Honestly, couldn’t a woman don a lovely, albeit borrowed, yellow day gown without astounding the entire region? “Neither can I recall, milord,” she responded breezily, “for I canna recall the last time I saw ye.” She smiled, pleased with her own wit, and before he could speak, Mared gestured to Beitris.
Beitris, who was blond and petite, looked as bonny as a portrait sitting on one of ten Queen Anne chairs that lined the silk-walled room, her hands clenched in her lap. “What good fortune that I was able to coax Miss Crowley from Aberfoyle, aye?” Mared asked grandly. “I know that ye’ve grown quite attached to her and thought to be kind to ye, sir, and arrange for ye to enjoy her company again.”
“Frankly, ye’ve been exceedingly kind with Miss Crowley’s company for quite some time now,” he said, but instantly broke into a warm smile and was striding across the room, his legs long and powerful in Wellington boots and buckskins that hugged him like a glove.
Mared did not care to look at him…but she could hardly help herself. He wore no coat, no waistcoat, but a plain white lawn shirt. His golden brown hair had grown long, past the collar. If she were the sort of female to be interested in this man’s appearance, which she was decidedly not, she’d have no choice but to think him quite handsome.
Beitris, the poor darling, must certainly have thought so, for she all but melted in her silk-upholstered chair. She tried not to look at the laird, but of course, she couldn’t help but look at him, for the Douglas was, if nothing else, a very commanding figure of a man.
Beitris quickly came to her feet as he reached her. “Milord, thank ye for accepting our call.”
He grabbed her hand and bent over it. “The pleasure is indeed mine, Miss Crowley.” He touched his lips to her knuckles, and Beitris’s fair skin turned pink.
“Payton! Oh dear, did ye not change yer clothes to receive our guests?”
It was Miss Douglas, a slender, fair-haired woman who seemed positively dwarfish next to her cousin. She entered the room wearing an expensive riding habit.
“Sarah, allow me to reacquaint ye with our neighbor, Miss Lockhart.”
Mared curtsied alongside Natalie and inquired politely, “How do ye do, Miss Douglas?”
“Quite well. Thank ye, Miss Lockhart.”
Was it her imagination, or did she detect a hint of disdain in the voice of the fancy woman from Edinburgh?
“And Miss Crowley,” Payton added. “And of course, Miss Natalie Lockhart,” he said with another warm smile for the blonde-headed girl.
Miss Douglas nodded at the child, then made a show of fanning herself. “Please do sit, ladies. Tea should arrive shortly. I hope ye will forgive our attire,” she added, casting a disapproving look at Payton’s buckskins and lawn shirt. “We just returned from a ride about the park. I daresay we did not expect ye quite so promptly,” she said and took a seat on the divan whose plush velvet upholstery looked very new. Rather, Miss Douglas took all of the divan, sitting directly in the middle of it, leaving no room on either side of her.
Beitris sat gingerly on the edge of a matching settee. When Natalie moved to sit beside her, Mared quickly redirected her to a chair, so that the seat next to Beitris was left vacant.
That left only her and Payton standing, staring at one another across the room.
He flashed that devilish, charming smile again, the one that made her skin tingle, and politely motioned to the seat next to Beitris.
A smile curved the corner of Mared’s lips, and she sat hard next to Natalie.
Payton’s smile deepened, but he obliged her nonetheless by sitting next to Beitris and stretching his arm across the back of the settee, which, naturally, made Beitris blush and drop her gaze to her lap.
“I donna recall if I’ve mentioned that Miss Crowley has just this spring come from her studies in Edinburra,” Mared said smartly, and glanced at Miss Douglas. “Her father is a solicitor in Aberfoyle.”
“Is he indeed?” Miss Douglas asked indifferently, studying a fingernail. “I should think there’d be little call for a solicitor in a village as small as Aberfoyle. There are certainly no housekeepers to speak of.”
“Yer father must be quite delighted ye’ve come home, Miss Crowley,” Payton said. “I’d wager he’s found himself rather suddenly in the company of all the young bachelors in town, aye?”
Beitris flushed so badly that Mared feared she might faint. Aye, but wouldn’t that be lovely! If she fainted, Payton would be forced to revive her…. Faint, Beitris!
Beitris did not faint. She merely squeaked, “I, ah…I wouldna know, sir.”
“Indeed he has, for Miss Crowley is quite accomplished,” Mared cheerfully interjected. “She’s perfectly brilliant on the pianoforte, and she speaks French fluently, and she’s rather remarked upon for her archery on the left banks of the lochs.”