Rose In Scotland (7 page)

“I was hoping I might see the colonel, sir,” he said, ignoring Lady Caroline. “But he hasn’t arrived as yet.”

“No, no, quite the opposite, in fact,” the general said, starting toward a table that had just been vacated. “He and I were here earlier to take the waters as befits a pair of old relics. I daresay he is at home on Gay Street, being cossetted by his wife by now. You recall Mrs. Margate, I trust?”

Hugh remembered the middle-aged, heavyset woman who had bullied her husband and his troops with equal ferocity, and remembered as well the way she had searched the battlefield following an engagement for the wounded men of the company. More than one man, himself included,
was alive today because of her. “Aye, that I do, sir,” he said, genuine pleasure softening his voice. “I trust the good lady is well?”

“With a city filled with invalids and fops to bully?” The general gave a laugh. “Dear boy, she is in alt. I daresay she will have half of Bath cured and the other half beaten into fighting shape by the time she is done.”

They continued chatting as a servant brought them coffee and a plate of Bath buns. After a few minutes of exchanging reminiscences with the general, Hugh’s manners got the best of him and he turned to Lady Caroline.

“Are you long in Bath, ma’am?” he asked politely, noting she hadn’t eaten a single bite of the sugar-crusted roll.

“I am not certain, sir,” she replied, her gaze fixed firmly on her plate. “As you know my arrival yesterday was somewhat unexpected, and there is much that has to be determined.”

From that, Hugh surmised the general hadn’t yet agreed to become her guardian. “It is my first visit here,” he continued, deciding it could do him no harm to be polite. “And a most lovely place I find it. The buildings on the Royal Crescent are especially beautiful, do you not agree?”

That won him the courtesy of a look, as she raised her gaze to his face. “I am afraid I have not had much opportunity to take in the sights,” she said, her voice filled with wary civility. “And like you, this is my first visit to Bath. But from what I have seen, I agree it is very lovely; far cleaner than London.”

“A stable is far cleaner than London,” General Burroughs observed, eating his roll with obvious
relish. “But you must make an effort to see something of Bath while you are here, my dearest,” he added. “Perhaps after our meeting this afternoon, Sergeant MacColme will agree to show you about, eh, Sergeant?”

Hugh had served with the general long enough to recognize a command when he heard one. “I should consider it an honor, Your Grace,” he said, dredging up a thin smile. “Providing, of course, her ladyship has no objections?” His gaze flashed hopefully to her, although he was certain she was too polite to refuse his offer outright.

“No, I have no objections, Mr. MacColme.” Her stiff reply confirmed his suspicions. “It sounds most enjoyable, in fact.”

“Excellent.” General Burroughs beamed at them both. “Now that we’ve settled that, do let us enjoy our coffee and the excellent music. I vow, it has been a good many years since I last enjoyed Haydn in such convivial surroundings.”

A silence then descended upon the table, both Hugh and Lady Caroline having acquiesced to the general’s bidding. And it was no great hardship listening to the music, Hugh thought. The bright and delicate notes put him in mind of the wild brooks of the Highlands—although to his way of thinking, the pretty music in no way compared to the sound of the pipes. Now there was a sound to stir men’s souls, he mused, raising his cup to his lips. Mayhap when he returned to Loch Haven with the castle once more in his hands, the clan would have a feast day to celebrate.

He was envisioning the great hall strung with victory pennants and ringing with the sound of
laughter and the wail of the pipes, when the general gave a sudden exclamation.

“Upon my soul, is that Lady Hanfield?” he said, setting his cup down with an eager clatter. “I did not know her to be in Bath!”

Hugh glanced to his right, spying an ancient lady in a gown of pink silk, her frail frame all but bent under the weight of her towering wig. She was accompanied by half a dozen footmen, who were doing their best to help lower her onto her chair. A rather difficult task, Hugh noted, since the wig looked near to toppling her over. It was two feet in height, if not more.

“I must go over to her.” General Burroughs was rising to his feet. “Her late husband was one of my dearest friends, and I should be remiss did I not bid her hello.” He scurried off, leaving Hugh and Lady Caroline alone.

