If You Give a Girl a Viscount (21 page)

Read If You Give a Girl a Viscount Online

Authors: Kieran Kramer

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

BOOK: If You Give a Girl a Viscount
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Besides, she’d felt rather numb all day. Her talk with Charlie had left her feeling terribly blue and unsettled.
She didn’t like what she’d heard, that Charlie was capable of attaching himself to people and then leaving. And the bet he was embroiled in was proof that he was a man who lived for adventure—and who didn’t want to marry.
He’d never pretended to be anything else, even in their most intimate moments, when their eyes would lock and something magical would thrum in the air between them.
So why had she felt on the verge of tears since the morning?
When Perdita came unexpectedly to her bedchamber dressed as the Highlander, her gait was slower than usual, and she twisted her tartan sash in worried fashion.
“Is everything all right?” Daisy asked her, glad to get away from her own glum thoughts.
“No.” Perdita sank onto the bed, a picture of misery. “I need to tell you something. It’s very important.”
Daisy sat next to her. “What is it?” She had no idea—it could be anything.
Perdita heaved a huge sigh. “I can’t be the …
me
I want to be.”
Daisy was silent a moment, taken aback by the raw emotion in her stepsister’s voice. “What do you mean?”
Perdita shook her head. “It’s complicated. I’ve always said you’re the plain one, but we both know I am. You just don’t try very hard. If you did, you’d be beautiful.” She looked at Daisy with genuine frustration and concern. “You should try. It’s not right to hide. I know Mother is the one making you so afraid to be the young lady you were meant to be.”
Daisy was touched at the sisterly advice. “You’re very kind to care. I—I didn’t realize I was hiding, but you’re probably right. Perhaps I should try harder. And you’re
not
plain.”
“Oh, yes I am. I’m more than plain. I’m ugly.”
“Perdita—”
Her stepsister held up her hand. “It’s true. But that’s all right. Because I’ve found a way to like who I am.”
“Tell me.”
Perdita chuckled. “I love playing the son of a son of a Highland chief. No one makes fun of my loud voice and my big shoulders.” Her face lit up. “You should have seen me on the hunt. I was good, one of the best hunters there. Men were coming up to me and complimenting me on my skill.”
“That’s wonderful!” Daisy marveled at how attractive Perdita was when she was enthused. She didn’t at all resemble the dour girl Daisy had always known.
“But I can’t be a Highlander forever.” Perdita’s expression drooped. “For one, I need to be able to say more than
aye, nay,
and
slainte
.”
“True.”
“And”—Perdita paused, as if it were hard for her to say—“as the Highlander, I can’t win the man I want.”
“Oh, dear,” Daisy said. “Do you still admire Mr. King?”
Perdita shook her head. “I thought I did, but he laughs like a donkey. And he has a
tendre
for Cassandra.”
“Right.” Daisy tried not to chuckle at the description of Mr. King.
“So on the hunting trip,” Perdita went on, “I did my best to meet the other men. And I found one I like even more than Mr. King.”
“Who?”
“The Spanish marquis. He asked me to call him Pablo, but of course, I never did. I said nothing beyond
aye, nay,
and
slainte
.”
“How difficult that must have been.”
“It was. He talked long into the night about life while I listened. We looked at the stars, and he taught me the different constellations. He also told me stories about his boyhood at his castle in Spain. I fell in love with him more each night.”
“You did?” Daisy felt a glimmer of hope for her sister. She had a heart. That was good to know.
Perdita nodded. “But it’s hopeless. He admires me because I’m a fierce Highlander. He asked if I would care to go shooting with him on his estate in Spain. He told me I would enjoy his cigars and brandy, and that the women in Spain were beautiful.” She gulped. “He can’t like me … that way, as a woman. We speak only man to man.”
Daisy laid a hand on her arm. “Oh, but he does like you as a woman! I saw him looking down your gown the very first night. And he was most attentive to your needs. He pulled out your chair—”
“He
did
