“With any luck, aye. Aden—our other brother—is fetching him.”
“I’d begun to think all three of the MacTaggert brothers were a myth,” Matthew Harris said from opposite Niall. “I’m relieved at least one of you is real.”
Niall grinned, the expression a little cooler than it had been just a moment ago, reminding Amelia-Rose that he could be much more formidable if he chose. “Just ye bear in mind that I’m the nice one.”
Matthew smiled back. “Then I remain relieved that I’ve met you first.”
“Don’t listen to him, Matthew,” Eloise said, hugging her fiancé’s arm with an obvious affection that made Amelia-Rose a little jealous. “They’re all nice. Just … mountain-sized.”
“Ye’ve grown a mite since last I saw ye, yerself,” Niall returned, easing into genuine amusement again. Good heavens, he was handsome when he smiled like that.
“Do you truly remember me? You were barely seven years old when Mama and I moved to London.”
He tilted his head. “Of course I remember ye. Ye were wee and plump, as bairns should be, but I see yer eyes in ye still. And yer smile.”
The affection between them, near strangers though they were, was palpable. “You two make me wish I had a sibling,” Amelia-Rose said aloud. Sighing, she shook herself. “Speaking of which, Matthew, where is your sister?”
“My aunt Beatrice wrote to say she and her three young ones had all taken ill, so Miranda and my mother went back to Devon this morning to help tend them. With any luck they’ll be home in a week or so.”
“Does everyone know everyone else in Mayfair, then?” Niall asked.
“Very nearly,” Eloise answered. “Amelia-Rose came out a year before me, but we go to all the same parties. By now we’re practically sisters.”
That made Amelia-Rose smile. Eloise MacTaggert had proven to be much less judgmental than others, perhaps because she knew she had three wild brothers just to the north. “We are, and thank you for saying so. There are others who aren’t quite as friendly.”
“And why is that?” Niall prompted, frowning. “The lot of ye baffle me.”
“Once a lady turns eighteen, there are certain expectations,” Matthew offered. “She is foremost to do her family honor, which for most young women means she needs to attract the attention of a man who will offer for her hand.”
“She must comport herself with dignity and grace, for every word she utters and every move she makes reflects on her schooling, upbringing, and parentage,” Eloise recited. “An offer of marriage is therefore a compliment to both her and her family.”
“But it can’t be just any man,” Amelia-Rose took up, warming to the conversation and rather relieved that Eloise had dealt with the proper-behavior portion. “She may have any number of suitors, but she is to choose and marry only the best of them. The one with the loftiest heritage, of course. He must also have the means to support her and quite possibly the rest of her family. If he can lift both her and her family’s status in Society, that is the most ideal.”
“I’m beginning to feel inadequate,” Matthew drawled, chuckling. “I’m a mere seventeenth in line to inherit my family’s dukedom, and my father has been known to dabble in trade in an effort to keep our coffers full.”
“Yes, but you’re very pretty,” Eloise countered, patting his shoulder.
“Handsome, darling. I’m very handsome,” Matthew corrected with a grin, taking her hand in his to kiss her knuckles.
Amelia-Rose found it all slightly too sweet for her taste, but from Niall’s expression he remained baffled by the exchange. As handsome as he was, she could well believe that no woman would have dared reduce his worth to his pleasing countenance. “And here you see,” she said aloud, her gaze on him, “the rare and much-envied love match. Sugary, full of cooing sounds, and completely oblivious to how very lucky they are.”
Niall looked at Amelia-Rose, catching her gaze. Over a day’s acquaintance he’d found her to be amusing, clever, very conscious of propriety, and willing to use his circumstance to her advantage—at least as far as enabling her to attend a picnic. She could be sharp-tongued, but he hadn’t expected her to be cynical. And yet her description of a love match couldn’t be seen as anything but cynical.
Had she hoped for a love match herself? Did she have a man she cared for, a man who’d asked for her hand, and one she’d had to turn away because of her parents’ agreement with Lady Aldriss? It hadn’t occurred to him previously, but it should have. And he didn’t like the idea. At all. “Lass, do ye—”
“Goodness, Amy,” Eloise broke in, her cheeks turning red. “I hope you don’t begrudge me a bit of that luck you mentioned.”
“No, of course not,” Amelia-Rose returned on the tail of that, also flushing. “I apologize. That—it didn’t sound the way I intended.”
“Apology accepted,” Eloise said promptly, smiling again. “Let’s speak no more about it.”
Niall wanted to speak more about it, but apparently that wasn’t a conversation they were to have in front of others. “I reckon the lass doesnae need to apologize for pointing out that ye and Mr. Harris here are sugary enough that ye’re making my teeth ache,” he said aloud, narrowing one eye at his younger sister.
“Oh, stop it, Niall,” his sister returned. “I know you and Coll and Aden would have loved to be able to approve of Matthew before he asked for my hand, and I’m certain that would have entailed the drinking of much whisky and some brawling, but it didn’t happen that way. He asked Mama for my hand, and she gave her permission.”
Niall eyed his sister’s betrothed, and had the satisfaction of seeing Matthew Harris shift a little and suddenly find something interesting to view outside the barouche. “Aye, we’re too late to have had a hand in yer choosing a lad, piuthar, but I dunnae believe it’s ever too late for whisky or brawling. We’re some of the finest brawlers in the Highlands, if I say so myself.”
“Niall, no punching,” Eloise stated again.
He sat back and crossed his arms. “Nae promises.”
They might be jesting, but he hadn’t made up his mind about Mr. Harris yet. Aye, he could assess a man’s character fairly quickly, but this particular lad had in mind to marry the MacTaggerts’ only sister. Learning whether he was fit to do that would take more than a minute. It didn’t help that Matthew Harris likely knew Eloise better than did her own brothers. They should have visited her, however they felt about Francesca. They should have written, at least; they shared blood and heritage, whether she’d ever been exposed to the latter or not.
“I’m willing to have a glass or two of whisky, if that’s satisfactory,” Matthew put in.
“Ha. Either ye have a bit of spleen, or ye’ve nae met a Highlander before. I’ll see what I can arrange.” He sent Eloise a glance. “Nae interference.”
“Amy, I may now have some envy of you for being an only child,” his sister stated, but since she continued to seem amused Niall reckoned he hadn’t done any damage.
Finally they turned into a large, green expanse of trees and ponds and flowers. Niall took a deep breath. It was too orderly and civilized ever to be mistaken for the Highlands, but it wasn’t more buildings and noise. For Saint Andrew’s sake, he could actually hear birdsongs. “This is more like it,” he muttered, his shoulders lowering a little. The mere fact of being in London weighed on him, whether he’d realized it before now or not.
Half a dozen bouncing, flapping lasses met the carriage as they stopped beside a handful of other vehicles. On the far side of the carriages a canopy stood, a spread of blankets on the ground beneath it, while a trio of footmen and a table laden with plates, baskets, bowls, and glasses stood close by and awaited their dining pleasure directly to one side. Ah, food.