“—must be Lord Glendarril,” one of the young ladies, a bosomy redhead, said in between giggles, her gaze on him. “Oh, Amelia-Rose, he’s heavenly.”
Amelia-Rose clambered over him and out of the barouche. “No, no, no. This—this is his brother—one of Eloise’s other brothers, I mean—Oh, dear. This is Niall MacTaggert.”
Niall stepped down from the carriage. “Lasses,” he said, inclining his head.
They all dipped curtsies like a flock of bobbing doves. Bloody hell. Perhaps he needed to be more thankful that Coll had dodged his responsibilities so far today; at least with Amelia-Rose by his side, Niall had a bit of protection from the muslin horde. On the other hand, if he wished for some companionship, that would be easy enough to find.
His sister took his arm and yanked on it. She couldn’t have budged him if she wanted to, but he relented and moved a few steps away with her. “If ye’re worried, I’ll nae brawl with anyone here,” he said under his breath. “Unless there’s stronger drink than what I spy.”
“These ladies are all—or most of them are—my friends. Don’t ruin any of them.”
Niall lifted an eyebrow. “All I did was say hello,” he returned with a half grin.
She tightened her grip on his forearm. “Mama said you’re to find an English wife. Even if you don’t want to, I know you’re at least thinking about it. Don’t let what our parents did cause you to misbehave with these nice young ladies.”
“Piuthar, I’m four-and-twenty. I’m nae some pup getting the scent of my first fox. And if I reckoned these lasses were to blame for my predicament, ye’d nae find me escorting Coll’s lady just to keep everyone else happy.”
That didn’t sound quite right, because the only person being kept happy by all this subterfuge, as far as he could tell, was Francesca Oswell-MacTaggert. And perhaps Amelia-Rose’s parents. Which didn’t mean that he was unhappy, because she looked like warm springtime in that yellow gown, and the smile on her lips made him think about kissing.
“My sweet, everyone wants to meet your brother,” Matthew Harris said, stepping in to take Eloise’s free arm. “And I’m being peppered with questions for which I have no answers.”
Niall shrugged out of his sister’s grip. “Dunnae ye fret, lass,” he said. “I’m charming as the devil.”
“And just as wicked, no doubt. Behave, Niall.”
What she’d said, despite his attempts to shrug off her words and remember at least half the names of the lasses present, started something roiling in his gut. He’d been sent down here. Dragged down here. He’d been told to behave. He’d been told to find himself a wife. No room for questions. But now he abruptly did have one or two of those, and it had occurred to him that he hadn’t asked himself many questions about anything lately.
Days at Aldriss Park were busy, filled with tending to the property, aiding the cotters, shearing sheep, crops, fishing, hunting—all the things he’d done practically since he could walk, with the notable exceptions of drinking and women. Those had come later and been well worth the wait. But they were all things he did. Ways he occupied himself and helped those for whom his family was responsible.
This could not be another of those times, where he simply did whatever was asked of him because firstly it was simpler, and secondly he was that charming man who liked it when the people around him were happy. Now he needed to ask himself a damned question, and he needed to find the damned answer for it. What the devil did he want?
“Niall,” Amelia-Rose said, walking toward him and arm in arm with another of the pretty young lasses, “this is Lady Margaret, daughter of the Marquis of Hampfer. Peggy, this is Niall MacTaggert, Eloise’s brother and youngest son of Earl Aldriss.”
“I’m very pleased to meet you, Mr. MacTaggert,” the marquis’s daughter cooed, curtsying.
“And ye, Lady Margaret. Thank ye for including me in yer festivities.”
She giggled. “I had an additional pheasant prepared when Amy told me how hungry you were likely to be.”
He sent Amelia-Rose an appreciative grin. “I thank both of ye, then.”
“So tell me, Mr. MacTaggert, we had expected to meet Lord Glendarril. Is Amelia-Rose merely teasing us, and such a person doesn’t actually exist?”
“Oh, he’s real enough, lass. We dunnae come into London often, though, and when we do, he has a thing or two to tend to. He may be here later.”
“I hope so.” She spied another carriage full of arriving guests and pranced off to greet them.
“I do hope you’re able to keep your stories straight,” Amelia-Rose said in a low voice.
He looked at her, trying to pay attention to her words and not how her eyes matched the color of the deep blue afternoon sky. “What?”
“You told me that your brother is adjusting to London and your mother’s demands. Now you’ve said he’s attending to business. Since he’s known at least by rumor to be nearly engaged to me, I would appreciate if you kept your tales in order. I do not wish to be embarrassed by his poor behavior or your lack of ability to prevaricate about it.”
“Och, ‘prevaricate,’ is it?” he returned, leaning his head closer to hers as they made for the stream to the right of the canopy and blankets. “Ye English’ve made an art of using long words for simple things.”
“I can say ‘lie’ if that will convince you to do as I ask.”
“I’ll keep my tales untangled, adae, if ye’ll answer a question.”
She slowed beside him. “What question might that be?”
“What did ye have in mind for yourself before yer parents made an agreement with Lady Aldriss?”
“That’s none…” She trailed off. “We all have our fairy-tale dreams, Niall. I haven’t quite given up on mine, silly as they may be, and your brother will have some work ahead of him if he means either to live up to them or to convince me to give them up.”
He admired her for saying that, even if it didn’t bode well. This damsel wasn’t going to sit by and wait while Coll stomped about London being angry. They had an estate and a great many cotters relying on his brother doing the correct thing. And now he hoped that Coll didn’t show up this afternoon. They needed to have a serious conversation first.
“I told ye we were led to believe we’d find naught but delicate, mild, fainting lasses this far to the south. Give a man a day to think, adae.”
Her eyes narrowed. “I’m not mild, then?”
He opened his mouth and then closed it again. “I honestly havenae a bit of an idea how to answer that question without getting myself smacked in the head,” he finally replied.
Amelia-Rose sent him a sharp look, then shook her head. “You make me forget.”
“Forget what?” he pressed, far more interested in her answer than he likely should be.
“To mind my tongue.” She gave a rueful smile. “Answer me honestly, if you please.”
Niall rather liked her tongue, and all her other parts. “Truly?”
“Truly.”
“Then nae, I’d nae choose ‘mild’ to describe ye. Keen-eyed, mayhap. Or clever-tongued.”
The grimace on her face didn’t look entirely displeased, though he reckoned it was supposed to. “Your brother wants someone mild, then, does he? Someone meek and unassuming, easily cowed and led about?”
“If I said aye to that, would ye be inclined to be the lass he wants, or the lass he doesnae want?”
Her gaze focused somewhere past him, on the lines of trees and the small stream at their feet. “Last year I decided I would be myself. I acquired one proposal, made a baron’s son weep, and had to convince my parents I was not trying to ruin my own chance for marriage. Your brother isn’t the only man in London who prefers meek and mild, Niall.”
“Ye said that was last year,” he prompted, abruptly angry. And not at her. Her parents, and most everyone else, apparently, had tried hobbling her. They’d tried to break her. And now she couldn’t decide if she was wild or tame. “What of this year?”