pass me the salt and pepper without my having to ask.”
“Yes, and don’t you remember he said, ‘How do you do?’ when you first sat down?”
“I forgot about that.”
“He saw you as a woman, I promise you. And he liked what he saw.”
Perdita perked up. “Are you sure?”
Daisy nodded. “Most definitely. He even asked after you several times when you were purportedly ill, which leaves me no doubt he was interested in pursuing your acquaintance.” She sighed. “I wish you could tell him who you really are. I’m so … sorry. If he finds out we were fooling him—”
“He’ll be angry,” said Perdita. “All the visitors will be. They’ll feel we were making fun of them, and then they won’t pay us any money. Which means we’ll be back where we started.”
“Perdita—” Daisy felt a terrible jolt of guilt. “I want you to be happy. And there must be a way out of this dilemma with the marquis.” She bit her lip and thought for a moment, then gave a little chuckle. “Perhaps the son of a son of a Highland chief can’t come tonight. It’s his turn to be ill. Surely no visitor will penalize us for not having him at the
ceilidh
. You’ve been so good all week long. It’s time for Perdita to reemerge from the sick room, don’t you think?”
Perdita smiled. “I like that.” She took off her cap, and her frizzy brown hair fell about her shoulders. “But won’t they recognize me?”
“I very much doubt they will,” Daisy said. “First of all, they have no reason to suspect that you’d ever have call to pose as a man. But more importantly, you look like a woman in love.”
“I do?”
“Yes. You’re softer. In every way. Even your voice.”
Perdita blinked rapidly. “I like being soft,” she whispered, which was still a bit loud. But she was doing better than she’d ever done before.
“I think you should stay seated in an inconspicuous spot,” Daisy said, “away from blazing candles, somewhat in the shadows. That way we’ll have no fear of your being unveiled as our Highlander. And you’ll also appear quite mysterious.”
“I’ve heard that men love mystery,” Perdita said. “They told me themselves, on the hunt. I heard some shocking things about how they feel about women.”
“I’m sure you did.” Daisy patted her hand. “Speak only to the marquis, whom I shall send your way, I promise. When he asks you to dance—and he will—tell him you will dance only outside, under the moonlight.”
“But it’s summer in the Highlands. It will be day all night long.”
“Oh, that’s right.” Daisy bit her thumb. “Never mind about the moonlight. But dance close to him.”
“I see.”
“And then when you’re dancing … kiss him.” Daisy thought about how much she loved kissing Charlie.
“
Kiss
him?”
“Yes. Lean forward and kiss him. Be bold as brass. Sometimes being bold as brass can be a good thing. Especially when time is running out.”
Perdita laughed. “You’re right. The men on the hunt said they like modesty, but they also like women who aren’t afraid to enjoy the realm of physical pleasures. They want both, they said.”
“Yes. It’s confusing, isn’t it? A woman must be all things to them. But what do you have to lose? The marquis leaves tomorrow. After you kiss him, perhaps something else will happen. Perhaps a true attachment will form. And that’s what you want. Sometimes to get what you want, what you know is right for you, you have to risk everything.”
Tears formed in Perdita’s eyes. “This is my only chance.”
“Perdita?”
“Yes?”
Daisy smiled at her. “I hope all your dreams come true.”
“Really, Daisy? You don’t hate me?”
Daisy shook her head. “Absolutely not. I used to, I must admit. Until quite recently. But I happen to think your mother was a very bad influence on us all. I haven’t tried as hard with you as I should have.” She hugged her.
Perdita hugged her back so hard, it hurt, but Daisy managed to refrain from gasping.
“Mother
is
a bitch, isn’t she?” Perdita said.
It was most definitely a rhetorical question.
They both laughed together.
“Somehow I don’t think she’ll ever change,” Daisy said. For the first time ever in their whole lives, a beat of cozy sister silence passed. “Now where is Cassandra? We need her help getting you ready. And then we must see that
she’s
ready.”
“She found a lovely new gown and slippers on her bed,” said Perdita.
“Interesting,” said Daisy, and left the room with a secret smile.
 
