Refusing to attempt further conversation with him while they were trapped in the coach, she sat holding her reticule in her lap while he gazed fixedly out the window and her mother nudged her ankles to try to encourage her to speak.
As far as she was concerned, they weren’t allies. The only thing they had in common was that neither wanted to marry the other. At least she had friends, enjoyed a social life, knew how to converse politely even if she occasionally forgot herself, as well as play the pianoforte and dance all the popular dances. He had a title and his mother controlled the purse strings. That wasn’t very much recommending him at all. Not for her, anyway; her parents had heard the words “viscount, eventually to become an earl,” and had signed their names and patted each other on the back.
With the coach’s curtains open she could see the glow coming from the windows of Spenfield House from half a street away. Glendarril stepped down from the carriage first and offered a hand to her mother and then her. When she gripped his fingers he tightened his hand around hers. Amelia-Rose knew she was no fainting flower—even as a young girl she’d been called fresh-faced and boyish more than she cared to recall—but this man could be exceptionally intimidating. In his presence she was wee and dainty and delicate, because in comparison with him, everything was wee and delicate. Being meek might be easier than she’d realized. Remaining that way … She shook herself.
“We need to have a word,” he said, shifting her hand to his forearm.
“I’m listening, my lord,” she returned, with admirable calm and poise, she thought.
The big man blew out his breath. “Ye’ve shown me a pair of faces. I’m inclined to believe the first one was yer own, but I’m willing to be convinced. Pick two of yer dances for me, and we’ll chat. Ye show me the lass ye want me to see. But ye ken I’m nae asking for a lie. I expect ye to abide by yer choice. I’ll make my decision based on who ye show me. That’s as much rope as I’m willing to give either of us.”
She took a moment to consider. It was more than she’d expected from him, but she still couldn’t decide if that boded well or ill for a marriage. Still, she did understand what he asked. She could be the shrew he no doubt thought her, and he would walk away. Or she could be a simpering miss, put his ring on her finger, and then be expected to remain that empty-headed idiot forever. In exchange for what, though?
“If I may ask,” she said slowly, “you made a point earlier of saying I might stay in London while you built us a house. How long might I expect that to take?”
“A bit of time.”
“Years, perhaps?”
His gaze sharpened. “Aye. Could be. What do ye say to that?”
That explained a great deal. He wanted a fool he could leave behind so he could pretend he wasn’t married, and so he could go back to Scotland to live as he pleased. A widow in all but fact, indeed. Would that work to her advantage, or not, though? No one to frown at her, certainly, but also no one with whom to share a life. “I say we should have our dances and converse. We’ve only chatted for perhaps a total of five minutes altogether, and I was nervous at the theater. Tonight will be our second chance for a first impression.”
Coll MacTaggert nodded. “I can agree to that.”
“Let’s retrieve my dance card, then. I do warn you that we must be quick about it. The moment the card touches my hands, it will be filled very quickly. And I’m not being arrogant. It’s merely a matter of mathematics.”
Ahead of them, behind the four girls’ nervous mother and deeply resigned father, the Spenfield sisters stood to welcome all their guests. The oldest, Polymnia, now eight-and-twenty and well past her marital prime, followed by Thalia, Calliope, and Melpomeni. If their names weren’t enough evidence of their parents’s obsession with all things Greek, the faux-Ionic columns erected about the ballroom, the gold cherubs littering every wall and tabletop, and the Elgin statues apparently borrowed from the British Museum and standing in strategic view would have been more than sufficient.
“I thought they didnae have much blunt,” Coll said in his version of a whisper as they walked into the main ballroom.
“They don’t. They do know absolutely everyone, and they have the sympathy of a great many other parents.”
“They’d have more of my sympathy if they hadnae named their lasses after the Greek muses.”
So he knew who the muses were. Evidently, then, he could read. Until that moment she hadn’t been certain. While her mother assured Mrs. Spenfield that tonight was bound to be the night that one of her girls caught the eye of a young man, she led the mountainous Highlander over to the side table to retrieve a dance card. Two waltzes tonight, and oh, she loved waltzes.
“Here,” she said, handing him the card and a pencil as a crowd of young men swarmed from one young lady to the next. “I suggest the first quadrille and the second waltz. It gives a proper distance between the two dances. Does that please you?”
He eyed her before he bent his head to scrawl his name in the spaces she indicated. “Ye’re full of polite tonight. We’ll see if that lasts.”
Yes, they would. He continued to aggravate her a great deal. He’d abandoned her, left his brother to apologize and stand in for him, had showed up for the grand moments, had never apologized for any of it himself, and had then declared the fault to be hers. At the same time, he had seemingly put this in her hands. If he’d known how she fared last Season, though, he might have been a bit less confident that she would do as he preferred.
Lady Aldriss walked into the ballroom, two tall, dark-haired men on her heels, and Eloise and Matthew directly behind them. Her heart sped a little in spite of herself. Niall looked fit and splendid in an onyx coat and trousers, and a deep-blue waistcoat. “Your family is here.”
He glanced over his shoulder. “Is that Eloise’s beau? I need to make his acquaintance.”
The way he said “make his acquaintance” didn’t sound very promising. Evidently she wasn’t the only one that Coll MacTaggert had been ignoring since his arrival in London. Before she could defer, he set off across the ballroom, half dragging her behind him.
She’d never really envisioned what life as a married lady would be like, but then her parents had put her name in ink beside Viscount Glendarril’s. A mad Highlander who disliked the English and who hauled her about like a dog. This was her sample of married life with him. She needed to pay attention.
Rather than make a scene she trotted along beside him, stopping before the impressive MacTaggert family. And seeing them all together, they were impressive. Aden, the middle brother, lacked an inch or so on Niall, which still left him at just over six feet tall. He had raven hair darker even than Coll’s, hanging down to his shoulders and managing to make him look mysterious rather than unkempt. Niall had the greatest perfection in looks, in her opinion at least, thanks to those light, light eyes and brown hair that showed red and gold glimpses in the candlelight. He and Eloise could almost be twins, though of course his angles were much leaner and more muscular than his sister’s soft, rounded ones.
“Ye’re Harris, are ye?” Coll boomed from beside her.
“Good evening to ye, Coll,” Niall drawled, stepping into the middle of the loose circle they’d formed. “I dunnae believe Aden’s met Miss Baxter, and this here is Matthew Harris, Eloise’s betrothed. Say hello.”
The viscount narrowed his deep-green eyes. “Ye dunnae get to tell me how t—”
“Aden?” Amelia-Rose interrupted, slipping her hand from Coll’s taut forearm. “Amelia-Rose Baxter. I’m pleased to make your acquaintance.” She held out her right hand.