My Fair Lily (2 page)

“That’s right. Ye ought to be ashamed, ye great beastie,” his
owner muttered. “Look at the mess ye’ve made of the pretty girl.”

As though understanding his every word, the dog gazed at Lily with the softest, most innocent brown eyes. His tail wagged hesitantly,
once… twice. Oh, his big chocolate eyes! Too adorable to resist. Lily succumbed with a sigh. “You’re forgiven, Jasper. Now, to find my book—”

Jasper was off in a shot and back in a trice with the volume, a
work
written by the Scottish scientist Colin MacLaurin about sixty years ago on the theory of fluxions. Tail wagging, eyes gleaming with pride, he
dropped it at her feet…and into the puddle from which she’d just emerged.

His owner let out an agonized groan. “Lass, I’ll pay for that, too.”

***

“Please don’t trouble yourself, Mr. Cameron. It was an accident and nothing more.”

Ewan Cameron stared at the girl with the prettiest blue eyes he’d seen in an age while she assured him that he was not responsible for
his dog’s actions. Of course, he was. However, he held his tongue, preferring to replace the book and stylish gown—a yellow confection that made him think of lemon sweets—as soon as possible, rather
than waste time arguing about it with the young thing who was soaking wet and probably shaken from the jolt.

He retrieved the book from the puddle while she busied herself
wringing water out of her obviously ruined gown. He also noticed her spectacles on the ground where he’d earlier set them aside, so he reached down and stuck them in his pocket before turning his
attention
back to her. “Ma… Mac… lau…” he murmured, examining the book’s spine for the title. But he found it hard to make out the words,
for they were smeared with mud and water stains.

“MacLaurin,” she repeated smoothly, casting him an
encouraging
glance. “There’s a symposium exploring his work on elliptic
integrals at the Royal Society next week, and I thought to do a little studying on my own ahead of time.”

“You’re a bluestocking,” he said with a chuckle but quickly regretted his words. Though he meant it as a compliment, few
females would take it as such. Och, it was a clumsy thing to say
—
but she didn’t seem to take offense.

“Yes, I suppose. I love to read… er, though many people don’t and there’s certainly nothing wrong with that, not at all. Not being
able to read, that is.” She cast him another encouraging glance.

“I enjoy it, too. When I have the time.” He frowned, thinking of how much work he had and how little time he had to attend to all of
it while in London. “Lately, I’ve had very little.”

“Of course. I understand completely.” She cast him yet another sympathetic look.

“Ye do?” Suddenly, he realized the girl believed him an ignorant
oaf, illiterate and probably unable even to dress himself. And why wouldn’t
she think the worst? Ten days of hard riding from the Scottish
Highlands to London, ten days of choking dust on the
roadway, of not shaving and hardly bathing, had left him looking like the basest ruffian.

The clothes he wore, buff pants made of homespun and heavy brown jacket to ward off the Highland chill, were not in the least fashionable London attire. His brown leather boots were scuffed and stained from several years of use and abuse. His hands were rough and calloused, though he’d tried very hard to be gentle when helping the girl to her feet.

To this young innocent, he must look like his heathen warrior ancestors, lacking only blue paint on his face and battle axe in his
hand to complete the image. “Lass, may I ask your name?”

She didn’t appear ready to give it, but whatever she meant to say
was drowned out by the sound of a carriage rumbling toward them. It turned out to be three gleaming black carriages rolling through the townhouse gate from which she’d emerged a short while ago, each
led by a pair of high-stepping matched bays.

He let out a long, low whistle, admiring the horses and
wondering
who had picked them out. They were magnificent, but he didn’t bother to ask the girl standing at his side. It wasn’t something the pampered daughter of a wealthy household was likely to know.
Then again, the
young thing was not the typical society debutante. Och, she was pretty enough, but there was a scholarly earnestness about her that
he found appealing, though a bit unusual.

A girl who looked remarkably like the one at his side, same
black
hair and striking blue eyes, popped her head out of the third
carriage. “Lily, you’re missing Lady Turbott’s tea!” she cried as it passed by.

He turned in dismay to the girl he now understood was called Lily. “Lass, it seems I’ve ruined your entire day.”

“Please don’t give it another thought, Mr. Cameron. My family
will never notice,” she assured him with a wistful sigh.

“I can no’ believe that.” Were she his daughter, gazing up at him with those vibrant eyes and the obvious intelligence behind them,
he’d have a hard time forgetting her.

“Oh, they love me,” she hastened to explain, obviously noting his darkening expression. “I’m not at all neglected, as you can see by the quality of my new gown… well, no… never mind about that. My sister
and I are identical twins, you see. I suppose it’s obvious. She’ll pretend to
be me and no one will be the wiser. That’s all I meant by it. The arrangement has worked quite well so far. I’ve already missed several of these society affairs because of my studies and never been reprimanded for it.”

He quirked an eyebrow.

“Not that I’m proud of the deception, mind you,” she continued, the momentary downcast of her eyes revealing that she felt some remorse for her wrongdoing. “But the scholarly work is so interesting, and sometimes these affairs can be so deadly dull. Dillie—that’s my sister—doesn’t
mind helping me out at all.”

“I’m surprised ye have no’ been caught yet. You’re not entirely alike,” he said with a shake of his head. “Your eyes are a more vivid blue than your sister’s, and your features softer, like the soft coat on
a newborn lamb.”

She blushed. “Oh, that’s a lovely thing to say. Thank you. Er,
you did mean it as a compliment, didn’t you?”

