Amanda Scott (29 page)

“Well, it would require more effort than I am willing to expend, so if that counts as kindhearted, then perhaps I am,” Lady Marsali said complacently.

“Finish your tea before you talk to Bridget,” Mrs. Thatcher recommended. Gently, she pushed the silver salver toward Pinkie, adding, “And perhaps you would like to read some of the invitations we received this morning. You are included in all of them, of course, and indeed, several are directed to you.”

“Thank you, ma’am, but I shall wait until I can discover from his lordship which of them he would like to accept.”

“Dear me, child, he won’t care,” Lady Marsali said with a dismissive gesture. “Kintyre goes wherever we choose to go, because social functions are much of a muchness to him. He’d rather tramp along a Highland track than enjoy a country dance or a rout.”

Pinkie smiled. “One cannot blame him for that, ma’am. Country life is far more peaceful, don’t you agree?”

Mrs. Thatcher exclaimed, “Pray, do not tell me that you are cut from the same bolt, child! One has one’s social obligations, after all, and it is a wife’s duty to see that her husband does not shirk his. Why, when Mr. Thatcher was alive, it was up to me to see that he went where it did him the most good to be seen; for, allowed his own road, he would never have set foot in any drawing room but ours.”

“I know that one must do one’s duty, ma’am, but surely you can understand why I prefer to wait and discuss our invitations with Kintyre before deciding which to accept and which to decline. Now then, if you will excuse me, I mean to see if I cannot make peace with Lady Bridget.”

Neither woman expressed confidence that she would succeed; but undaunted, Pinkie went to the drawing room, where she found Bridget drinking her chocolate in solitary splendor.

“I want to talk with you,” Pinkie said, carefully shutting the door.

“Well, I don’t want to talk to you,” Bridget snapped. “I want to read my letter in peace.”

“I daresay you do,” Pinkie said evenly, “but we must talk, Bridget.”

“You should call me Lady Bridget.”

“Don’t be daft. We are sisters now, whether you like it or not, and my rank is superior to yours. You would not happily call me Lady Kintyre, would you?”

Bridget scowled. “I don’t want you for my sister.”

“Faith, but you amaze me. I thought that was exactly what you wanted. Or have I been mistaken in thinking that you want to marry my brother.”

Bridget’s eyes shifted. “I am not altogether certain that I do want to marry him. Indeed, I had nearly decided that I do not, but I will if I decide that I want to.”

“I doubt that,” Pinkie said. “Still, I had hoped that since you seem to hold a tenderness for him, you would extend at least common courtesy to me. Do you dislike me so much that you cannot even be civil?”

Still avoiding her eyes, Bridget said, “You are wrong, you know.”

“I frequently have been wrong, about many things; but if you mean that I have mistaken Chuff’s sentiments toward you, I can assure you that I have not. I do not mean to cause you pain, but he does not want to marry anyone just yet.”

Bridget looked at her then. “Yes, he does,” she said firmly. “You will see, just like everyone else will.” She smoothed her letter. “I know he does.”

“Faith, can you possibly think that Chuff wrote that letter to you and did not have the grace to sign it?”

“You should not call him by so childish a name,” Bridget said, hunching a shoulder. “His proper name is Charles. A chuff is a miser, and he is no such thing.”

“I have called him Chuff since I was a bairn,” Pinkie said. “The name means nothing more than that I could not pronounce Charles when I was small, but I doubt that I shall ever call him anything else. In any event, he did not write that letter.”

“You do not know as much as you think you do,” Bridget said. “What’s more, I’ll have you know, he is not my only admirer.”

“Well, everyone knows that Sir Renfrew Campbell is mad for you, if that’s what you mean; and our Roddy says that Terence Coombs likes you, too.”

“You would take the word of a child? I think Mr. Coombs is a coxcomb.”

Although Pinkie agreed wholeheartedly with Bridget’s description of Coombs, she had no desire to discuss the younger girl’s admirers with her—supposed or real—so she said only, “We must learn to get along, Bridget. We will be living in the same house, after all.”

“Not for long,” Bridget said. “I’ll soon prove you don’t know everything.”

“Since your brother will certainly insist that you live with us, I cannot imagine how you can think you will not.”

Bridget patted the letter. “I mean that my admirer has asked me to meet him privately, and I mean to do so. When I do, he will ask me to marry him. So there!”

