She shrugged. “I am a MacTaggert. I am the mother of MacTaggerts, and I am very proud of that fact. My weakness was that I need this battlefield. I enjoy the intricacies and intrigues of London. The direct, physical battle of living in the Highlands, and with your father, was more than I could bear. It broke me, Niall. It broke me, and I fled.”
Inside the dance ended, with footmen wheeling in bowls of punch and trays of biscuits apparently to refresh the dancers for the next round of revelry. “I dunnae ken what ye want me to say. Ye left us. To me that said loud and clear that ye valued Eloise and London more than ye did the three of us.”
She stepped closer. “That isn’t so. Not at all. I tried to take all of you. Your father wouldn’t have it. If I’d stayed you would have grown up between two parents who couldn’t stand to be in the same room together, who detested each other’s lifestyle and, eventually, each other. It would have been a household full of hate and loathing and resentment. So instead of that, you grew up in a household without a female.”
He could see that; he understood it, now, at least. Back then, his clearest memory of that time was him demanding of his father that his mother return at once, and Lord Aldriss responding that MacTaggerts made do, and that they didn’t cry like wee bairns. At seven years old, it had very much seemed like the law. “I made do,” he said aloud. “We all did.”
“But that doesn’t have to be the end of the story, my son. You have access to two worlds now. If you would try not to resent being here so much, you might find something—someone—you enjoy. And I am here, if you should ever want to chat about … anything. However far apart we’ve been in distance, you have always been in my heart.”
“And I still reckon ye might have better luck with bringing us to yer table if ye’d asked instead of ordered. Now if ye’ll stop pecking at me like a mad hen for five minutes, I’ve some lass to go meet.”
Maybe, eventually, they might find some balance, but tonight he wasn’t in the mood. He already had enough to mull over, and while he might owe her for stopping a fight before it could happen, he wasn’t ready to sit down and embroider a handkerchief with her.
He had a long damned evening ahead of him, and evidently he meant to watch every dance—or rather, watch one woman dance with every man in the room except for him.
“I still cannot believe your parents would sacrifice you to a Highlander in exchange for his title,” Lord Phillip West said, taking Amelia-Rose’s hand to dip and turn with her, then releasing her to rejoin the line of male dancers. He caught her gaze with his soulful brown eyes, then moved in to circle her again. “Actually, I can imagine your mother doing precisely that,” he continued.
Yes, so could she, even before Victoria had done it. Her father would enjoy it, of course, being able to puff out his chest and declare that yes, his daughter had married the heir to an earldom. For him that was as far as it went: a moment to brag to his fellows at some club or other. Her mother’s motivations were much deeper. Amelia-Rose couldn’t count the number of times Victoria Baxter had told the tale of how she’d very nearly caught the eye of the Duke of Ramsey, and how only a spilled glass of wine had sent His Grace into the arms of another.
If defeating true love was as easy as bending over to retrieve a wineglass and missing an introduction, Amelia-Rose didn’t have much faith in such a thing. Missing a dance, however, could very well end an agreement, and it was tempting to slip away into the garden for five minutes. The waltz would be next. Coll wasn’t on the floor now, but he’d already given his opinion of dancing in general. His brother Aden was close by, dancing with—oh, goodness, he was dancing with Thalia Spenfield. If he wasn’t cautious he would be a married man by the end of the evening.
Niall remained in the ballroom as well, as he had for nearly every dance this evening. He hadn’t danced any of them, though. She couldn’t help noticing him. She wasn’t the only one, either; at least eight of her female friends had managed to find a moment to take her aside and ask whether her beau’s brother was attached, if he preferred brunettes, or if he had a favorite hobby someone might use to take up conversation with him.
Evidently none of her advice had been successful, because he remained alone, close by the blissfully cool air drifting in from the open balcony door. And while she didn’t feel like he was staring at her, their eyes met with a frequency that told her he was very aware of where she was, and with whom she danced. Just as she was aware that he wasn’t dancing, and that no young lady had caught his attention tonight. She shut her eyes for a heartbeat. He was meant for someone else, and she very plainly loathed that idea. Was that how he felt about her and Coll? Part of her hoped so, however wretched it was.
“You’re being quiet,” Phillip observed, joining her again as they reached the end of the line and pranced back up the center of their fellows.
“Am I?” She forced a smile. “This isn’t a dance conducive to deep conversation.”
He chuckled. “That is true enough. Are you going to the Thames boat races on Tuesday? My brother may be down from York in time to join us.”
She’d been smitten with his brother Lionel, the Marquis of Durst, since her first glimpse of his honey-colored hair and brown eyes even more soulful than his younger brother’s. If the marquis hadn’t recently been romantically linked to an heiress from Yorkshire, and if she didn’t have a great many other things on her mind, her heart would likely be fluttering at the idea of seeing him. “It would be lovely to see Lord Durst again. May I let you know in a day or two?”
“Certainly. I’ll always save a place for you, Amy, regardless. You make the rest of us look better by the addition of your presence.”
Amelia-Rose smiled. “You, Phillip, are a true gentleman.”
London abounded with true gentlemen, true ladies, and excitement. Scarcely a day passed during the Season when someone didn’t offer to accompany her shopping, or to a museum, or a luncheon, or hundreds of other amusements. Even the past two years since she’d been out, since she’d discovered that while a girl might speak her mind, a lady did not, she’d had London to distract her. And a few friends who didn’t cluck their tongues at her when she expressed an opinion. She didn’t think she’d ever tire of this Town.
And that was why she didn’t want to leave it. Certainly not for some brute who disliked her simply because she enjoyed a bit of culture and because she didn’t like being thought of as meek. If she remained in London as Lady Glendarril, everyone would know she’d made a mercenary marriage and then been abandoned. Would she still be able to do the things she loved? Niall—and Coll—had encouraged her to be the person she wanted to be, rather than the one she wanted to be seen as. And it was becoming more clear that those two ladies were very different. Oh dear, oh dear.
The dance ended, and her heart began pounding more quickly as Glendarril reappeared in the ballroom. Lord Phillip offered his arm, ready to escort her over to her mother, or to her next partner. If she went to her mother, she would no doubt hear a litany of everything she should want and everything she should be doing to achieve it. With a sigh, she nodded toward the viscount. “If you please, Lord Phillip.”
“He’s not going to eat me, is he?” Phillip muttered.
That question actually struck her silent for a moment. Coll MacTaggert was undeniably formidable, but in order for him to take some sort of action, he would have to care that she’d danced with another man. And she honestly couldn’t conjure any expression, any word, that made her think he had any feelings for her at all other than annoyance.
Rebecca Sharpe and Melpomeni Spenfield intercepted them as they left the floor. “Amy, why isn’t Niall MacTaggert dancing?” Melpomeni asked, eyeing him over her glass of pink punch.
“There are more men than women here,” Amelia-Rose returned. “Perhaps he didn’t step forward in time.”