His brother shoved over the plate. “I’ll make for this Gentleman Jackson’s, then, and see if I can drag Coll to yer wee picnic. Ye’ll have to meet Eloise’s beau and decide whether we should permit him to wed our sister or crack him over the head and ship him off to India or someaught.”
“And if Coll’s nae boxing?”
“I reckon if I can track a deer through the mountains in the rain I can find a six-and-a-half-foot Highlander clomping about London.”
“Aye.” Aden likely could, at that. The middle MacTaggert brother favored slightly more cerebral pursuits like gambling, but he also had an eye for seeing things in people most of them would prefer remain hidden. “Before ye get him to the picnic, make sure he’s going to behave. His growling last night was damned unfair. It was her parents who shook hands with Lady Aldriss. Nae Amelia-Rose. I reckon Coll wanted to see if the lass would cry, but he didnae have to do it with half of London watching.”
Coll needed to be more pleasant. Amelia-Rose wouldn’t agree to marry him if she didn’t like him. And so she needed to like him. Or at least to converse with him long enough to see that he did have a pleasant, humorous side—when he wasn’t being dragged to the altar against his will. Even if she wasn’t as malleable as Coll had expected, she was the one Francesca had chosen. This needed to happen.
In the meantime Niall would remain Coll’s proxy. The fact that he didn’t mind that fact, that he actually looked forward to seeing her again, would have to be something else he tried to keep back for later perusal. One thing was certain: If there was another English lass in London who had the same wit and charm, he was going to find her. If he did so, he was not leaving her behind when he returned to the Highlands.
One thing he couldn’t leave to consider later was that he was already holding Amelia-Rose up to measure every other lass against her. That he wanted to hold her, period. Adae. Trouble, indeed.
Chapter Five
“And?” Victoria Baxter prompted.
Amelia-Rose jumped. “My goodness, Mother, I didn’t hear you come in,” she said, twisting in her dressing chair to see her mother standing in front of the closed bedchamber door.
“Oh, I’ve lost the braid, Miss Amy,” her maid, Mary, said with a grimace. “Please do sit still, or we’ll never have you ready in time.”
“It’s Amelia-Rose, Mary. Please don’t make me correct you again,” Victoria said, moving into the depths of the room.
The maid curtsied, her blush reflected in the dressing mirror and making Amelia-Rose clench her jaw. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Baxter. I’ll remember.”
“I’m sorry, Mary,” Amelia-Rose cut in, facing forward again. “You’re performing miracles as it is.”
Her mother joined them in the mirror’s reflection as she sat on the end of Amelia-Rose’s bed. “Why are you dressed for an outing? Are you avoiding me?”
“No, Mother. Of course not. Coll—Lord Glendarril—is escorting me to Lady Margaret’s alfresco luncheon.” It wasn’t precisely a lie, since Niall had promised that either he or Coll would be there to fetch her. It should be Coll, of course, especially if she was to judge his character honestly. As of this morning she’d somewhat softened toward Highlanders, which left her willing to give him another chance.
“I told you, Lady Margaret is too forward. You don’t want to be seen with her and have anyone think the same thing about you.” Victoria sniffed. “You have enough to overcome.”
This again. “Margaret is not forward. She’s friendly. And I’m not going alone, anyway. You said you wanted this to look like a love match. The viscount and I must therefore be seen together.”
“True enough.” Her mother folded her hands primly into her lap. “I am somewhat confused, though. For the previous fortnight you’ve done little but complain that you would rather reside in a nunnery than wed some brute of a Highlander no matter if he was the Duke of Scotland.”
“That was before I met him.”
“It was, indeed. Which, considering that he left the theater last night before Juliet even appeared on stage, makes me wonder why you’re suddenly so eager to be seen with him in public. I have to assume that this morning he gave you an assurance that his suit is indeed serious? Because otherwise I might think you simply want to go to a picnic.”
Amelia-Rose relaxed a fraction. Of course her mother didn’t care about the details of any conversation or how her daughter felt about Coll MacTaggert now. She only wanted to know if everything looked well after the poor showing the viscount had made last night. And that her daughter was still set to become a viscountess, and a future countess. “Yes, I am much reassured,” she said aloud.
After all, now she knew that her almost-betrothed repaired cotters’ roofs and saved sheep from bogs. It wasn’t at all that his brother had bothered to apologize on the viscount’s behalf, or that he’d amused her and left her feeling appreciated. It wasn’t that for once she hadn’t had to apologize for being blunt or impertinent. Nor that having someone else, especially an exceptionally handsome man with indescribable eyes, attempting to make amends to her felt refreshing. Or that she wanted to see him again.
“I’m pleased Lord Glendarril’s character is better than my first estimation,” her mother said crisply. “The Spenfield ball is on Thursday. He may escort us there and prove his worth in person. I should like to witness it for myself.”
Drat. “I don’t know that he’s been invited,” Amelia-Rose countered. “He’s only been in Town for a day, after all, and you know that the Spenfield ball is quite exclusive.”
Victoria flipped a hand as she stood. “Don’t make excuses in advance, darling. It makes me doubt your veracity. Lady Aldriss will have been invited, so of course her unmarried sons will be welcome. I haven’t forgotten, even if you have, that Penelope Spenfield has four marriageable daughters.”
No, she hadn’t forgotten. That was why she’d been looking forward to the ball before her parents had dragged her into an engagement: The young men would greatly outnumber the young ladies, a phenomenon rarely seen elsewhere. No miss ever lacked for a dance partner at a Spenfield ball, everyone said. Some of Amelia-Rose’s female friends had made a point of endearing themselves to one of the Spenfield sisters just to increase their chances of garnering an invitation.
Her mother had paused in the doorway, so Amelia-Rose nodded carefully, trying not to dislodge her maid and her braid again. “I’ll inform him, of course. The Spenfield ball on Thursday.”
“Splendid. Once everyone has seen how well you two suit, we’ll be able officially to announce the engagement and call it a love match. That sounds much more pleasant these days, with everyone so infatuated with Byron and his silly romantic verse.”
Amelia-Rose gave a silent sigh. She had only a handful of days, then, to make a true assessment of Coll MacTaggert in place of the rather colorful one given her by his brother and the sullen one she’d seen for herself. Blast Lord Byron and his romantic verse, anyway. It gave one such … impossible dreams of love and passion. No one could live up to that—and certainly not a brute of a Highlander.