“Aye, I might have.”
He nearly crashed headlong into his mother as he fled the breakfast room. “Niall,” she exclaimed, putting a hand against his chest to steady herself.
“My lady. If ye’ll excuse m—”
“I need a word with you, son.”
“I’ll give ye one later. I’ve a lass to meet this morning.”
She kept her hand over his heart. “Niall, if you want to talk, I’m here.”
“I reckon I’m accustomed to keeping my own counsel, my lady. And I’ve my brothers.”
“I’m nae helpful,” Aden called from inside the breakfast room. “And ye and Coll arenae speaking, as I recall.”
Her mouth curved up at the edges. “I know you may not wish to acknowledge it, but I am a female. You’ve had a scarcity of females in your life, I imagine.”
Somewhere behind him he heard Aden snort. “I’ve had plenty of females in my damned life, woman. I’m nae a bloody monk.”
“I mean womanly advice, Niall. Not womanly company.”
Niall retreated a step. “I dunnae want to be talking about this with ye, for Christ’s sake!”
“Why not? I have years of wisdom, both as a married woman and as a single young lady.”
“I am nae having this conversation with my mother.”
Her grin broadened. “There it is,” she murmured, and went up on her toes to kiss him on the cheek. “I am your mother. And you may tell me anything, anytime.”
“Bonny. Now go away! Aden’s in there, and I reckon he could use some womanly advice.” He gestured behind him.
“Bastard! I’m going out the window.”
She patted him on the shoulder, then moved sideways so he could get around her. That had been … odd, and oddly comforting. Like a family, almost. Like a dim memory of something he’d thought long forgotten.
Shaking himself, he went outside to meet the barouche. The last time he’d had Eloise and her Matthew beside him, but sitting in there all alone while some other fellow drove him through Mayfair would likely look as ridiculous as it felt. “Shift over,” he told the driver, and climbed up on the narrow seat beside him.
The driver scooted to the far side of the seat. “Do you wish to drive, sir?” he asked.
“What’s yer name, lad?”
“I … Robert, sir.”
“Robert. I dunnae know my way yet, but I reckon I’ll figure London out faster from up here. So ye drive, and I’ll watch. To Baxter House.”
“Um. Yes, sir.”
They set off, and while he did know the way to Baxter House by now, this gave him a few minutes to think. Or rather, to contemplate what he meant to do if the Baxters had actually fled London now that they knew his intentions. He wanted Amelia-Rose—he’d wanted her practically since he’d first set eyes on her. The only difference now was that he didn’t have to try convincing himself that she was meant for someone else, or that he would find someone whose company he enjoyed more than hers.
The idea of what he might have missed if he’d been as stubborn as Coll shook him. No, he hadn’t set out to find a lass who would twist him up inside and have him near to writing poetry, but then he’d thought to allow this trip to London to upend his life as little as possible. A hollow-headed flower he could show his mother and then leave again, scarcely giving either of them another thought. Now this was between himself and Amelia-Rose. It was a battle he looked forward to, and one he knew he would win. He couldn’t imagine not having her in his life.
“I had a look at the mounts you and Mr. Aden and Lord Glendarril brought down from Scotland,” the driver said conversationally. “They’re fine animals.”
“Aye, they are. Nae accustomed to busy streets, though; my Kelpie nearly tossed me over his head when a rag-and-bone man charged out into the street with his wares. A’ course I nearly lopped the man’s head off, myself, so I suppose Kelpie and I both have someaught more accustomizing to do.”
The driver swallowed, eyeing him sideways. “You nearly lopped his head off?” he squeaked.
“Well, he surprised me. For all I knew, the lobsterbacks were attacking.”
“I … The lobsterbacks?”
“Redcoats, man. Do ye nae speak English?”
“I … I thought I did.”
Facing forward again, Niall grinned. “Dunnae trouble yerself. I’ve been told I have an accent.”
“Oh. I, uh, hadn’t noticed, sir.”
Apparently it wasn’t polite to acknowledge that a man had a brogue, but so many English rules made no sense to him that he just tossed this one in with the rest. Aye, he’d been raised thinking the English, and Englishwomen in particular, were all inferior to Highlanders, and with one exception he’d seen little reason to alter that opinion. Well, two exceptions, perhaps—Eloise had a level head on her shoulders.
The first exception had warned him not to be late, and he pulled out his battered old pocket watch to check the time. Unless someone had overturned a cart ahead they would be early; he’d have to have Robert stop the carriage around the corner. He meant to be exactly on time, because she’d been worn out yesterday, looking for an excuse to surrender to her parents’ demands, and he wasn’t about to give her one.
No overturned carts lay in wait, but a pair of coach drivers were blocking the road to argue over which of them had the right-of-way. Niall watched the nonsense, but as it dragged on he put away his pocket watch. Just as he stood to go see to ending the argument himself, one of the coaches trundled off, and the heavy horse traffic began moving again. Such a crush of people; it was something of a miracle that they weren’t all at one another’s throats all the time.
Robert pulled the bay team to a halt outside Baxter House, and Niall hopped to the ground. “Keep ’em standing,” he ordered, and made his way to the front door.
It pulled open as he reached it. “Mr. MacTaggert,” the Baxters’ butler intoned, moving sideways so Niall could step forward.
“Hughes. I’m here for Amelia-Rose.”
“I shall inquire if she is available.”
The butler vanished toward the back of the house. They’d allowed him inside, at least, and they hadn’t set a guard to watch him, Niall reflected, gazing about the foyer. Some cards on the hall table caught his attention, and with a quick glance around him, he picked them up.
Six of them, all from men, prettily embossed, most with little notes handwritten on the back. One was planning on calling again in the afternoon and hoped to find Amelia-Rose amenable to a conversation. Another inquired as to whether she cared to go riding in Hyde Park in the morning. A third one presented himself as available to help mend a tender heart broken by a heartless rogue.
The rogue would be Coll, he supposed, and these were the vultures swooping in to claim their prize while it was still fresh. Suitors, the Bloody mongrels. With another glance over his shoulder, he pocketed the lot of them. If the lads should think her uninterested because she didn’t respond, well, he had no problem in the world with that.
“You’re prompt,” Amelia-Rose said from a doorway halfway down the hall.
“I said I’d be.”
She’d worn a pretty green-and-violet sprigged muslin walking dress, partly covered by a pelisse of darker green. With her hair swept up into a plump, overflowing clip at the back of her head and her blue eyes sparkling, she looked both fresh and supremely desirable.
“Well?” she asked, stopping a few feet from him.
He finished his perusal and met her eyes again. “Ye’re made for fresh air and a warm breeze,” he said, smiling. “Or should I sweep a bow and just tell ye that ye look lovely?”
Her fair cheeks colored a little. “I still half thought you’d arrive with an excuse for your brother’s behavior on your lips.”
Niall cocked his head. “I’m nae here on anyone else’s behalf. Do ye want to play that game?”
“I just want to be certain of your motives.”