Amanda Scott (50 page)

His stepmother bowed to the inevitable, saying, “In that event, it is even more important that James pursue a marriage that will see him well-settled. He cannot want to be always hanging on your sleeve. Therefore,” she went on, turning to fix a gimlet eye on her son, “I want to hear no more foolish talk from you, sir. You will do as you are bid.”

James straightened, his temper under what appeared to Maggie to be the most rigid control, his voice unnaturally calm when he said, “I must disappoint you yet again, ma’am. No, pray do not speak, but listen to what I tell you. I meant to approach this matter carefully, in order to make you see how very well I have done for myself, but I see now that such a method will not serve. No, Ned,” he added, holding I up a hand when Rothwell moved to speak, “I have never been good at deception, or very tactful, for that matter. I must just speak my piece straight out. Mama, I am not going to marry a woman chosen for me by you or anyone else. I am going to marry one I have chosen for myself.”

“Well, if you do not like Lady Ophelia,” the dowager began, apparently deciding to be reasonable, “then I am sure we can find someone who will suit you bet—”

“I have found her.”

“What?”

“I am going to marry a girl I met in Scotland.”

The dowager clasped a hand to her heart and said in failing accents, “Not another Scotswoman!”

No one could pretend that the ensuing discussion was pleasant for anyone, but when James got to his feet at last, announcing that he had errands to attend to, there was only one person in the room who was not convinced he had come off with the honors. The dowager made one last attempt to carry the day, saying bitterly that she could not imagine what he could have to do since he had done quite enough already.

James said, “I want to collect supplies for my painting from the Bridge house and see that all is in order there. I had intended to remain at Rothwell House for a time, and I believe I will, even now, since Ned has said that I may, but Dev said something last night about paying a visit to his family’s estates in Cornwall, and I want to make certain he does not leave Mrs. Honeywell without proper means to look after things there for us until I decide what is to be done about the house.”

“But you will return here this afternoon,” the dowager said. “I insist, James. You will displease me very much if you do not.

“I will do my best to join you, ma’am, but only if I can be sure you have understood me, and with your permission,” he added quickly, “I will invite Brockelby to join us as well. I mean to call upon him, in any event, and his presence will make the gathering here a little less pointed, if I may say so.”

“Very well,” she said with a sigh, adding tartly when Rothwell also got to his feet, “Are you going out too?”

“Certainly, I am. I have a number of things to do. But,” he added, smiling again at Maggie in a way that warmed her to her toes, “if you are entertaining this afternoon, ma’am, I will gladly lend my presence to the occasion.”

“Three o’clock then,” the dowager said. “Pray do not be late, Rothwell.”

Maggie, realizing that he would go upstairs before he left the house, got to her feet, excusing herself hastily to the others, and moved quickly to accompany him from the room. He let her precede him, then took her hand and placed it in the crook of his arm as they ascended the stairs. When they were beyond the sharp hearing of the servants in the hall, she looked up at him and said, “I knew she would be displeased by our marriage.”

“She is furious, sweetheart, but it will do her no good.”

“Do you really intend for us to be married again?”

“I do. Would you like a huge wedding with all of London present, or would you prefer a quiet ceremony?”

She smiled. “I will do as you wish, but I think you know what I would prefer.”

“I do, and so it will be. I’ve no wish to pander to public curiosity.” He gave her a little hug and added, “I am sorry to leave you here today, particularly after that scene, but with James out of the house, I daresay she will turn her attention to her tea party. In any event, I must seek out Ryder in order to make certain that Lydia stands in no danger.”

“Have you spoken to her?”

“In all honesty, I do not know what to say to her,” he confessed. “If I order her to say nothing about Jacobites, she will think of nothing else, and the words will spill from her tongue again just as they did last night, for a more heedless chit I’ve never known.”

“More heedless than I am?” She watched him from under her lashes, and was glad to see him smile again.

“Much more,” he said.

“Well, sir, I think you wrong us both,” she said.

