Niall caught it. “We’re nae sitting for dinner then, I assume?” he asked, biting into the fruit.
“Ye assume correctly. I’ll go to the damned theater because I gave my word, but I’m nae sitting and eating beside that woman and pretending we’re a family.”
An apple might suffice for a few hours, but it was not a long-term solution. “If it comes down to it, we’re eating yer horse first, then.”
Coll paced to the window and back again. “She has us over a barrel.”
“Aye, that she does.”
“I suppose, then, that it doesnae matter who this lass is, as long as she’s spineless. If I cannae get around a marriage, the duller the better. I’ll sit through having eyelashes batted at me and talking about the weather and Parisian fashion, and I’ll wed her as soon as possible. Ye and Aden find yer lasses, and then we’ll go home alone. Francesca may have won, but she willnae like the prize.”
Niall had never thought he would be looking for a simpering lass, but he hadn’t anticipated any of this. “I’ll follow yer lead. The MacTaggerts stand t—”
“Together,” Coll finished, approaching to clap him on the shoulder. “Aye. Aden’s already gone out, so what say we throw some darts in that fancy billiards room until Lady Aldriss calls us down for the theater?” He scowled. “I hope it’s at least Macbeth or someaught bloody.”
As they found the billiards room someone banged a gong downstairs. Niall supposed that meant dinner was served, but since Coll had already decided they were to survive on apples tonight, he ignored the reverberating clang. A gong, when someone yelling up the stairs would have sufficed just as well. Then again, their father had once fired a pistol into the floor to get his sons into the dining room.
Generally Niall would be the one smoothing the rocks between Coll and Francesca. Aye, he liked a good fight, especially when the two sides had equal power, and in this instance he hesitated even to name Francesca as family, but he knew both his brothers and his father turned to him looking for common ground. And it wasn’t just them. Whenever it had happened, he’d become the valley’s peacemaker. Their diplomat, his father called him. If that meant that he had no use for bullies or that he protected the people around him, then he supposed he accepted the moniker. How that all played into being hamstrung into a marriage, he had no idea.
“There you are,” came from the doorway, and Niall turned to see the butler straightening his waistcoat. “You’ve missed dinner, my lord, Master Niall, I’m afraid.”
“Aye,” Coll replied, and threw another dart.
“I’m to inform you that the gong sounds the commencement of dinner every evening, and that it will only sound once. I’m also to say that the coach is on the drive, and that Lady Aldriss wishes to see you join her there without delay.”
Coll coiled his fingers around his last dart. Sighing inwardly, Niall nudged his shoulder against his brother’s. “Ye dunnae have an alternative plan,” he muttered before the viscount could begin putting holes in people. “And there is the wee chance that the lass ye’re to meet favors just the sort of man ye are. Ye know, dull, stupid, and pliable.”
“Ye’re an idiot,” his brother grumbled back at him, tossing the last dart into the dead center of the board. “Let’s find out, aye?”
“Mother, should I wear Grandmama’s pearls, or the onyx necklace from Aunt Louise?” Amelia-Rose Hyacinth Baxter called, leaving her bedchamber with a bauble in either hand and stopping at the top of the stairs.
Her mother appeared downstairs from the direction of the downstairs sitting room. “You cannot wear pearls with that white lace at the neckline—you’ll make them look yellow.” Her brow furrowed. “Don’t you have blue glass beads with the matching earbobs? They’ll bring out your eyes.”
“I’m already wearing a blue gown,” Amelia-Rose countered, twirling. “That’s too much.”
Her mother, Victoria Baxter, flipped a hand at her. “Wear the onyx, then. Just hurry. We must have you seated before Lady Aldriss and her son arrive.”
Yes, of course. A lady always looked very fine curving her neck to glance behind her, and then rising and turning to greet her admirers. It made her gown swirl about her waist and thighs. Amelia-Rose hurried back to her bedchamber and handed the onyx necklace to Mary. “We’ve spent too long on my hair,” she told her maid, sitting so Mary could fasten the gold chain behind her. “Mama’s worried we’ll be late.”
“But you have to concede that your hair looks very fine this evening,” the maid returned, putting a finger through a delicate blond curl and twisting it. “A golden waterfall, it is.”
Amelia-Rose looked at her reflection in the mirror. Her hair did look very nice this evening. Too nice, perhaps. She straightened her left sleeve a little. “Do you suppose my intended has bothered to bathe?”
Mary chuckled. “I would imagine Lady Aldriss has insisted that he do so. He is half English, you said.”
“Yes, and half Scottish. Highlander Scottish.” She sighed. “You’ve seen them about. They’re all brutes with great bristly beards and kegs slung over their shoulders.”
“Those are the ones working at the docks, Miss Amy. This one’s a viscount. And he’s to be an earl, one day.”
“I know. And being called ‘my lady’ and having people bow and curtsy to me would be very nice.” Amelia-Rose grimaced as she stood again. She’d begun parroting her mother even when Victoria Baxter wasn’t there to notice. “I don’t object to his status. Only to his location and the quality of his upbringing. Scotland is very far away from London. If I were to hold a soiree there, who in the world would even know it?”
That had been her concern since her mother and Lady Aldriss had come to their agreement a fortnight ago. London boasted soirees, recitals, theaters, amusements, rides in the park, museums, and everything else imaginable. Scotland had … sheep. One could not dance or have witty chats with sheep. Or Highlanders, in her experience.
The small bell that usually sat on the table in the foyer began ringing wildly, a sure sign that her mother was, at the least, growing impatient. Stifling a sigh, Amelia-Rose headed downstairs, pulling on her deep-blue gloves as she descended the straight staircase.
Her mother met her at the bottom. “You’ll do,” Victoria said, eyeing her. “Though I wish you’d woven ribbons through your hair.”
Blue ribbons, no doubt. “Mama, this is Drury Lane, not a grand ball,” she countered, putting on a smile. “And I certainly don’t wish to look too eager.”
“Why shouldn’t you look eager?” her father put in, emerging from his office. “It’s all arranged. All that’s left is you and Lord Glendarril meeting, and the two of you choosing a date for the wedding. I daresay we’ve done the difficult part in all this.”
“Oh, nonsense, dear Charles,” his wife put in, surprising Amelia-Rose. “Our daughter has been the toast of London for two years now. She’s already had…” She paused, glancing at Amelia-Rose. “How many proposals have you had?”
“Four,” she answered, taking her light silver shawl from Hughes the butler and wrapping it around her shoulders.
“There you have it, Charles. Four proposals in two years. Why should she be eager to meet a man who has both a title and wealth and who cannot flee when Amelia-Rose says something untoward?”
Ah, so it wasn’t a compliment after all. She should have known better. “I am trying, Mother. And I thank you for taking the trouble to come to an agreement with Lady Aldriss.”
Victoria put a hand to her forehead. “Gratitude, at last. I am quite overcome.”