Cloudy With a Chance of Marriage (42 page)

Charlie opened his mouth, but he didn’t know what to say.

“Why not, Charlie?” Nicholas challenged him. “You know you’ll eventually get it back. This is a lark, and nothing more. So you might suffer a bit finding your way up to the Highlands. But it won’t last forever.”

“And maybe you’ll learn what you’re made of,” added Harry.

“Stern stuff,” said Arrow, thumping his chest with a fist.

“We’re not best friends with a coward,” Nicholas said softly, almost menacingly.

“Nor with a bland, forgettable gentleman,” said Arrow with a yawn.

“We’re best friends with a viscount of tremendous character,” Harry pronounced.

“A man who can solve problems using his own ingenuity,” added Nicholas.

“What’s his name?” Charlie said with a little chuckle and drained his glass of brandy.

Everyone had a comfortable laugh at that. But not for long.

Harry gave him a stern look. “We’re serious.”

Charlie looked back and forth between the three of them. “So am I.”

A feeling of excitement gripped him. Without hesitation, he reached into his coat pocket and removed his wallet.

“I’ll take it,” said Harry.

Charlie slapped the leather billet into his palm.

“Next time you see it, you’ll be a different man,” said Arrow.

“Who knows what adventures you’ll have meanwhile?” asked Nicholas.

“I wish I could go with you,” said Harry a bit wistfully.

“Huh,” said Charlie. “You can’t fool me. All three of you can hardly wait to get back to your wives and the beds they’re keeping warm for you.”

The others exchanged looks.

“He’s right,” Stephen said with a sigh and pulled out his pocket watch. “It
is
well after midnight. But knowing Jilly, she’s waiting up for me.”

Charlie snorted. “Jilly, Poppy, and Molly. My God, you say their names every chance you get. Not that I don’t adore all three of them, but really, lads.”

“What can we say?” said Nicholas with a shrug. “We’re sickeningly happy with our lovely spouses.”

“And children, I might add,” said Harry, who was the proud father of a boy and a recently arrived baby girl.

Charlie chuckled. “Yes, I can see why. Miniature hotheaded bachelors and gorgeous debutantes in the making. But I’ve noticed you’ve fathered interesting debutantes-to-be. Not the simpering kind.”

“That’s a nice way to describe the little hellions,” said Nicholas, who had two very active twin girls. “I’ve no doubt Stephen’s boy or girl will be just as rambunctious when he or she arrives.”

“Any day now.” Stephen grinned.

They all took a moment to savor the fact of the charming small people who’d so recently entered their lives and who were soon to come.

“Right, Uncle Charlie,” Harry said, “do your present and future godchildren proud. Us, too.”

“I swear I will,” Charlie replied. “Just don’t expect me to come back legshackled.” He arched a brow. “I’ve got a survival instinct you fellows apparently lack. After all, I’m the last Impossible Bachelor standing.”

With that, he saluted them and left the cozy chamber within their club. It was the same room in which they’d encountered Prinny and his mistress, who’d appeared from behind a panel in the wall that long while ago. So much had happened to the other Bachelors since then. Charlie was ready for something to happen to
him,
even if it was just an escapade to the far North.

He shivered in his coat when he opened the club door to the dark London night and trotted down the steps. He’d done it thousands of times before. But this time, when his right boot hit the pavement, he made sure to note that it was his first step on a journey to Scotland—

And what he dared to hope would be the adventure of a lifetime.

CHAPTER TWO

October 8, 1820

High in the left turret of Vandemere, the smallest and most decrepit castle in northwest Scotland, Daisy Montgomery pushed a letter back into its envelope and stared into space. “I’ve been given a viscount,” she murmured.

A viscount?

But she hadn’t
asked
for a viscount.

She pressed the envelope to her mouth in an attempt to stave off her disappointment. Her highest hope had been that the household would receive a trunk full of money (God, how she’d hoped for that!) or at the very least an invitation to journey down to London to visit Lady Pinckney, Ella’s godmother.

But to be delivered a viscount, Lady Pinckney’s own grandson?

Such an outcome hadn’t figured into any of Daisy’s plans.

Standing in the quiet, she couldn’t help but wonder what to do with him.

A small mouse appeared beneath her window, one of Ella’s pets, no doubt. “If you’re hungry, I’ve got nothing,” Daisy told the tiny creature, who somehow managed to look disappointed, too.

“Almost everyone in this house is hungry,” she murmured, and looked at the tattered lace at her cuff. And then at the aged red velvet curtains at the windows. She walked over to them and put her palms on the rheumy panes. Peering through them, she detected Ella circling the back garden, her golden hair an aureole about her stunning face, her modest gown pieced together from hand-me-downs not doing a thing to diminish her beauty. It was typical of Ella to be in search of lovely flowers, no matter how much her stomach must be growling this afternoon.

Dear Ella.

An unwelcome image overcame Daisy: her lovely, good-hearted stepsister being swept away into a dark miasma. Or perhaps the dark miasma was simply Ian McLeod’s imposing black carriage.

Daisy bit her lip. She hated dark miasmas
and
Ian McLeod. With a passion—a strong, firm passion that wouldn’t tolerate either one of them entering her life and sucking Ella out of it.

But as close as Daisy was to allowing somber forecasts to sink her resolve, she determined—out of sheer stubborn conviction—that negative thoughts wouldn’t break her. Perhaps the mouse had something to do with it. He was in a much worse predicament than she, waiting for crumbs and worrying about who was his friend and who wasn’t.

Even though they were in dire straits at Castle Vandemere, Daisy clearly knew which people she could call friends. And which ones she could not. She swallowed the bitter knowledge that her own mother and sister weren’t her friends in the least. But she couldn’t bear to call them her enemies. It didn’t seem right. She’d never give up trying to find out why they were the way they were, but now was not the time to dwell on their discordant natures.

