If You Give a Girl a Viscount (18 page)

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Authors: Kieran Kramer

Tags: #Fiction, #Romance, #Historical, #Regency, #General

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“I’m saving him for Cassandra.”

“
You’re
saving him? For Cassandra?”

She sighed. “Can’t you see? They’re perfect together. Both vain. Both of them good-looking and selfish.”

So that’s why she’d been so attentive to Mr. King! The little jealous part of Charlie that he’d been ignoring came roaring to the surface, like a quail beat out of the bush, and he was glad to shoot it down. “Are you sure you want him for Cassandra?”

Daisy made an astonished face. “Why, it’s obvious they’re an ideal match.”

“Good. Did you know the braggart and I get along very well? I’ve even forgiven him his unduly high shirt points and the intricate way he ties his cravats, as if he’s a mummy bound to escape unless he’s restrained.”

Daisy rolled her eyes. “I hope you do, Charlie, because I can’t afford for him to be upset about anything.”

Mr. King himself strolled up then, his shirt sleeves rolled to his elbows. “Are you ready for our competition, Lord Lumley? We’re to pick out our sheep and sharpen the shears. Your shepherd said that’ll get our nerves properly frayed.”

“What competition?” Daisy asked him.

“Sheep shearing, of course, in front of all the company,” said Mr. King. “Joe explained to me in great detail how to go about it.”

“Of course, he also reminded us that one learns best by doing,” Charlie said, “and that no amount of instruction can prepare us for shearing an actual sheep. Which should keep the match interesting. And perhaps comical.”

“I think that might be Joe’s intention,” Mr. King said dryly. “He’s a simple man, isn’t he? But I think he has a serious bent when it comes to his flock.”

“Sheep shearing
is
serious business,” Daisy said. “Neither of you will be laughing. Cursing is more like it.”

“The winner is the man who shears his sheep the fastest—and properly, I might add,” said Charlie.

“That’s right,” said Mr. King, “a sloppily shorn sheep won’t count toward our total.”

“Are you sure you’re both ready for this?” Daisy eyed them both warily.

Mr. King laughed. “Sheep aren’t dangerous creatures, Miss Montgomery. We’ll be fine. Aren’t you coming with me, the two of you? I’ve got my eye on a docile ewe for the contest. I want to claim her before Lord Lumley gets to her.”

“Of course,” said Charlie. “She’d best not be the same one
I
wanted.”

“We might have to fight each other for her, eh?” Mr. King grinned.

“I’m game,” Charlie said.

“Enough, you two, with your silly threats.” Daisy bestowed a polite smile upon Mr. King. “I have to speak to Lord Lumley a moment—about dinner. We’ll catch up with you in a trice.”

“Very well.” He went off whistling.

As soon as he left, she turned to Charlie. “You must let him win.”

“Don’t be ridiculous.”

“I’m certain that if he loses, he’ll be unhappy the rest of his visit. What if he cuts it short?”

Charlie blew out a breath. “Then I’m canceling the match. I won’t lose to anyone intentionally, Daisy. Don’t you know it defeats the whole purpose of the competition and is an insult to the other party?”

“Yes, but—”

“You saw him. This is all in fun. We’re joking about it.” He rubbed her upper arms. “Please don’t worry.”

“I know you’re right, but—”

“I won’t let him win. It will be a fair competition or none at all.”

“Even if it means we’ll be assured of a happy guest?”

“He wouldn’t be happy. No man would be happy to win under false pretenses.” She opened her mouth to speak, but he put a finger over her lips. “I promise that if he beats me fair and square, I won’t pout. Because I know you’ll be happy he won.”

“No I won’t.” Daisy sighed. “The truth is, I’ll be rooting for
you,
Charlie. I won’t be able to help myself.”

He leaned his forehead against hers and groaned. And then he chuckled. “You’re killing me, Daisy. You can’t have everything.”

“I’m sorry.” She bit her lip, but he saw a grin lurking there. “It’s just that I’m so worried about getting the money. And so confused … about you.”

He pulled back. “About me?”

She nodded. “I told you I like you—and I do, at least at the moment and against all my better judgment. I’m sure I’ll feel differently soon, but—”

“But for now, you can’t resist me.” He arched a brow. “It’s easily understandable.”