It seemed that all the women who were now gathered in the ballroom for the
ceilidh
—except for Mona, who was already drunk and sitting in a corner pouting—practically glowed with good cheer, their beautiful gowns giving them the confidence to act like young girls again. The men jostled each other, eyed their newly beautified mates, and looked more lighthearted than Daisy had seen them since her father had died.
As soon as the musicians finished setting up their corner, she knew the
ceilidh
would be a roaring success. The visitors would leave with many fine memories of their Highland experience, and the villagers would be more united than ever.
Anticipation made the room hum with excitement. Peering around heads and shoulders, Daisy looked for Cassandra and Mr. King in the crowd. Although Charlie had warned her that rich, powerful men typically entertained themselves with many women, flirting shamelessly with them and pretending devotion to their every need and want, Daisy didn’t want to believe it of Mr. King. She hoped he’d come to care for Cassandra.
The pipes began their droning. The fiddlers practiced a few notes.
The crowd grew louder than ever.
In a moment, Charlie would call the room to order and open the
ceilidh
with her.
But first, where
was
Cassandra? Daisy saw Hester in the corner, speaking with Perdita, who sat docilely in her chair, far away from the action. Next, Daisy swung around and saw the Spanish marquis, at the other end of the ballroom. There was Mr. Woo and every single other visiting gentleman except Mr. King. Joe was ensconced in a group of men obviously talking shinty, as one of them swung an invisible shinty stick.
All the village women were there, including a new mother who looked dazzling in her crisp new gown from Mrs. Gordon’s shop.
The footmen and maids were scattered about the room, already serving punch and various savories and sweets. Charlie was speaking to the head musician.
Daisy stood on a chair. She was starting to get a tad worried.
Cassandra was missing. And where was Mr. King?
They weren’t in the ballroom. She hastened out into the hall. But there was no butler. The man she’d assigned that position had joined the festivities, and why not? He wasn’t a
real
butler, after all.
She went back through the ballroom and through a door leading to the back gardens. No one was there, either, save a young lad and lass from the village. Daisy caught them kissing, and they both drew apart.
The girl gasped. “I’m sorry, Miss Montgomery.”
“It’s quite all right,” she said. “I mean … you should probably come inside, both of you.” She was beginning to panic. “You haven’t seen Miss Cassandra, have you?”
The girl shook her head. “No, I haven’t.”
“I saw her with Mr. King,” said the boy. “Just a few minutes ago.”
“Where?” Daisy could hardly breathe. She had no idea why she was panicking. Mr. King was foolish and prideful, but he was also clever and accomplished. She wasn’t bad to have hoped for a match between him and Cassandra.
Yet at this moment, she felt as if she’d made a huge mistake—and possibly thrown her half sister to a lion.
“He was walking her to the stables,” the boy said. “I caught a glimpse of them as I was coming round the east wing of the castle.”
Daisy pushed right past them and ran to the stables.
But when she got there, it was too late.
 
