae so. I ken ye’ve heard tales of Highlands barbarians. Well, we’ve heard tales of delicate, fainting Sassenach lasses. Ye werenae what he expected, is all.”
“Fair enough,” she conceded. “And yet I cannot help but notice that he still isn’t here.” Should it have mollified her that Coll MacTaggert hadn’t planned on a marriage, either, and didn’t particularly want one? It didn’t; at least she’d attempted to play her part. She hadn’t blamed him for all her troubles, at least.
“Coll’s stubborn. He’ll come to the proper conclusion; it may take him a day or two, though. In the meantime, have a biscuit.” He scooted the plate in her direction.
He, and the biscuits, were obviously meant as a distraction, but they both looked tasty. And if she hesitated, the biscuits, at least, would all be gone before she had a chance even to sample one. As for him, thinking about that delicious-looking subject wouldn’t harm anything, she supposed. A little amused despite herself, she selected a sugared treat.
Whether Coll MacTaggert was being cowardly or heroic, the fact remained that he was not there. Perhaps this could work to her advantage. Telling her parents that Lord Glendarril hadn’t bothered to appear could cause them to cancel their agreement with Lady Aldriss. That would set her back into the spinning teacup of being assessed and judged and sent after another man with an impressive-enough title to earn her parents’ approval, but it wouldn’t be her fault for once.
If she said nothing, though, or better yet allowed them to believe that she and Coll MacTaggert were slowly becoming acquainted, she would have something she’d never had a chance to experience before—a measure of freedom. Even if she and Coll were ostensibly courting, she could see her friends, go on outings, dance through the London Season she so adored.
It would all work better without Coll being present, of course. Heavens, as a nearly engaged woman she could dance with nearly anyone. Perhaps with all the weight lifted from her shoulders she might find a man whose company she actually enjoyed, one who didn’t insult her, one who didn’t warrant her disdain or indifference, and one of whom her parents might even approve. All she would need was a plausible escort.
“Ye’ve a sly look about ye, lass,” Niall noted, bringing her thoughts back to the ground.
“I am going to find you a decent map of London,” she said.
“That’s thoughtful of ye.”
Amelia-Rose nodded. “Yes. And this afternoon your brother is going to escort me to Lady Margaret Hathaway’s alfresco luncheon. I’ve been wanting to attend, but my mother wouldn’t let me accept without knowing what plans Lord Glendarril might have for us.”
His brows dipped into a scowl. “I—”
“Your brother isn’t here. That makes you his second, does it not?”
“He’s only a bit late, as I s—”
“Then one or the other of you will arrive at my home at two o’clock, in a proper carriage. And one or the other of you will drive Jane and myself to the luncheon, for which I will provide directions, and he or you will spend the afternoon being charming so that I don’t look like a fool for being involved in this marriage of convenience, which everyone wants to pretend is anything but.”
Niall MacTaggert set a half-eaten biscuit on the wooden table. “So ye reckon I’m yer lapdog now?” he said, a slight cooling in his voice that nearly made her shudder. Easy-tempered as he seemed to be, she abruptly realized that it may well merely have been the face he chose to show her. Well, she had other faces, too.
“Not at all,” she replied, with more confidence than she felt. “If you don’t wish to participate, I will simply return home and tell my parents the truth—that Lord Glendarril isn’t interested in me. Because how can I assume otherwise?”
He took a breath. She couldn’t read his thoughts, of course, but she imagined he was weighing spending a few hours with her against facing his mother and informing her that Coll MacTaggert had been thus far utterly unimpressive and utterly absent as a beau. That was in no way his fault, but he’d been the one to step in both last night and this morning. Whether he’d done so to save her or to keep his brother from embarrassment she didn’t know, but it would seem to be in his best interest to continue to do so. Or so she hoped, because once she did tell her parents that Lord Glendarril wanted nothing to do with her, this nonsense would begin all over again—and she was running out of men she hadn’t driven away or insulted or who were otherwise unacceptable.
“Seems ye’ve got me roasting on a spit,” he commented, more mildly than she expected.
“I do. For this afternoon, at least. Perhaps you can tell me about more of your brother’s heroics, and I’ll fall for him before we even meet again.”
A muscle along his jaw jumped. “Aye. That could happen. Very well. Coll or I will escort ye in a proper carriage to yer picnic.” He sat a breath closer. “What I’d truly like to know about this party is if they’ll be serving food. Or will it be frilly snacks that couldnae fill a bee’s stomach?”
She laughed, her absurd degree of relief telling her just how much all of this had gotten to her already. Oh, thank goodness. No arguments with her parents, no sending her to stand beside friends who happened to be speaking to earls and marquises. Not today, at least. “As soon as I return home I will personally send a note to Lady Margaret to clarify that you are not a measly bee and that you wish to be fed. If I’m not satisfied with her response, I will pack you a basket luncheon myself.”
“I’ll hold ye to that.”
“Very well. For your information, a coach or a phaeton would be an acceptable conveyance, but I do prefer a barouche.”
He lifted an eyebrow. “A barouche. Aye. Anything else, Miss Baxter?”