Hugh was expecting a stiff silence, and was surprised when she suddenly leaned forward. “I must speak with you,” she said. “At what hour do you call upon my grandfather?”

Hugh arched an eyebrow at the urgent note in her voice. “One of the clock,” he replied coolly, wondering what she was about.

“Come at twelve-thirty instead,” she instructed, her gaze flicking to the nearby table where the general was bowing over the elderly lady’s hand. “Have the butler conduct you to the drawing room; I shall be waiting for you there.”

Hugh hid his astonishment at her command. To be sure his knowledge of English noblewomen was scarce, but he was fairly certain they did not normally arrange clandestine meetings with strange men. Certainly he would never permit
Mairi to do such a thing, and his cautious nature stirred to life.

“Will you?” he asked, his accent deepening along with his suspicions. “And what might you be waiting for, I wonder?”

Her gaze returned to his, the dark-blue eyes flashing with annoyance. “Not for the reason you appear to be thinking,” she informed him with a proud lift of her chin. “I have something I wish to discuss with you, and it is something best done in private. Will you be there, or will you not?”

Tempting as it was to toss her arrogant demand back in her face, Hugh managed to resist. It would do him no harm to hear what she had to say, he reasoned—and a MacColme never fled from a challenge, but faced it head on.

“Oh, I shall be there,” he drawled, his mouth curving in a mocking smile. “Indeed, I would not dream of missing it. Only mind you make it worth my while,” he added, taking a small satisfaction in seeing her cheeks pinken with anger. “I’ve no patience to have my time wasted by some schoolroom miss bent on making mischief. Keep that in mind, my lady, and we shall get along fine.”

Schoolroom miss, indeed! Caroline fumed less than an hour later, the full skirts of her gown flaring about her as she paced the elegant confines of her bedchamber. And how dare he accuse her of attempting to make mischief? It was beyond all enduring, and for twopence she’d keep the arrogant Scot waiting in the drawing room until he died from hunger! Grandfather
might think the sergeant the perfect solution to her difficulties, but for herself, she would as lief bargain with the devil. Heaven knew he couldn’t make a more dangerous adversary, she brooded, pausing to glare at her reflection in the mirror.

The past two sleepless nights had left her pale and wan, and far more emotional then she could like. She felt as delicate and brittle as the glass figurines she had collected as a child, and feared that the slightest pressure would shatter her into a thousand pieces. It wasn’t right, she told herself crossly. All she wanted was to live her own life as she saw fit. Why should she be forced to wed either a disgusting mound of flesh or a dangerous and mocking devil, to have control over what was rightfully hers? The unfairness of it all made her want to take her fist and smash the mirror.

Then the control that had been her salvation these many years reasserted itself, and she fought her way back from the edge of tears. Now was not the time for foolish weeping, she told her refection. In less than an hour her entire fate would be decided, and if she meant to have the smallest say in that decision, she could not allow herself the luxury of emotion. She would have to be twice as cold and calculating as the man she was meeting if she meant to win—a prospect daunting enough to make the knot of tension in her chest tighten with almost painful intensity.

When Grandfather had first made his suggestion, she’d thought him mad. It had to be madness to believe such a thing could possibly work. And yet the more her grandfather had spoken of it, the greater sense it began to make.
A marriage
of convenience
, she’d thought, the idea slowly taking shape in her mind.
Her
convenience, if they could but win the sergeant’s cooperation in certain matters. A cooperation her grandfather felt certain they could have, although he would not tell her why.

That was why she wanted to speak with him before he met with her grandfather. The duke might be confident he would agree, but she couldn’t afford the luxury of his being wrong. Even now her uncle could be on his way from London with a special license or an order for her commitment in his pocket, and if all was not arranged before his arrival, she’d be in every bit as much trouble as she’d been when she’d fled from London. More in trouble, she amended, thinking of the rage the earl was likely to be in when he arrived. Her uncle hated losing, and those who managed to best him were usually punished in some clever and evil way.

