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.
None of this solved the problem of the man himself, though. If he should prove to be thoughtful and decent and able to compromise, if he could guarantee that she would be able to spend the Season in London every year and that she wouldn’t be trapped in the Highlands, then Lord Glendarril still represented her best chance to escape this household. When she thought about more intimate things—the way his hands felt around her waist, long lashes lifting to reveal a sparkling humor in the depths of his light-green eyes—it wasn’t even her supposed beau about whom she was thinking. How like Niall was the viscount? That seemed very important to discover.
Once Mary finished braiding her hair and coiled it into a pert, looped bun, Amelia-Rose requested Jane and a light luncheon in the informal dining room. It would never do to appear famished at the picnic. As she dined, Hughes the butler brought her a letter, and she frowned as she lifted it off the silver salver.
“I do hope Mr. MacTaggert was able to locate Lord Glendarril,” her companion commented, sipping at her Madeira. “If they beg off attending the picnic now, your mother will not be pleased.”
“My mother is well pleased that Lord Glendarril joined me for coffee this morning,” Amelia-Rose said firmly, breaking open the wax seal and unfolding the letter. “And that he has insisted on escorting me to the picnic. She will remain so.”
“Yes, of course. You know you may always trust me, Amelia-Rose.”
Oh, she hoped that was true. “Of course, cousin.” As she read through the missive, she relaxed. “It’s only a letter from Lord Phillip,” she said, relieved.
Lord Phillip West wrote rather pedestrian letters, and in person he had a bit of a lisp and no title. But his soulful brown eyes … Oh, a young lady could perish in their depths. In addition, he was excellent at the waltz. On the other hand, he only spoke of the weather and the latest fashions and horses, which made polite conversation absurdly simple. She’d practiced on him quite a bit at the beginning of the Season. If only he’d been his older brother Lionel, the Marquis of Durst, he would have been perfect.
That was all she wanted, truly: a well-spoken, handsome man who enjoyed parties and Society, had an estate not ten miles from London, and—for her mother’s sake—could make her a lady. As her mother said, Father being an earl’s second cousin allowed them into Society, but it didn’t make anyone bow or curtsy to them.
She imagined a lifetime of conversation about horses and the weather would be supremely boring, but she would have ready access to London to make up for that. She’d never really conversed with Phillip’s older brother, though, and she was only imagining them to be similar. Oh, what if he read? What if he enjoyed frankly discussing books and politics?
Except she wasn’t all but engaged to the Marquis of Durst. Her man was Scottish and bad-tempered and nearly as tall and broad-shouldered as a mountain. Unless she could convince him to remain in London, this simply wouldn’t work. How could she tolerate a lifetime of isolation from culture and friends and the social gatherings that she would finally be able to enjoy without having to worry about catching the right man’s eye?
After luncheon she and Jane settled into the morning room for her to compose a letter or two to her own friends, and for Jane to finish some embroidery. Any response to Lord Phillip would have to wait at least two days but not more than four; it was important to appear neither too eager nor too disinterested, however unfit the recipient was to become her husband.
Before the clock in the hallway could finish announcing the hour, she heard Hughes pull open the front door. “I do hope it’s the viscount,” Jane whispered. “This subterfuge is beginning to make me nervous.”
“It’s only a little subterfuge,” Amelia-Rose replied in the same tone. “We must show some compassion for a man new to London.”
“You mean new to civilization, I think,” her companion returned.
“Hush.”
“Miss Amelia-Rose, that Niall MacTaggert fellow is here for you again,” the butler said from the morning room doorway. “Do you wish me to send him away?”
“That’s not necessary.” A small smile touched her mouth before she could smother it. Niall had come. That was only because Niall’s presence would mean less weight on her shoulders, she told herself, setting aside her correspondence and picking up her waiting straw bonnet. It was her favorite, decorated with small yellow silk flowers that precisely matched the yellow flowers patterned throughout her light-green walking dress.
“There ye are,” Niall said as she glided into the foyer.
She dipped a curtsy. “Your brother is waiting for us, I assume?” she asked, sending a pointed glance at the butler.
“Aye. He rode ahead and will meet us there,” the Highlander returned smoothly, his nearly colorless green eyes practically dancing.
“And you’ve secured a barouche?”
“See for yerself, adae,” he drawled, offering his arm.
Trying not to notice the hard, taut muscles of his forearm beneath the material of his black coat, she stepped outside beside him. He hadn’t changed clothes since this morning, but being a man—and especially a foreign one—that didn’t matter as much as it would have if she’d stayed in her riding habit. She would never live that down.
He had indeed secured a barouche—along with his sister and Eloise’s betrothed. “Eloise!” she exclaimed, releasing her grip on his arm to hurry forward and hug her friend. “I had no idea you were coming.”
“I refused to hand over the barouche,” Eloise Oswell-MacTaggert replied with a grin, pulling Amelia-Rose onto the seat opposite her. “But Niall explained that it was vital to the day, so I agreed to share.”
Jane still stood on the front step, but her solemn expression didn’t fool Amelia-Rose for a second. “Eloise and I will chaperone each other,” she said, shifting over so Niall could sit beside her. “So you are free to hunt down that hard candy Father brought home yesterday.”
Her companion nodded, sent Niall a last, speculative glance, and retreated inside the house with the butler. Hm. Both she and Niall had made it clear that they would be meeting Coll, but then Jane already knew they’d lied about that very same thing this morning. She and her second cousin were going to have to have a chat when she returned.
“Trouble?” Niall asked, following her gaze.
Amelia-Rose straightened. “No. Not yet. Will Lord Glendarril actually be joining us?”