Payton smiled thinly and turned his attention to the haddock on his plate, which, he mused, might be capable of more intelligent conversation than Miss Alyshire.
After supper, Payton invited the ladies to enjoy wine in the green salon while he and the men partook of the American cigars Payton had ordered from Miss Alyshire’s overly poor town of Glasgow. And while the two young nephews smoked the American cigars, they boasted to their uncle and their host that they had indulged in cigars of higher quality when recently in France.
The boasting continued when the gentlemen rejoined the ladies—the nephews were keen to impart that they had sampled the best of all dessert wines while in Paris, too, and implied, of course, that Payton’s French offering was not the best.
Payton was appalled by their rudeness, but more by their apparent oblivion to it.
One look at Miss Crowley and he could see that she was not enjoying the evening, either. The young ladies from Glasgow had made no attempts to include her, and had, he thought irritably, rebuffed Miss Crowley’s polite efforts to engage them in conversation. They were much more interested in arguing uselessly with the two pompous, arrogant young men.
In the middle of one young man’s tale of how many francs he’d won at a French gaming hall, Payton abruptly stood and walked across the room to sit with Miss Crowley.
She smiled gratefully as he took a seat next to her. “How do ye fare this evening, Miss Crowley?”
“Very well, milord. Please accept my compliments on the supper. It was excellent.”
“I’m glad ye enjoyed it,” he said with a tight smile. “But I must beg yer pardon for the company. ’Tis rather boorish.”
“Oh no, no’ at all!” she politely disagreed, but it was clear by the look in her eye that she did indeed agree with him.
Payton smiled, and so did Miss Crowley, and he thought the smithy’s son was a lucky lad. “And do ye bring any news of Mr. Abernathy?” he asked in a whisper.
Miss Crowley instantly blushed and stole a sideways glimpse of her parents.
“I take it he’s no’ as yet spoken to yer father?”
Miss Crowley’s smile instantly faded. “No. And I daresay he never shall.”
“No? He’d be a fool no’ to do so.”
Miss Crowley suddenly twisted in her seat and looked earnestly at Payton. “Because he doesna believe he has the proper pedigree or occupation! He swears he esteems me, but that he shall no’ offer until he has a venue of his own at the very least. But he’ll no’ have that for several more years, no’ until Mr. Abernathy is prepared to put away his anvil!”
“Ah,” Payton said, uncertain what to say to her sudden entreaty.
She groaned and shifted forward again, her hands clasped tightly on her lap. “Oh, I do so beg yer pardon, milord! I shouldna burden ye with such silly affairs of the heart!”
“Affairs of the heart are never silly, Miss Crowley. True happiness is important to one’s physical health and should no’ be treated lightly.”
“Do ye really believe so?” she asked hopefully.
More than he could ever hope to convey. He nodded.
“My very thoughts, milord,” she said weakly, sobering again. “At least I try to believe it. I shall never understand why my troublesome heart should attach itself so intractably to the one person who canna seem to find his way to me!”
Her sentiments struck a chord; Payton looked to the windows for a moment, swallowing hard before turning back to her. Miss Crowley’s head was bowed; she was looking at her clasped hands, and a single tear was sliding helplessly down her cheek.
Payton instantly reached for a kerchief in his pocket. “There now, Miss Crowley,” he whispered, pressing it into her hand. “We canna have this, aye? I’ll fetch ye a wee tot of whiskey—that shall make ye feel better.”
She nodded and daintily dabbed the kerchief to her eye.
Payton stood up, looked around for Beckwith, but he was busily attending the Glaswegian women, who demanded quite a lot of attention. That was just as well—he’d fetch the whiskey. He could use the fresh air.
Payton slipped out the opposite end of the salon, walked to his study and helped himself to a healthy tot of the Eilean Ros barley-bree he hoped to manufacture. He then picked up the decanter and two clean tots in one hand and retraced his steps. As he neared the dining room, he noticed the door was open, and he heard two voices—one male, one female—and the female sounded quite familiar.
His step slowed as he neared the open door. He could hear Mared’s labored breathing, which he thought odd, and realized that she was standing just inside.
“Ach, lass!”
Payton instantly recognized Jamie MacGrudy’s voice and stopped cold. “I want only a kiss, just a simple wee kiss from yer accursed lips.”
“Do ye no’ fear for yer life?” Mared asked breathlessly. “Have ye no’ heard the tales, then? I shall curse ye as well!”
“What shall ye do, make me into a toad?”