With that thought firmly in mind she’d passed the long night staring at the ceiling and carefully laying out her plans. The first difficulty was to win the sergeant’s cooperation, although upon reflection she didn’t think it would be so very hard. Her years in her uncle’s company had taught her that however much men might like their whores and their horses, there was nothing they cared for more than the gleam of gold. For all he was a Scot and a soldier, she couldn’t believe Sergeant MacColme was cut from so different a cloth, and she knew if she but offered him enough money, he would do as she wished.

The next problem she foresaw was the man’s pride—a pride she now realized was deep and
as fierce as the Highlands from which he came. If she didn’t word her offer just so, he was likely to toss it in her face and go storming back to Scotland.

“Excuse me, my lady.” The little maid assigned to her bobbed a curtsy from the doorway. “Will you wish to be changing your gown? ’Tis past noon.”

It was on the tip of her tongue to say no, but then she thought the better of it. She was woman enough to find confidence in a pretty gown, and upon consideration she also thought it might be best if she were to meet Mr. MacColme looking every inch the lady.

Twenty-five minutes later she was staring at her reflection, her expression critical as she studied the glass for the smallest sign of imperfection. The gown she was wearing was a
robe Anglaise
fashioned of pink and yellow striped silk, draped over an underskirt of pink brocade. Sleeves dripping with lace ended just above her elbows, and her hair, arranged
à la conseiller
, gave her the air of fashionable
élan
she had been striving to achieve.
There
, she thought with womanly satisfaction, brushing one of the long curls back from her shoulder.
Let him call me a schoolmiss now
.

When she walked into the drawing room a few minutes later she saw that a small fire had been laid in the fireplace and she also saw a tray of biscuits and a bottle of madeira were standing in readiness per her instructions. She’d offer him a glass of wine first, and when he was feeling comfortable and pleased with himself she’d present her offer to him. Everyone knew the Scots to be a hardheaded, practical people, and if she could
make him see the sense of what she was offering, he would agree. He had to agree, she thought, a small frisson of panic sneaking through her defenses. The alternative was too horrible to contemplate.

The tinkling of the bell interrupted her reverie, and she’d no sooner taken her seat before the fire than the door opened and the butler entered, Mr. MacColme hard on his heels. “Sergeant MacColme to see you, my lady,” the butler intoned, his wooden expression mute evidence of his disapproval. “Will you be requiring anything further?”

From that, Caroline gathered he was hinting she should have a maid sit with her for propriety’s sake. But what she had to say was too important to risk their conversation being overheard by anyone—especially a servant who was likely to repeat everything she heard.

“No, Campton, thank you,” she said, dredging up a smile. “That will be all. You may go now.”

“As you wish, my lady.” The butler’s bow was so stiff it was a wonder he didn’t snap in half, Caroline mused, the smile on her lips spreading into a genuine grin. She quickly pursed her mouth, sending her guest a worried glance out of the corner of her eye. To her deep surprise, he was also smiling.

“I had a sergeant in my early days with the regiment,” he said, his silver-green eyes twinkling with remembered laughter. “He was a proper terror, with a voice like a bull and a fist the size of a ham. When he pokered up like that, we knew we were in for it.”

His easy confidence took Caroline aback, destroying
the plans she had laid with such care. She’d been prepared to deal with the cold, hard soldier she’d met that morning, and was uncertain what to do with this smiling, even-tempered man. Heavens, she thought, dazed at the realization, he was almost charming. She was wondering how best to adjust to this new development when the smile vanished, and his eyes grew as cold as a wind off the sea.

“Well, I’m here, my lady,” he said, folding his arms and studying her with the cold insolence she remembered from yesterday. “What is it you have to say?”

His mocking tones made Caroline’s temper flare, but she controlled her tongue. “I will be blunt, sir,” she began, meeting his gaze with cool insouciance. “My grandfather has a proposition he is about to put to you; a proposition which will be to both of our benefits. I wish you to accept that proposition, and am willing to pay you handsomely for doing so.”

An eyebrow one shade darker than the reddish-brown hair pulled back in a queue arched, but his hard face revealed not a hint of his thoughts. “Indeed?” he said, his deep voice mild. “And what must I do to be paid so handsomely? Is it someone you want killed, mayhap? This Uncle Charles of yours, who has caused you such distress?”