She slapped his arm. “See? Already I don’t like you again.”

“Good. The sooner you learn you can’t control everything, the more you’ll be able to let go and enjoy yourself. Don’t you know if you try too hard with anything in life, it usually goes to pieces?”

“Yes, but I don’t have trunkfuls of money to fall back on if that happens.
You
do.”

Money doesn’t protect you from falling for someone and then having your heart broken,
he wanted to say. But he couldn’t. Mainly because he didn’t want to contemplate that he might be falling for
her
.

“Remember, I’m broke at the moment. But even if I gain access to my family’s coffers again, having trunkfuls of money won’t protect me from everything,” he told her instead.

“I’m sure you’re right.” She sounded a bit blue. “I’ve seen my share of unhappy rich people. But doesn’t money at least lessen the sting when things go wrong?”

“It makes it easier to hide from your problems. And it makes it a damned sight easier not to have to grow up. So is that a
good
thing?”

She narrowed her eyes at him. “You’re a clever man, Lord Lumley. I’m dying to be rich, and you’re practically begging to be poor.”

“I am at the moment, don’t forget. Poor as a church mouse.” He grabbed her wrist. “You know I want you to call me Charlie when we’re alone.”

“Charlie,” she whispered.

He pulled her close, his lips a mere inch from hers.

He wanted Daisy’s high regard. He wanted it badly. It was stupid of him, and he knew that sheer male pride was involved.

But there it was.

He forced himself to release her. “I’d better go. I really don’t want our smug American guest to pick out all the sleepiest ewes.”

Daisy gasped. “See? I’m afraid this friendly sheep-shearing competition is going to spiral out of control.”

“Don’t be ridiculous.” Charlie tugged on her hand. “Are you coming—or not?”

“No,” she said, still looking worried. “Go choose your sheep. I have better things to do.”

“Such as?”

She gave a short laugh. “I don’t know yet. But I’m sure by the time I get back to the Keep, there will be something.”

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Famous last words.

There was something, all right.

And that something was Perdita.

When Daisy got back to the Keep, Perdita was holding court in the elegant drawing room in the main hall. The room was thick with cheroot smoke, and the smell of whisky was strong. A sideboard groaned under the weight of platters of sandwiches, cheeses, fruit, and Scottish shortbread.

All but four of the gentlemen were playing cards. Those four who weren’t were either snoozing or reading.

It was a man’s world, and woe to any woman who entered it, except Mona, of course. She didn’t give a fig what any man thought.

Daisy stood outside the door with Cassandra, watching Perdita in action.

“She’s in her element,” Cassandra whispered.

“I know,” Daisy said. “Everyone’s been sworn to secrecy—are you sure you can keep it a secret, too?”

Cassandra scowled. “Of course. I’ve kept your secret, haven’t I?”

“Yes,” said Daisy.

But for how long?

Her beautiful stepsister strolled away.

Meanwhile, Perdita’s cheroot hung from her mouth, and she eyed her cards carefully. She had the notice of every person in the room, except Mona, whose gaze was disinterested as she watched the proceedings from her perch near Mr. Woo.

“Ye have a good hand, young laird?” one of the gentlemen asked Perdita.

“Aye,” she said in her usual loud voice.

The man from Bavaria, Mr. Gnamm, sighed. “What I would have given to meet your grandfather. Can ye tell us about him, MacFarland?”

MacFarland was the name Daisy had given Perdita.

“Slainte.”
Perdita raised her glass and clinked it with Mr. Gnamm’s, ignoring his question.

“Slainte,”
he said back.

Perdita took a gulp and went back to her cards.

“Was the old chieftain in any battles?” asked another man.

“Aye,” said Perdita.

A footman came up with a tray of sandwiches and held it before her. She moved all her cards to one hand, picked up a sandwich, took a huge bite, put the rest back on the tray, and then held her cards with both hands again, which were large and mannish, like the rest of her.

“What was his preferred weapon?” asked another gentleman.

Chewing slowly, she glared at him.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” he said. “Please. Finish your bite. And focus on the game.”

She swallowed. Then laid down a card.

There was a collective sigh.

“You won again,” said Mr. Woo.

“Aye.” Perdita pulled a pile of coins toward her broad chest.

