Amanda Scott (22 page)

“Nothing of consequence,” Pinkie said, assuring her that she would attend the drum, if not the soiree. She realized that she could not avoid the Season’s festivities forever. In any case, she doubted that either Kintyre or his sister would attend the drum, which would be a relatively small affair. Lady Pembroke’s soiree would appeal more to Bridget’s taste, she was sure, because there would be dancing for those who wanted to dance, other musical entertainments for those who did not, and a card room, as well. Pinkie felt certain they would be there, and while she might be ready to face life again, she was not yet ready to face Kintyre.

Sir Renfrew Campbell looked forward to attending Lady Pembroke’s musical soiree. He had just learned that Lady Bridget would be a guest, and he intended to meet her in order to pass on some interesting information of which he believed she was unaware.

On the whole, he had been enjoying his stay in London. It was a fine city, full of opportunity for a man of sense and intelligence, and business was good. He had managed to secure a number of new and quite profitable customers for his various enterprises. In time, he would be sending Dunbeither bricks to England, along with the gravel from his pits for paving roads, and pig iron from his bloomeries for the English to refine into steel, wrought iron, or ingot iron. His ships carried other products, as well, some of which—like tobacco—produced income even as they made their way from Arisaig and Glasgow to Bristol or London.

But for two small stumbling blocks, Sir Renfrew would have called himself a happy man. The first of these was his failure to receive an invitation to purchase tickets of admission to the new assembly rooms. He would have liked to do so, if only for the pleasure of watching Lady Bridget dance, and perhaps to secure for himself a few delightful moments of her time. He resented the snub, although he knew it stemmed from simple snobbery and nothing more.

The greater block to his happiness was Bridget herself. That she consistently swore she would have none of him only made the chase more exhilarating, however, and ensured that his victory—certainly inevitable now, with so little time remaining for Kintyre to pay off his debt—would be the sweeter. It was all just a matter of time, however, and he could be patient if he had to be.

He had no intention of confiding his plan for the evening to anyone else, not even to the faithful henchman who sat across the desk from him in the sitting room of the lodgings he had hired since coming to town. Sir Renfrew was unhappily aware that this temporary abode did not suit his stature, but the cost of hiring houses in London during the Season was outrageous, and he was not a man to waste his gelt unnecessarily. So he and MacKellar sat in the dingy room to discuss Kintyre.

Smugly, Sir Renfrew said, “There canna be any way for that lad to repay the old earl’s debt, with but a fortnight left till the first of June.”

“Nay, then, laird, but I’d no be countin’ it done till it is done,” MacKellar said thoughtfully. “That man’s got powerful acquaintances, I’m thinkin’.”

“Who? If ye’re talking about Menzies or any o’ them other lords he’s been talking to, I ken for a fact that he’s no been talking anything wi’ them but dogs. And if ye’re thinking Balcardane might lend him the gelt, ye dinna ken the man. Black Duncan is gey ruthless, he is, and he’ll no be giving his own gelt away on a whim.”

“But the lass likes young MacCrichton o’ Shian.”

“Aye, she does, perhaps, but ye can forget about him, for I’ve a plan to put an end to that.”

MacKellar nodded, accepting the existence of the plan and its inevitable success—as well he should, Sir Renfrew thought complacently.

“Now then,” he said, “if Kintyre had my intelligence, he wouldna be in the suds he’s in. With all that fine forest land, he had only to set up his own bloomery. There is work enough for a hundred furnaces, but he canna bring himself to burn the wood, and in the end that will be his undoing. Nor does he look about him, as I do, and see where his fortune lies. When I control Mingary, MacKellar, things will be different. I will take bounty from the land, from the sea, and from the sky if I can find a way, for I am a man of great vision.”

“Aye, laird, there be none tae compare wi’ ye.”

“Ye’re right about that, and when I’ve taken Lady Bridget for my next wife, there will be none who can stop me. I shall become a man of even greater fortune than what I am now, and when that day comes I’ll walk amongst the most powerful men in Britain. I’ll even grant them favors occasionally when they please me.”

“Aye, laird, they’ll be as wax in yer hands, they will.”

“They will, indeed,” Sir Renfrew agreed, rubbing his hands together.