As for the viscount,
he’d
be on her side, wouldn’t he? He’d have no choice.

He was hers for the nonce.

A small frisson of excitement assailed her, which she chose to interpret as nerves. It wouldn’t do to be excited about being given a viscount. It simply wasn’t done.

But she couldn’t help striding away from the window with an extra spring in her step. He was to be at her beck and call. No one had
ever
been at her beck and call.

She, of course, was always at Mother’s and her elder sister Perdita’s. It was the only way to deal with them. Otherwise, they picked on Ella, and Daisy had promised Barnabas she’d always protect her stepsister, no matter what.

Yes, no matter what.

For a moment, looking into her own reflection in the aged looking glass above her bureau, Daisy saw that her expression was a bit wild and felt well pleased. According to the village gossips, she was a pale imitation of Ella. Ella was a pocket Venus, and Daisy was merely a bit on the short side. Ella had long, shining golden hair; Daisy’s was the color of the last of the winter hay that old Joe pulled out from the back recesses of the barn. Ella had eyes so vividly robin’s-egg blue that one wondered if she were a fairy, whereas Daisy’s were slate blue with a tint of sober gray mixed in.

Not that she cared that she was overshadowed. Ella was her great solace. Ella was her sister—her sister of the heart.

And for her, Daisy would do anything to save her, even if it meant … she’d have to use a viscount to do it.

But you’ll need a clean guest room first
, a sensible voice in her head reminded her.

And after that, a fine dinner to serve him.

Surely, when you were given a viscount, you made outrageous requests—

No.
Demands
.

Yes, demands!

No.
Requests
.

She’d be mannerly and charming. She must win this viscount over just in case her requests were unusual ones. Which meant she’d have to have a new gown.

And that fine dinner.

Which would entail an immediate trip to the village for one of Mrs. Gordon’s ready-made frocks and one of Peter Poole’s whiskey-and-brown-sugar-encrusted hams.

But they had no carriage.

Or money.

Fie on the money—she’d get everything on credit—and she’d have to ride a horse.

“Hester!” she called at the top of her lungs. And then decided not to wait. She ran pell-mell down the stairs. “We need to saddle Blue!”

Hester looked up from the book she’d brazenly removed from the library, her dust cloth forgotten. She always said the Scots believed in education for all (and made this pronouncement often when there was housekeeping to be done). “Ye canna be wantin’ Blue,” she said disbelievingly.

Blue hadn’t been ridden in five years. It was because he was old and wicked and ran away every time anyone tried to approach him with a saddle, even Ella. But today was important. Blue was needed. Daisy
would
harness him. “Yes, I do,” she told Hester. “I require a carrot. The fattest one we’ve got.”

“We have no carrots.”

“Lumps of sugar?”

“No.”

Daisy shoved her curls out of her face. “But Blue and I must gallop to the village for a ham and a gown, and you must prepare a bedchamber,” she said. “We’ve an important visitor arriving. A viscount. Sometime very soon. Perhaps even today. He sent me a note from an inn four days’ journey away, and today is the sixth day. I wonder why he’s been delayed? The weather’s been fine enough.”

Hester’s face paled. “A viscount? Today? Och, and I haven’t polished the silver.”

Hester always said she hadn’t polished the silver when she was agitated. Everyone knew she hadn’t polished it in years—Daisy had taken on that chore. Still, she knew it gave Hester succor to say so.

A knock sounded at the door. Once, and then again. The knock was solid, impatient. And unfamiliar.

“Oh, God, it’s he.” Daisy’s heart leapt.

Hester gave a little gasp and her eyes widened. “But what brings a viscount here, of all places?”

“His grandmother is Ella’s godmother.” Daisy quickly swept a dead bug that Jinx, the grey tabby cat, had brought in under the worn Aubusson carpet and straightened an oil painting. “I wrote to her.”

“You
did
?” Hester scuttled after her toward the door.

“Barnabas gave me her address before he died,” Daisy whispered in rushed tones.

Hester gasped. “But you said god
mother
. This is a viscount we’re to entertain.”

“I know. The godmother, Lady Pinckney, is traveling to Italy, apparently. She’s sending her grandson in her stead.”

“Oh, dear.” Hester put a trembling hand against her softly powdered cheek. “We’re in for it noo, lassie.”

“What is it?”

“Don’t ye know ye should never trouble trouble until trouble troubles
you
?” Hester swallowed and touched her lace collar. She was the most superstitious person Daisy knew.

“But we
do
have trouble.” Daisy strove for patience. “It’s Ella. We must save her from Ian MacLeod. He’s about to ask her to marry him. I heard him and Mother discussing the matter at the kirk bazaar.”

Hester harrumphed. “At which neither of them bought one of my famous bannocks.”

“He said he’ll pay Mother a great sum for her, and you know Mother will take it, especially now that we’re down to our last sovereigns. The only thing holding her back—”

“Oh, aye.” Hester nodded vehemently. “The mourning period. The year ends … why, a month from today.”

There was a sad silence as they both remembered jolly Barnabas, Ella’s late father and Daisy’s stepfather.

“How yer mother could be sae cruel,” Hester said, “throwing a puir, sweet girl with a father barely cold in his grave to a weasel like Ian. I dinna care how large a property he has.”

She hesitated, looked at Daisy from the corner of her eye.

“
Hester
. You can’t mean that you’d be all right with Ella marrying Ian.”

“Noooo.” Hester rubbed her nose. “But think of all the improvements he’d make to Castle Vandemere if he married her. I myself would love a bolt of shiny black bombazine.” She looked down at her housekeeper’s uniform. “This old thing is faded to grey.”