Daisy chose that moment to stroll in. “So, I see you’ve all met our son of a son of a Highland chief.” She got varied responses, all encouraging:

“Fascinating.”

“Almost a throwback to the old days.”

“What a treat.”

Except for Mr. Woo’s. “He doesn’t say much,” he said.

“Of course not.” Daisy threw a smile at Perdita. “I told you he’s not much of a talker. But he represents a way of life that is fast disappearing. We’re thrilled to have him here, aren’t we, gentlemen?”

A chorus of affirmations followed.

“You’re all brilliant businessmen,” she went on. “You’ve a great deal in common with the old Highland chiefs. They made all their decisions from their gut.”

“It’s the only way to live,” said one man.

“Who knows? Perhaps you each have a Highlander in you,” Daisy said, looking around the group.

“Aye!” cried Perdita, her fist crashing down on the table and her eyes sparkling with approval at Daisy’s remark.

One man jumped up. “I feel as if I do have a Highland chief within me. And he wants to go salmon fishing. Will you come with us, young laird?”

“Aye!” Perdita boomed, and pushed her chair back.

Everyone else stood, too, their eagerness to experience the Highland way of life apparent on all their faces. Even Mr. Woo’s.

“The footmen will show you the fishing tackle in the shed by the stables,” Daisy announced. “And there are two lads already at the burn. They’ll lead you to the best fishing spots and give you instructions. When you get back with your catch, we’ll have it for dinner tonight. But don’t forget: before dinner is the sheep-shearing contest.”

“I wouldn’t miss it!” one man said.

There were a few shouts echoing his approval, and then they were gone.

Daisy and her stepmother had the room to themselves. Still on the sofa, Mona picked up Mr. Woo’s cheroot and inhaled, stared at her stepdaughter, then exhaled. “You excel at this, you know.”

“Thank you.” Daisy paused. “I suppose.” Getting a compliment from Mona was not a good thing.

Mona crossed her legs, as if she were settling in for a coze. “There’s something I need to tell you.”

“Oh?” Daisy got a bad feeling, but she always did around her stepmother.

Mona took another drag on the cheroot. “It’s time you learned something about that night with Cousin Roman.”

Oh, dear God!

Daisy quickly began to pick up empty cups and plates. “No, it’s
not
time. Why are you even bringing up such an awkward subject in this place, where we’re surrounded by strangers?”

“You’d best sit down.”

“No. Please. Not now. I’m not at all prepared. Or interested, quite frankly.”

“Sit down,” Mona ordered her. “I’m telling you whether you’re prepared or not.”

Which was typical. Daisy put down the empty dishes and sat, her jaw clenched with distress, her hands balled into fists. It was the last thing she needed, to experience a personal jolt of any kind while the guests were here.

What was wrong with her stepmother? Why was she so … unkind?

“Go ahead,” Daisy muttered.

Mona gave a little laugh, the kind that gave Daisy gooseflesh. “Cassandra drugged your wine that night,” she announced.

Daisy closed her eyes. The words didn’t register at first. She had to let them sink in.

Sour, almost bitter, wine.

A drug.

Heavens, she’d never made the connection!

She shook her head and opened her eyes. “What are you saying?”

Mona let out a long sigh, but she seemed to be quite enjoying herself, swinging her crossed leg back and forth. “She drugged you with Roman’s cooperation. She wanted you asleep so they could put you in his bed.”

“Why? Why would they plot something so wicked?”

“They were hoping you’d appear ruined.”

“Obviously, but it boggles my mind that—”

“It’s quite simple, really. Roman hoped that perhaps your father would make him marry you. Roman needed the money. And if for some reason Barnabas didn’t demand a wedding, Cassandra knew that he’d send you to a school or convent, at the very least.”

“She would have enjoyed that.”

“Yes. She longed to be rid of you.”

“She’s awful.” Daisy felt outrage, but she also felt a sense of relief that she hadn’t been responsible for winding up in Roman’s bed. She knew she couldn’t have drunk that much wine. And she was sure she wouldn’t have gone to bed with Roman, as attractive as he was.

But how could she ever have proven so when the whole night was a blank in her memory?

She never could have. But now … now she knew the truth.

Mona inhaled again on her cheroot. “Of course, Cassandra’s plan didn’t work out quite the way she’d hoped. The fire interfered. No one even noticed you in Roman’s bed. So in a way, luck was on your side when you forgot to snuff that candle.”