Sir Renfrew no sooner arrived at Lady Pembroke’s soiree that evening than he went in search of Lady Bridget Mingary. He saw Kintyre before he saw any ladies of his family, however, and one look at the earl’s forbidding countenance was sufficient to persuade Sir Renfrew to avoid him.

MacCrichton was present with the exquisite Mr. Coombs, but although Sir Renfrew searched for other inhabitants of Faircourt House, he saw none. All to the good, he decided. He did not need Black Duncan in the same room with Kintyre. The presence of either might cast a gloom over Sir Renfrew’s little plan.

He bided his time, practicing his charm with several older ladies who seemed to find him amusing. One asked if he would not care to slip away before the dancing and the other musical activities began, to take a hand at whist in the card room, but Sir Renfrew declined. Having another game altogether in mind, he soon took leave of his would-be card partner.

He spied Lady Bridget a quarter hour later, flirting disingenuously with MacCrichton, and the knave appeared to be encouraging her.

“Damn his impudence,” Sir Renfrew muttered.

A lady standing near him said brightly, “Did you speak to me, sir? I vow, I have grown prodigiously hard of hearing.”

“’Tis the din, ma’am, that makes ye think your ears ha’ forsaken ye.” Fearing she would demand his escort to a quieter spot, he quickly excused himself and went to see what he could do to separate Lady Bridget from her admirers.

He accomplished this goal with little more than a word in a matron’s ear, because a small group of musicians had begun to play for those who wished to dance, and moments afterward, when the matron presented him to Lady Bridget as a desirable partner, the young lady could scarcely refuse him. To have done so would have been the height of bad manners; and since, for the moment at least, Kintyre had taken himself off to sulk or whatever it was he did when he disappeared from the scene at such events, Sir Renfrew had the field to himself.

No more than half a dozen couples had elected to dance, so Bridget kept her voice down when she muttered, “I do not know why you persist in pursuing me, sir. I find it prodigiously annoying, and I wish you would stop.”

“Do ye ken how your eyes sparkle when ye’re fussed, lassie?”

“I don’t care. I wish you would find someone else to admire.”

“Ah, but ’tis yourself, lass, who ha’ stolen my heart. I could never be contented wi’ another in your place.”

“You care not a whit for me, sir. You want me only to annoy my brother. If you loved me, you would forgive the debt he owes you in order to secure me, but you do not love me. And although you believe he will give me to you in the end, he will not. Moreover, I intend to marry Lord MacCrichton.”

“Ah, but does Lord MacCrichton intend to wed ye, lass? That’s the question that I’ve asked m’self, and the answer I hear each time I ask is, ‘I think not.’”

“Lud, sir, how you do go on! You must have seen me enjoying conversation with him a while ago, and so it occurs nearly every time we meet.”

“Aye, and I dinna blame the lad, for to be seen wi’ such a lovely lassie must put a feather in any man’s bonnet. Still, I’ve heard no word o’ betrothals, have I?”

“Well, you will hear word of them, and if not with MacCrichton, then with someone even better. There are others, you know, who send me posies and presents, even two who write wonderful letters telling me how much they love me. Any one of them—even those two, though they do not yet reveal their names to me—would please me more than you do, sir. So, I beg you, cast your attentions elsewhere!”

He smiled. “Lassie, I want ye, and I mean to ha’ ye.”

“I don’t want to dance anymore,” she snapped. “Take me to my aunt, sir.”

“Aye, I’ll do that very thing, just as soon as we have a little talk. But we need not dance if ye dinna wish it, lass. We’ll slip away before our turn comes to go down the line.” True to his word, he whisked her out of the set, not caring in the least that their departure upset the numbers required for the pattern.

When he urged her toward a doorway, however, she dug in her heels. “I want to go back to my aunt, sir. Pray, do not cause me to make a scene.”

“I ha’ no doubt ye’d make a fine scene, lass, but I want a wee word with ye first. That room yonder looks unoccupied, and we can leave the door ajar if ye’re nervous of being alone with me.”

“I am not afraid of you,” she said haughtily.

He did not reply, waiting until he was certain they had the small parlor to themselves before he said, “I wonder, lass, what ye ken of young MacCrichton.”

“Only that I mean to marry him, and that my brother agrees that I shall.”

“Ah, but ha’ ye no asked yourself why it is your brother thinks MacCrichton would be willing?”