He laughed and gave her another hug, but he did not linger once he reached his room, and since the noble Fletcher was once again in command of his attire, when he left, his appearance was precise to a pin. But Maggie noted that the languid air he had once affected with such regularity was gone, and there was a spring in his step. He did not so far forget his dignity as to twirl his cane when he walked, but she knew he was a happier, more purposeful man than the one she had first met.

When Lydia joined her in her bedchamber a quarter-hour later, bursting to discuss the morning’s events, Maggie made no effort to divert her thoughts, studying her instead, certain Rothwell was mistaken in his half-sister’s ability to understand the gravity of what had occurred the previous night. Having seen that Englishmen tended to think females somewhat less intelligent than themselves, and realizing that even the best of them were subject to odd prejudices, she listened to Lydia’s exclamations and prophesies with but half an ear while she decided what to do. When she had, she cut the younger girl off mid-sentence to say, “Look here, Lydia, you did a very stupid thing last night.”

Her mouth agape, Lydia stared for a moment, speechless, before she said, “I don’t believe you heard one word I said, Maggie MacDr—That is to say … What did I do? I know something happened to vex Ned, but he never said what it was, and Mama would have it that he was merely being contrary, but he wasn’t being, was he? What was it?”

“You announced to all and sundry that you had been at Lady Primrose’s masquerade,” Maggie said flatly.

Lydia frowned. “Lud, I know I said that, but what difference can that make now? Good gracious, Maggie, that ball was nearly two whole months ago.”

“Nevertheless, Edward says Jacobites are still being condemned to death as traitors, Lydia, and since a good many of the people who care about such things evidently have at least a strong suspicion that there were many Jacobite sympathizers, if not actual Jacobites, at that masquerade, you associated yourself with them by announcing that you were present.”

“But there were innocent bystanders as well,” Lydia protested. “Why, Thomas was there, and James, and they are not Jacobites. And you were there, too, and while you may have been a sympathizer, I am persuaded you never took up arms against the English or incited anyone else to do so. And even if you did, the danger of another uprising is long past. Sir Dudley Ryder told Mama and me that much when he called upon us the day after we arrived in town. He was just making conversation, of course, but I distinctly recall his saying that, so what can be the harm in talking about the stupid masquerade now?”

“Would you tell anyone that I was there?” Maggie asked.

“No, of course not, because—” She broke off, coloring.

“Just so,” Maggie said, certain now that she was doing the right thing and hoping she could convince Edward later that she had not, once again, merely spoken without thinking. “I will spare your blushes, Lydia. You would keep silent because you think people would more readily believe me a dangerous Jacobite than those same people would believe the same of you. True?”

“I do not believe you are dangerous,” Lydia said flatly.

“But it does not matter what you think,” Maggie pointed out. “What matters is the perception other people have, and the fact that you realize that I am at greater risk than you are, should my presence at the masquerade become known, only shows that you understand that perceptions are as important as fact. I daresay even Edward’s power is not so great that it would protect me, because prejudice against Scottish persons is still too great in this city for him to overcome it. But your declaration last night may prove to be a great embarrassment to him, even if you do not find yourself in actual danger. You must take care in future, my dear, to make no more such declarations.”

Lydia was silent, but Maggie knew there was no need to say more, and at last, the younger girl said quietly, “I was foolish, wasn’t I? No wonder Ned was so vexed. Why did he not say all this to me himself? No, don’t tell me,” she added when Maggie hesitated. “I can imagine. He thought he had only to forbid me to speak and I would suffer a constant compulsion to say what I had been forbidden to say. You need not look so sympathetic, Maggie. He had reason to be concerned, for I have often reacted in just that fashion. I promise you, however, that I will take care this time. I am not a fool, you know, even if I am not so overeducated as Ophelia Balterley.”

“I know you are not a fool,” Maggie said, but she knew that Lydia had grown up quite a lot in just the past few moments.

They spent the next half hour choosing gowns to wear that afternoon, only to learn several hours later that the two ladies who were to have been the dowager’s chief guests had been forced, due to a previous engagement, to decline her invitation. Since Lady Rothwell considered any offer to share her extremely expensive Bohea the height of gracious generosity, neither Maggie nor Lydia was at all surprised to learn that she took their reply as a personal affront.