“Luck?
Luck?
There was nothing lucky about any of that night!” Daisy put her head in her hands, then looked up. “Why are you telling me this now? You don’t even like me. It makes no sense. It makes even less sense that you’re willing to betray your own daughter. I don’t trust you.”

“I’m telling you because you’ve made clear your desire to be rid of us, and you’re clever enough to find a way. I want you to remember that I told you the truth.”

Daisy sighed. “If you knew about this before Cassandra carried out the plan, you’re just as responsible.”

Mona sat up. “She told me afterward.”

“Am I supposed to believe you?”

Mona shrugged. “I have no proof.”

“Even if you did find out afterward, you still didn’t tell me. Not only that, you’ve been doing your best the past year to make me feel like a harlot.”

“You’re bright and useful, and it was the only way I could get you to do my bidding. I was misguided, perhaps.”

“Yes,” Daisy whispered, and wrapped her arms around her middle. “I should say so. And now—now you’re sacrificing Cassandra to save yourself.”

“One thing you can’t accuse me of is being stupid, can you? I know what side my bread’s buttered on.”

There was a pause as Daisy tried to adjust to her stepmother’s revelations.

Don’t trust her,
a voice in her head warned her.

Daisy could feel her father’s presence as surely as she could see the glow at the end of Mona’s cheroot.

I won’t,
Daisy told herself.
I never will
.

She took a deep breath and faced down her stepmother. “I have to know something. Why would you want to stay? You hate me. You hate Scotland. I think you even hated my father.”

Mona didn’t deny it. “I’m tired. I don’t have it in me anymore to wander the streets, looking for a rich man. And if your Highland venture is successful, perhaps more rich men will come to Glen Dewey.”

“Men like Mr. Woo.”

“Yes.” Mona chuckled. “In London, he might not give me the time of day. But here, in Scotland, in this magnificent setting at the Keep, I look more interesting, don’t you think?”

Daisy felt bitter. So bitter. Mona was admitting that she’d married her father for security, not love. Daisy wasn’t surprised, but how had her father been so taken in? All she could guess was that it was grief over her mother’s death that had made him susceptible to Mona’s charms. When the woman wanted to put them on, she had them.

No doubt, she could find another rich, naïve man to entrap.

Despite her wobbly knees, Daisy forced herself to stand and walk about the room, keeping her distance from the woman she despised. “So you’re saying that if I show patience with you and see that the gatherings of rich sportsmen continue, that someday you’ll marry again and leave for good.”

“Yes.”

Daisy stopped in front of a large arched window with a view of Glen Dewey below. “But what of my own marriage? To the viscount? I won’t be here to find you a rich husband. I’ll be in London. Very soon.”

“It’s simple.” Mona laughed. “You won’t be marrying him. All it would take is one word from me or Cassandra to send him running from you, and you know it. So get marriage to him out of your mind.”

The woman was diabolical, but Daisy refused to give up. She would best her.

She thought out her next words carefully. “But if you
do
sabotage my engagement and I’m left here to pine away, I won’t lift a finger to bring in more rich gentlemen for you. Not only that, I’ll find a way to rid myself of you. You’ll have to seek your wealthy husband elsewhere. So ruin my life … and I’ll ruin yours.”

“It’s a gamble I’ll take,” said Mona. “You’re all talk at this point. You don’t have a plan to get rid of me, or you would have by now. And here’s a warning: I stick like glue. After a while, you’ll realize that the best plan to rid yourself of me is to do exactly what I said you should: bring in more rich gentlemen to a Highland gathering.”

Daisy’s heart sank. It seemed that Mona had it all figured out.

Mona’s smirk sent shivers through her. “I can tell you’re seeing sense. And if you get rid of me, at least you’d no longer have to suffer the fate of being my lifelong companion.”

“I suppose not.” She’d never fall in with that plan. “Perdita’s useless. But she’ll have to do.”

“And what of Cassandra?” Daisy asked.

“She’ll marry the viscount.”

“He won’t have her.”

“All men can be won.” Mona shrugged.

“Lumley is too intelligent, too kind, too savvy to fall for Cassandra’s machinations!” Daisy felt ill at the thought.