Bridget stiffened. “I should think you, of all people, would know that, Sir Renfrew. It is not as if I have nothing to offer a man. There are others, too, who—”

“Nay then, lass, I never meant that. Ye’ve your beauty and all, not to mention a fair amount of land if the thing can be pulled off and your brother’s debt paid before the date.”

“That debt is a nonsense,” Bridget snapped. “A man worthy of me would see that in a trice. It was my father’s debt. It should have died with him.”

“Ah, lassie, and that is why God in His wisdom saw fit to mak’ ye a female. Men ha’ a broader understanding o’ such things. Nonetheless, I wasna speaking of your beauty or portion when I asked if ye kent why MacCrichton might be willing.”

“What, then?”

He could see that despite her childlike insistence that she did not like him, he had succeeded in arousing her curiosity. “It is MacCrichton’s weakness that your brother seeks to exploit, lass. Did he no tell ye that?”

She frowned. “What weakness?”

Bluntly, knowing that it would serve no purpose to delay, he said, “His rather were daft, that’s what.”

She laughed. “You are the one who must be daft, sir. Lord MacCrichton is quite a wealthy man, so his father cannot have been daft.”

“They called him Daft Geordie,” Sir Renfrew said quietly, knowing that calm assurance would gain him more than urgent insistence would.

She looked less sure of herself. “I do not believe you.”

“’Tis true, nonetheless. His mam were known as Red Mag, and as common as dirt, she were. But Daft Geordie married her, with a preacher and all, so there is no question about MacCrichton. He inherited his title and wealth from his uncle, lass, but…D’ ye ken aught o’ how such traits make their way fra’ father to son?”

“What do you mean?”

“’Tis simple enough. A daft man is more like to ha’ a daft son than a sane man is, that’s all.”

“But MacCrichton is not daft.”

“Not yet, perhaps,” Sir Renfrew said, shaking his head. “O’ course, the lad’s young yet, so there’s no tellin’, and even if the daftness passes him by, it might touch his sons and daughters. I’m told it commonly occurs so, in such cases.”

“Michael cannot know of this—if it’s true and not just your nonsense.”

“Aye, sure, ’tis true, and your Michael knows it, right enough. Why d’ ye think he lighted on young MacCrichton for ye to wed?”

“Because he is wealthy and his family is powerful enough to help us,” Bridget said instantly. “And because I swore I would never marry you.”

“Aye, that all entered in, but I dare swear ’twas the fact that MacCrichton had something to gain as well—alliance with a noble name and property, and also wi’ a healthy young woman who has nary a hint o’ daftness in her family.”

“Michael would not want to add any either, sir. Think of that!”

“Aye, sure, that’s true, but he would not be adding it to
his
family, lass, only to MacCrichton’s. And they’ve already got the taint, after all.”

Bridget stared at him in dismay, then wrenched away from him and ran from the room. He wondered if she would be foolish enough to broadcast what he had told her to the world at large. It would not matter much to him if she did, but he thought she had more sense—if not common sense, then at least a strong sense of social survival.

Michael was in a bad mood. He had come to Pembroke House only because he felt obliged to escort his little family to the soiree. But at the first opportunity, he slipped away from the festivities to stroll through the nearly empty state rooms, and he had been pacing them now for a good hour.

Not only had having to return to Faircourt House after his scene with Miss MacCrichton—to fetch Cailean and reclaim his chaise—humiliated him even further, but he had been unable since then to think of anything he could do to improve his disastrous position. That she could have made such an offer to him made him want one moment to shake her for her foolishness and the next to shake himself for utter ingratitude. How much more generous could any woman be?

The least he ought to have done was thank her for her kindness, however misspent it was, but he was just as glad that he had not seen her since. If Balcardane ever learned what she had done, heaven knew what the consequences might be, and even MacCrichton could prove a deadly enemy if he thought Michael had tried to take advantage of Penelope.

How dared she, though, he wondered. Such effrontery, such forwardness—had the girl no self-respect? Had she no sense of self-preservation? What could she have been thinking, to offer herself as recompense to him for his “service” to the family? Any service, as she herself had pointed out, had been Cailean’s. The thought that the dog might more honorably accept her offer than the master stirred sardonic amusement, then another wave of self-disgust.