Appalled, Pinkie exclaimed, “Bridget, you cannot mean to do such a foolhardy thing! You do not even know who your admirer is. He could be anyone. To agree to meet him alone would be utter madness!”

“Don’t tell me what to do! You have absolutely no authority over me.”

“I am not telling you what to do,” Pinkie said, controlling her temper with difficulty. “I merely offered advice that I think you would be wise to take. I can hardly force you—”

“You certainly cannot! Just you try, and see where it gets you. I don’t know what Michael saw in you, to offer for you, but if we are to talk of madness, he must have been mad to marry you. For that matter, you are bound to introduce—”

“Bridget, hold your tongue,” Kintyre commanded harshly from the doorway.

N
EITHER PINKIE NOR BRIDGET
had noticed the door opening, and both looked toward Kintyre, Pinkie in dismay and Bridget with visible chagrin.

Noting Bridget’s distress, and hoping to divert him, Pinkie said, “I am glad you have returned, sir. Bridget and I have been getting to know each other.”

The last thing she wanted was for him to scold his sister in front of her. She had no doubt that Bridget would blame her for Kintyre’s displeasure, and unless she could persuade the girl that she had nothing to fear from her new sister-in-law, life at Mingary would be intolerable.

The look Kintyre shot at Bridget showed that he knew they had not merely been getting acquainted, but Pinkie took hope when he turned to her and said evenly, “I hope you slept well, my dear.”

“I did,” she said. “You cannot have made a sound when you left me.”

“I’m glad I did not disturb you. Cailean woke me at dawn, scratching to go out, so I went out with him, hoping you could get a little more sleep. Perhaps now, though, you will not mind if I take a few moments to speak privately with Bridget. No, don’t leave,” he added swiftly when Pinkie turned toward the door. “Bridget can come with me. Now,” he added with a grim look at his sister.

“Please, sir,” Pinkie said, “may I have a moment alone with you first?”

“No,” Bridget said, getting hastily to her feet and tucking her letter into her sash. “I do not need you to intercede for me.”

“That will do, Bridget,” Kintyre said. “Your behavior shames us both.”

“How dare you take
her
side without—!”

“Please, sir,” Pinkie interjected, “may I have just a brief word with you?”

She knew Bridget was afraid that she would tell Kintyre how rude she had been, and perhaps even that she had read her anonymous admirer’s letter without permission, and hoped to meet him. The girl did not know her well enough, after all, to realize that she would never do such a thing. Pinkie wanted only to dissuade Kintyre from ripping up at her and making matters worse.

Bridget said urgently, “I tell you, you needn’t—”

“Silence,” Kintyre roared. “Go to your bedchamber and wait for me, and do not
dare
to speak another word unless you want to feel the full extent of my anger.”

Turning pale, Bridget fled.

“Now,” he said, turning to Pinkie, “tell me just how shameful she has been.”

“Please, sir, I have no wish to cause trouble for Lady Bridget.”

“She has caused her own trouble. She deserves whatever I choose to do.”

“Well, I hope you will not do anything horrid,” Pinkie said sincerely. “She will blame me for it, you know, not you.”

“Then she is a fool. She should blame herself.”

“She is merely young, sir, and fearful that I shall somehow usurp her place with you. I know I cannot do that any more than Chuff’s wife—when he has one—will usurp my place in his heart, but I think Bridget does not understand that.”

“I do not think Bridget’s relationship with me is much like yours with your brother,” he said gently.

“Perhaps not, sir, but still…” She hesitated, thinking how she could say what she wanted to say without betraying Bridget. Finally, she said, “I am afraid that she still harbors a belief that Chuff means to offer for her.”

He frowned, then said, “I have reason to think she no longer wants that.”

“Do you? You mentioned once that she had received letters and posies from an unknown source, and…well, your aunt said that you had forbidden Bridget to read her letters until you had seen them, so I collect that she is still receiving them.”

“She is, indeed. As to my reading her letters before she does, that is a duty I have neglected of late,” he added calmly. “You need not choose your words with such care, lass. I have learned already that she took the letter.”