“We need not have had the Bohea at all,” she said with a sniff, “but here is James bringing that Dr. Brockelby and no doubt promising him Bohea, and so we shall have to have it out.”

“Dr. Brockelby is a very kind gentleman,” Lydia said.

“I never said he was not. But to think of giving my precious Bohea to a professional man! He is very nearly in trade, my dears, but no doubt that is what James admires.”

“Mama,” Lydia said, “I won’t let you abuse James anymore today. You would be very much distressed if he refused ever to visit us after he is married, so you must not persist in condemning his choice of a bride.”

“I am very sure I shall not condemn his bride, my dear,” Lady Rothwell said calmly.

Maggie was not so sure, but since she knew that nothing she could tell the dowager about Kate MacCain would relieve her concerns, she held her tongue. In the event, they were not to be restricted to only one guest that afternoon, for Rothwell, having been unable to run Sir Dudley to earth, informed his family upon his return that he had left invitations for him wherever he might be likely to find them and believed the attorney general would honor them with his presence just as soon as he encountered one.

“He was not at his lodgings,” Rothwell said when he joined the three ladies in the grand saloon, where the dowager had decreed they would take their tea. “I visited his office and numerous other places, but his man was not certain where he was to be found, so I finally decided I’d do better to await him here. Where is James?”

When Maggie said with a welcoming smile that they had not heard from him yet, Lydia laughed and said, “He may not even come, you know. Once he finds himself amidst paints and canvas and dirty old rags, he forgets everything else. I daresay he is painting a picture and has quite forgotten Mama’s tea party.”

The dowager, signing to the footman to bring in her tea chest, said complacently, “It does not signify now, in any case, since Lady Ophelia and her aunt were unable to honor us with their presence. I am sure I do not know what can have been so important as to have kept them from joining us to enjoy this very fine tea.” She took the small key from around her neck and unlocked the tea caddy, saying, “Leave it on the table beside me, Frederick, and bring in the tray. We will not wait for Mr. James.” When the tray was set before her, containing the silver pot of boiling water, the matching silver teapot, and the delicate porcelain tea service that presently enjoyed her favor, she proceeded to brew a carefully measured amount of the precious tea. “Now,” she said graciously, as she replaced the lid on the teapot, “while that brews, perhaps you will entertain us with some account or other from your recent journey, Rothwell. I am sure Lydia and I would be most interested, and perhaps your wife can tell us something about her home there.”

If Rothwell was as surprised as Maggie was to hear this request, he did not show it but said only, “I could tell you a great deal of what I learned there, ma’am, but I daresay you will be content with a brief account. Conditions in the Highlands are difficult, in no little way, I regret to say, because of the way our soldiers have behaved toward the inhabitants there.”

“But surely,” the dowager said, casting a superior glance at Maggie, “our enemies cannot expect to be treated as well as our friends are treated. You will forgive me for speaking plainly.”

“It is I who will speak plainly,” Rothwell said. “As you know, numerous large estates owned by chiefs who supported the Pretender were confiscated and awarded to others in an attempt that is most diplomatically described as an effort to modernize the estates and civilize their inhabitants. In point of fact, however, the result has been a disaster for too many people.”

“I am sure you are an efficient landlord, Rothwell.”

“I
was
a devilish poor landlord, but I hope to be a better one,” he said, smiling at Maggie. “I’ve already begun what I hope will be a prosperous venture for everyone in the glen.”

“How too utterly fascinating, I’m sure,” the dowager said, beginning to pour out the tea. She handed small porcelain cups to Maggie and to Lydia; and then, as she poured Rothwell’s, she said, “I have added sugar, just as you like it, though I cannot think why you men want to adulterate such a fine blend as this.”

Both Lydia and Rothwell spoke at once.

“I don’t take sugar.”

“Mama, really, it is James who likes sugar, not Ned.”