“Niall, I’m not trying to be rid of you and your brothers. I want you back in my life. You’re here now. Isn’t that some sort of evidence in my favor?”
“Aye, that ye have a fine solicitor.”
The orchestra up on the balcony that overlooked the ballroom played a trio of notes that were evidently meant to warn any dancers to get their arses onto the dance floor. He assumed that because everyone scattered, pairing up, the lasses forming three circles with their partners on the outside. The extra men and those not there to dance—mostly mamas and a few papas—piled onto the chairs set around the edges of the room or returned to the restocked sweets table.
Eloise had paired with Aden, while Amelia-Rose held fingertips with a stocky, pleasant-faced lad who seemed to be admiring the beading in her gown, the bastard. Niall glanced about for Coll, to find him devouring half a plate of strawberries and sugared orange slices. For Saint Andrew’s sake.
As the country dance began, he wound around the edge of the room to his oldest brother’s side. “Who’s yer lass dancing with?” he asked.
Coll lowered an eyebrow. “Some Sassenach,” he returned, glancing about the dance floor and then going back to browsing through the fruits and pastries. “If they mean to hold us captive, they should at least serve some meat to keep us happy.”
“How did ye find her?”
“I found her at home, with her mouthy mama and pinch-faced, frowning da. Here, try one of these.”
Niall took the sweet from his brother and set it aside again. “Those are to be yer in-laws, ye ken.”
“We kept apart from Francesca for seventeen years. I reckon I can do at least that well with the lot of them.”
“Ye found her more interesting than ye thought at first, though?” Niall prompted. Coll wasn’t a chatterbox by any means, but generally the viscount could carry his side of a conversation without Niall wanting to pound him on the head.
“She kept ‘my lairding’ me, and apologizing for being sharp at the theater. If the lass wants to marry that badly, I reckon she’ll nae object to the rest of it. She figured out that this isnae to be much more than a marriage in name, and didnae even blink. Unless ye told her already.”
“I didnae.” He should have, though, damn it all. If she’d figured all that out and decided she still wanted to be a countess, then he’d been wrong about several things. That disappointed him. No, not disappointed. Saddened.
“Why do ye care if I found her interesting? What does that have to do with the price of wool?”
“Because I’ve spent my entire time in London split between her and Lady Aldriss and ye, trying to keep that damned agreement and all of Aldriss Park from falling into the loch, amadan.” For the devil’s sake, she’d been far more patient and understanding than Coll deserved, not to mention witty and good-humored, and his brother didn’t even appreciate it. His brother didn’t even want that from her.
“Then I wish ye’d been the one to draw that card,” the viscount said, leaving the table in favor of a section of wall where he could lean back and glower.
“So do I,” Niall muttered beneath his breath, well below his brother’s hearing, as he followed.
“She may be our savior,” Coll went on, “but all I see is a yellow-haired lass who doesnae like me and cannae decide if she wants to tell me so, or if she’ll put up with the shite I’m feeding her because she wants a title.”
“Did ye bother to apologize for walking out on her at the theater and then vanishing until tonight, by chance? Maybe if she trusted ye, the two of ye could have an honest talk about what ye each want.”
Coll narrowed his eyes. “What hornet’s gotten into yer ear? She’s nae the woman I would choose for myself, and if I do marry her, I see nae reason she couldnae remain here while I go home to Aldriss and attend to my life there.” He straightened, taking a half-step closer. “Francesca might be able to force me to wed whomever she pleases, but she cannae turn me into a damned Sassenach. And neither can any damned woman I might marry.”
For the first time it occurred to Niall that perhaps the MacTaggert brothers had spent too long out in the wilds. They saw every meeting as a battle, every negotiation as a surrender, and every new thing as a threat to the old ones. Coll saw Amelia-Rose as the enemy. Only time and repeated interaction could sway his opinion, and his oldest brother wasn’t interested in either. All that so he could force himself to marry a lass he didn’t want, and who didn’t want him. Unless she’d changed her mind about Coll—or at least his title.
Niall knew he and Aden would be facing the same dilemma, even if they would have a little more choice where the lass was concerned. Marriage had begun to cross his mind even before they left Aldriss, but as the third son he wasn’t needed to produce an heir and ensure the line of inheritance, so he’d figured on waiting until he found a lass with whom he cared to spend the rest of his life.
Ignoring whatever Coll was talking about now, he looked out over the dance floor. There were a handful of pretty girls here, though Eloise had warned him that most of the single female guests would be either as desperate as the Spenfields, or already spoken for. Even from this distance he could fairly well tell which was which, and he could hear the edge of extreme anxiety in the scattered conversations.
Everyone lost in their own wee landscape, with their own fears and worries and threats and wishes. He’d never had a thought about any of that back in the Highlands. The things that had most worried him were the question of whether he could escape Lord Marmont’s hayloft and Lord Marmont’s daughter without being shot in the arse, and wondering if spring would come late again and the Lowlanders would snag the best wool prices for the year.
His shoulder jolted, and he whipped back around to face Coll. “What?”
“I said ye seem to be mending fences with Francesca,” his oldest brother repeated, glancing toward the group of parents where their mother stood, no doubt trying to sell off Aden and him to the best family.
“I barely remember Francesca,” he retorted. “I’ve nae loyalty to her. I dunnae want us to lose Aldriss. And we’ve a sister who has friends here and a life she’s trying to build. Ye behaving like a wild bear reflects on her, too, ye ken.”
Coll grimaced. “Aye. Though if she parted from the pretty Englishman, I’d nae have any cause to wed. Neither would ye or Aden.”
Yes, he’d previously jested about putting Matthew Harris on a ship bound for America himself, but he didn’t mention that tonight. Coll might consider it a fine idea. And little as Niall liked being forced into anything, it seemed innately unfair that Eloise and Matthew should have to be punished for falling in love. “I’m nae about to cause harm to Eloise, and if ye’d stop thinking like a trapped badger ye might have half a chance of being happy.”
“Ye—”
The dance crashed to a close, and amid the applause Amelia-Rose returned to her mother’s side. She continued smiling, but Niall reckoned this evening wasn’t any more pleasant for her than it was for Coll. Why no one had considered sitting the two of them down across a table and just letting them chat, he’d never understand. She could certainly hold her own in a conversation, and without other voices butting in, without her trying to be the lass she imagined she was supposed to be, perhaps Coll would realize what a delight she was.
“It’s a quadrille next,” Eloise said, prancing up to them on Aden’s arm. “Are you dancing at all, Niall?”
“He’s studying the herd,” Coll put in. “Try these lemon wafers, Aden.”
“Coll, this is your first dance with Amy,” their sister reminded him. “Go get her.”