“I still hope you will not scold her too severely, sir. She may well do something truly foolish—even foolhardy—if she grows too angry with you or with me. Indeed, I was going to say that I believe she thinks my brother wrote those dreadful letters to her, and she is pleased. I can assure you, he would never—”

“You need not tell me that,” he said. “I acquitted him long since of even contemplating such a breach of civility.”

“I am glad of that. Chuff would be appalled to think that anyone could believe that of him.”

“He is not such a jackanapes. I suspect Coombs, and if I ever prove it, I’ll take a horsewhip to him for his insolence. Have you anything more that you wish to say to me before I go upstairs?”

“Only to ask if you were successful in making your arrangements with Sir Renfrew. Your aunt told us you had arranged to meet with him.”

“I made no arrangement,” he said. “I simply went to his lodgings, hoping to find him at home. He was not there, however. His man said he had already gone out and professed not to know when to expect his return. I left another note for him.”

“It begins to seem that he does not wish to see you.”

“Aye,” he said, “but I’ll run him to earth one way or another. Now, if you will excuse me…”

“I do wish you would think carefully before being harsh with her,” Pinkie said. “Your sister seems to—”

“I think you had better leave Bridget to me,” he said curtly. “You have a far more gentle nature than I do, my dear, and I can understand that you hesitate to demand her head on a platter for the way she has behaved to you. I am not so amiable, however. I can promise that she will never speak so rudely to you again.”

Pinkie would have liked to tell him what she thought of such high-handed behavior, but she did not yet know him well enough to speak her mind. Instead, she gritted her teeth and said nothing, hoping only that he would not reprimand his sister so brutally that Bridget refused to speak to her again.

For the next few days, however, it seemed that she had been wrong in her assessment of how the girl would react, for Bridget was as pleasant and obliging as anyone could wish. She acquiesced in whatever plan her aunt or hostess put forth, and generally exerted herself to be pleasing.

There were social functions to fill every day and evening, for it seemed as if every hostess in London wanted the bridal couple to grace her party or ball. By the end of the week, if the number of invitations had diminished, Pinkie was too caught up in Chuff’s imminent departure for Oxford to care. He intended to leave Friday morning, so she spent as much of the interim as she could at Faircourt House.

Her husband made no objection. He was still trying to run Sir Renfrew Campbell to earth, and rapidly was becoming exasperated with that gentleman’s elusiveness. According to his man, Sir Renfrew had gone out of town but would return Friday morning.

Since Saturday was the first of June, Pinkie assumed that there would be no difficulty about the transaction, particularly since Kintyre had made it plain to Sir Renfrew that he was ready to repay the full amount. Nonetheless, Friday arrived too soon to please her. She kept her feelings to herself but made a point of riding early in Hyde Park with Chuff, so as to be at hand to bid him and Duncan farewell when they drove off in a laden chaise at half past nine.

Returning to George Street afterward with the groom Kintyre had hired to accompany her, she learned that her husband had gone to meet with Lord Menzies to discuss a new strategy, and then intended to see Sir Renfrew Campbell. Mrs. Thatcher and Lady Marsali had gone to visit the shops.

“Did Lady Bridget go with them, Sal?”

“No, ma’am. She went out alone directly afterward, though—to meet a friend, she said. She left this note for his lordship.”

Alarmed, Pinkie said, “Do you know where he was to meet Lord Menzies?”

“No, and nor does Chalmers, ma’am, for I took the liberty of asking him, and he don’t know where his lordship meant to meet with Sir Renfrew, neither.”

Realizing that Kintyre’s arrangements to repay the debt might take much of the day, Pinkie held out a hand, saying decisively, “I’ll read that note, then, Sal.”

Sal hesitated but a moment, then handed it to her.

With increasing apprehension, Pinkie unfolded the single sheet.

Dear Michael,

I am going away, and there is no use following me. My dearest love does not want his life determined by others, and nor do I. Because of England’s foolish laws, we must be married over the anvil, but I shall not care about that. Indeed, Michael, I am sorry for flinging what I heard about Penelope’s parents in your teeth. Your marrying her means I can follow my heart and not count the cost. Moreover, when we are safely married, if you should learn that you are mistaken in the size of her fortune and cannot pay Sir Renfrew all that he thinks he is owed, tell him I shall arrange for the rest. He is not to take your precious land. Do not worry about me, for I know exactly what I am doing, although certain persons will doubtless insist that I am a fool.

In great haste,

Bridget