Something terrible had happened—and was still happening—at the stables. Cassandra lay sprawled on the ground, either dead, injured, or in a faint. A freshly ridden horse stood calmly below a tree, its reins tethered around a branch, while two men fought fiercely near her prone figure.
Daisy’s heart stopped. All she could see was Cassandra.
My sister,
she thought,
and Papa’s daughter
.
“Stop it!” she shrieked at the men, not even aware of who they were. “Don’t you see she needs help?”
She rushed forward to Cassandra’s side. Luckily, her lips were pink, although her cheeks were pale, and she was breathing. Quickly, Daisy scanned her face, her neck, and her shoulders, relieved to see no visible injuries—yet.
She leaned down and kissed her cheek. “Cassandra,” she breathed.
Cassandra’s eyes fluttered open. “Daisy,” she whispered.
“Are you all right? Do you hurt anywhere?”
Cassandra closed her eyes. “I—I fainted, is all. I’ll be all right.”
Daisy squeezed her hand, and Cassandra squeezed back.
Tears pricked Daisy’s eyes. She wouldn’t cry. She needed to be strong, and there were still two ridiculous men involved in a vicious fight that continued unabated not many feet away.
“Back off,” Daisy ordered them. Of course, the dunderheads ignored her. “I said, back off! You’re too near the lady!”
Still, they continued hitting and pushing each other. As she stared blindly at them, their faces came into sudden focus.
Mr. King was one of the men. He was an expert pugilist, it appeared. He hit the other man in the jaw and sent him sprawling. While the man on the ground groaned, Mr. King stood still for a moment, gasping for air.
“Stop it, please, you two,” Daisy said.
“Y-yes, please stop.” Cassandra’s voice was a mere whisper.
Mr. King said nothing.
The man on the ground rose to his feet, swaying. He pointed down the mountain. “Get out,” he said to Mr. King in guttural tones. “And never come back. If you stay, I’ll kill you.”
Daisy gasped. And not just at his strong words and vehement manner.
It was Mr. Beebs
.
Oh, God, Mr. Beebs—the white-haired overseer of the Keep, back a day early!
Mr. King wiped his brow with the back of his arm. “Who are you to speak to me so? You vile rat. The lady and I were merely—”
“Don’t you dare mention the lady and yourself in one breath,” Mr. Beebs said in a low, threatening tone. “Get out, I say. Get out before I call the constable. You’re trespassing on private property. And you’ve assaulted a lady.”
“I didn’t assault the lady. A kiss between two consenting adults is not an assault.”
“Not an assault?” Mr. Beebs’s voice was menacing. “I know what I saw. The lady wasn’t at all interested in your so-called kiss!” His chest heaved. “Now do I have to take a whip to you to get you to depart?” He stumbled to the stable door, opened it, and retrieved a whip.
Mr. King spat on the ground. “What insanity is this?” He looked at Daisy.
She merely stared back, shocked at how twisted his features were.
“You said she was fit for a peer’s bed,” Mr. King sputtered. “Or the bed of someone rich and powerful. I took you at your word.”
Daisy felt her face flame red. “I—I was wicked to say that. I wish I never had. I didn’t know you’d—”
Cassandra moaned.
“Don’t engage him, Miss Montgomery,” Mr. Beebs snarled. “He’s got no excuse for his behavior. He’s a cur.” He snapped the whip in the air. It made a wicked, impressive sound.
Perhaps there was more to Mr. Beebs than Daisy had supposed.
Mr. King backed up a step.
Perdita rushed in and stopped short then, panting for breath. “What’s wrong with my sister?” she yelled in her fiercest Highlander voice, which made even Daisy tremble.
“She’ll be fine,” Daisy assured her. “Please get me a fresh bucket of water and a rag. And bring out several men who can carry her to a soft bed.”
“I can carry her myself. And I will clean her wounds myself.” Perdita picked her sister up with ease. “Aye, you’ll be all right,” she said softly.
“Thank you, sister,” Cassandra whispered.
As Perdita lumbered toward the Keep with Cassandra dangling from her arms, Mr. King stared after them. “Wait a minute. I recognize her—him. That was the son of a son of a Highland chief. And he was wearing a
gown
.” He turned to stare at Daisy.
She took a deep breath. “Her name is Perdita, and she’s more a warrior than you’ll ever be.”
Mr. King narrowed his eyes at her but said nothing.
And no wonder. Mr. Beebs hovered nearby, whip at the ready. “Pack up your things and go,” he commanded the American. “You can travel by the midnight sun.”
Mr. King felt his bloodied lip, looking first at Mr. Beebs, then at Daisy.
“Huh,” is all he said. There was disgust in his tone, as well as some hubris gone terribly wrong.
Daisy knew what that
huh
meant. She knew very well, indeed.
Mr. King walked away, slowly. And when he was out of reach of the whip, he turned. “Don’t expect a farthing from any of the bird-watchers,” he said. “And none from the anglers, either. I’ll be sure to let them all know they’ve been duped. Highlander, indeed.” He gave a bitter laugh. “This whole week has been a joke, hasn’t it? What else did you invent to lure rich visitors up here, Miss Montgomery? The avid hunters, the cheery cooks, the bright, happy village … was all that a put-on, as well?”
“No,” she insisted. “The residents of Glen Dewey may have fallen on hard times, but—”
“There
is
no Highland magic,” Mr. King said flatly, and disappeared into the garden leading up to the back of the castle.
Daisy could hear the distant rumble of footsteps and voices, people descending the steps of the Keep and talking in hushed tones.
Her heart sank. The villagers were leaving. The
ceilidh
was no more.

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