“Now why the devil would I do that?” Niall returned. With a last glance at Amelia-Rose that he hoped said everything he’d been unable to tell her aloud, he turned his back and walked away. He had a thing or two to see to today. And a favor or two to ask.
Amelia-Rose watched Niall walk away. He’d come. And he’d listened. She hadn’t been able to say much, but she had the feeling that if she’d been less concerned with scandal, less aware of the fragility of a reputation, she might well have left with him. The idea of that made her shiver—her, completely ruined, leaving her betrothed in the street while she rode off across a Highlander’s saddle to a life of isolation from her friends and family. But she would have him. She would have Niall. And while he hadn’t outright said so—how could he?—she knew that he meant to help her. How, she had no idea, but it would involve him visiting her tonight. A low, delighted shiver started up her spine.
“I cannot believe this,” Hurst muttered, still wrenching at his cravat. “That animal tries to kill me, and you speak to him about food?”
“I was attempting to calm him down,” she countered. She hadn’t been rescued yet. And none of this was Lord Hurst’s fault. “He did let you go, and he did leave, and you weren’t required to resort to violence to defend us.”
He looked at her, the scowl on his face dropping to a reluctant grimace. “You make a point. Even so, I cannot believe you were eyeing him with an idea toward what—marriage? The man probably lives in a stable.”
“I don’t think so, but let’s put it out of our minds, shall we?” she urged, placing a hand on his arm.
“Well, I’m quite out of the mood for shopping,” Lionel said, finally giving up on his wrinkled neckwear. “Perhaps a stroll in Hyde Park will lift my mood.”
The more people who saw them together, the more difficult ending an arrangement would be. “I’m somewhat overset, actually,” she decided. “Would you be a dear and mind taking me home?”
“Yes, of course. I should have considered your delicate nature.” Lifting his free arm, he signaled for his coach. “You know, now that we’ve become acquainted, I’m quite pleased I returned to London when I did. I’m generally more partial to dark-haired women, due to their naturally sober nature, but you seem solemn enough.”
Amelia-Rose sent him a sideways glance, but he didn’t seem to notice. “I do try to be serious,” she offered. “I have meant to ask you, do you enjoy walking? Reading? Riding?”
“I sketch,” he returned. “Lately I have done a study of the lugubrious saints.”
Mournful saints? “Ah,” she said. “That must be rewarding.”
“Yes, yes, it is.” He opened the coach door and handed her up. “You don’t read, do you?”
“Why?” she asked, suspicious at the way he’d couched the question.
“It’s a horrid habit, you know.” He sat beside her, leaving Jane to climb up on her own and claim the opposite seat. “Reading. Spending the day with your chin lowered is very unflattering to the neck. I’ve heard that it invites sagging skin. And you have a fine neck.”
“Thank you.”
She’d once fancied herself marrying this man. Knowing him, though, gave her an entirely different opinion of the Marquis of Hurst. A month ago she might have been weighing what she was willing to give up in order to earn herself an escape from Baxter House, as she’d done with Coll’s supposed suit. Reading? Smiling, apparently? And she’d had no idea that she had a frivolous hair color.
What she did have was someone with whom to compare the marquis. Someone who asked her questions rather than making pronouncements, assumed she would be interesting and well read, and who enjoyed both laughter and making her smile in return.
Lionel delivered them to Baxter House, promising once more to call on her to take her to luncheon tomorrow, and to bring one of his sketches for her to admire. As he drove away, Jane gripped her arm. “I know what all that skellum talk meant,” she murmured, walking through the foyer and toward the library. “Have you considered what you’re doing?”
Drat. “Jane, you heard Lord Hurst. Am I supposed to marry that?”
“And if you don’t?”
Amelia-Rose leaned into the library. Finding it empty, she pulled Jane inside and closed them in. “Explain yourself. And if you mean to tell my mother what happened today, I will—”
“Yes, you won’t be happy. I know.”
“Jane.”
“Amelia-Rose, at this moment you have two men. One who offers you excitement, and one who offers you acceptance. Yes, Lord Hurst is a bit less … cerebral than I expected, given his appearance, but he is well respected. It is a good match. You’ll have those things you’ve been lamenting about since before your parents spoke with Lady Aldriss. You will also have a mother who is pleased and proud of you.”
“But Niall—”
“Yes, Mr. MacTaggert is a force of nature. Heaven knows if he looked at me the way he looks at you, I might well have fallen for him, myself. He is also a youngest son, dependent on his mother for his income and standing, because he has no reputation here at all except for being a barbarian Highlander. He may have promised you a Season in London, but that still leaves another nine months of the year in Scotland. Living in a house, I assume, with his bachelor brothers and his English-hating father.”
After what he’d spoken about the night before last, that prospect seemed much less dire. London was a delicate spiderweb of social engagements, where one misstep could cause one to fall forever out of favor. The idea of a community, of being able to help guide a young man or lady toward a better future than they might find on their own, or of teaching someone to read—that had a mighty appeal.
“What do you suggest, then, for heaven’s sake?” she asked aloud anyway, because Jane would expect it.
“I suggest, cousin, that you stop weighing what you’re willing to give up, and see who most closely gives you what you want. And then keep your window locked.”
With that Jane left the room. Amelia-Rose went to sit in one of the deep windowsills that overlooked the tiny Baxter House garden. Her cousin’s rather wise advice surprised her; for too long she’d thought of Jane as a necessary evil, a dour presence meant to help keep her from misbehaving.
Was that what it came down to? Giving up her status or giving up her happiness? It didn’t seem that she could have both. So would being with Niall continue to make her happy? When she faced those nine months a year in the Highlands without the friends and parties with which she was familiar, when it rained for days and days on end, would she still be happy?
Oh, this was so complicated. The problem with dreams, she was beginning to realize, was that they only made sense when one’s eyes were closed. In the light of day they were as fragile and fleeting as clouds. And she couldn’t wager the rest of her life on a cloud.
Chapter Fifteen
Niall crouched beneath a stand of ferns, his gaze on Baxter House above him. The bastard Hurst had appeared about seven o’clock and had stayed until nearly midnight. Aden had ridden by once, but Niall wasn’t about to pop out of the shrubbery and announce his location to anyone.
His legs were stiff, even though he’d spent longer hours waiting for a buck to cross his trail. More significantly, the apple and trio of biscuits he’d stolen from the Oswell House kitchen were long gone and he was damned hungry.
The downstairs lamps began going out in succession, and he shifted a little. The windows of Amelia-Rose’s bedchamber remained lit, as did the one beside it. She might have left the light on for him, but he doubted it. Either she wasn’t in there yet, or someone was in there with her.