He nodded. “That I did, Lily.”

She slipped the book out of his hands. “I had better change my gown. Goodbye, Mr. Cameron. I hope Lady Dayne finds you a nice place to live.”

“WHY DIDN’T YOU
tell Lily that you’re to reside with your grandfather?”

“I did no’ wish to involve myself in long explanations,” Ewan said, feeling too big for his delicate silk chair. He and Lady Eloise Dayne were sitting in the drawing room of her imposing residence at Number 5 Chipping Way, situated on one of the prettiest streets in
the elegant district of Mayfair.

Though Eloise had made him feel quite welcome, Ewan knew he
was out of place amid the clamor and clatter of London, with its smoke-filled air, muddy Thames waters, and crowded streets. He couldn’t wait to fulfill the damn promise and return to his Highlands home. Indeed, he already missed the dark, soaring crags and
windswept valleys as
lush and green as the eye could see in summertime. By fall, those valleys took on a soft, purple hue, and by winter they were a rugged
brown, dotted with patches of white snow.

The crystal loch waters remained eternally blue, as deep and
bright
a blue as Lily’s sparkling eyes, he realized, but dismissed the thought as quickly as it had come to mind. “Besides, I have no’ been
to Lotheil Court yet and do no’ know where it is.”

As Eloise leaned forward in her chair, the gray silk of her gown rustled like wind through one of those Highland valleys. “Then you are
the only man in this fair city who doesn’t know that the London residence of the Duke of Lotheil is located off Knightsbridge in
Belgravia. You could have asked Lily, she would have told you.”

“And reveal to her that I’m the duke’s grandson? Och, no.
There’ll be none of that for me. The lass might get ideas.”

“About what?”

“Marriage. Isn’t that the only thing these English girls are taught
to think about? How to sink their claws into the first unsuspecting bachelor who stumbles their way? I can assure ye, no weepy-eyed, drippy-nosed English girl will trap me. I’ll be off for Scotland the
moment I’ve fulfilled my promise.”

Eloise’s jaw dropped. “It is obvious you know nothing about Lily. Honestly, Ewan! Did you lie to Lily? What name did you give her?”

“Ewan Cameron, which is my own. I’m Laird Carnach in my
own right, and have no need to grovel before my grandfather in the hope he’ll restore me as his heir. The bastard can stuff his dukedom up his noble arse.”

“Ewan!”

“My apologies,” he said, running a hand through his hair in frustration, “but ’tis this damnable deathbed promise I gave to my
father.
What can I accomplish in three months that he and my grandfather
failed to do over the course of thirty years?”

Eloise sighed. “They were always like two oak trees standing tall and proud against the wind—each too proud to bow, and suffering the consequences for it. Had they been less alike in temperament, one of them might have bent a little and saved the family
connection.”

“Grandfather’s to blame,” Ewan insisted, not bothering to mask
his contempt. “He cut my father out of the line of succession simply because he dared to marry a MacKenzie. He knew nothing of my mother, yet dismissed her out of hand, for she wasn’t one of the pale-haired, weak-minded English debutantes he’d selected for his son. He never gave my
mother the chance to show her worth. She was the best. Gracious and loving. But the old man had made his devil’s pact with the
Sassenach
invaders and was determined that Father should marry one of them.”

Ewan paused, struggling to regain his composure as a wave of sadness overcame him. “Father loved her dearly and was never the
same after she died.”

Eloise leaned forward and patted his hand. “I expect this past year has not been easy for you or Meggie either, first losing your
mother to illness and then your father so soon afterward.”

“He wasted away of a broken heart. There can be no other explanation for it.” That was eight months and two weeks ago, by
Ewan’s count. And
now he was here in London, forced to fulfill the promise to his
father.
The timing could not have been worse, for it was the height of the London season. Having to deal with his grandfather was bad
enough,
but dealing with him while all of London society watched and
gossiped was going to be intolerable.

Hellfire!

Eloise seemed to soften in the face of his discomfort. “I know these next three months will be hard on you, but you must get
through it for
Meggie’s sake as much as for yours. When is your sister due to arrive?”

“End of the week.” He shook his head and sighed. “Meggie’s scared out of her wits, thinks our grandfather will eat her alive if she
crosses him. That does no’ leave me much time to smooth the way.”

“It might help if she had female companionship during her stay.”

“Why? I’ll be here to protect her. But she’ll need a lady’s maid. I’ll select a suitable girl from my grandfather’s staff, or hire one if I
don’t like the look of them.”

Eloise rolled her eyes. “Meggie will need much more than a maid, unless you intend to keep her locked in her bedchamber for the duration of her stay. Oh, I know you have no such plan,” she added before he could protest. “So you must allow me to guide her. First, I’ll arrange a fitting for her with my dressmaker. She’ll require suitable gowns for the season.”

“I have no intention of putting my sister on the marriage mart. She’s no head of prime Scottish beef.”

“Indeed, not! And as for gaining entrance into society, it
wouldn’t
be proper at all just now. You’ve both just come out of mourning for your parents. But what harm can there be in a few quiet enjoyments, perhaps an occasional party to lighten her grief? She’s young and merry. These
next few months will be impossible for her without these small distractions. Does she dance?”

“Aye.”

“Highland reels, I suppose. I’ll hire a dance instructor.”

Ewan frowned.

“Dear boy, you must stop fretting. I promise you that I won’t turn her into a proper English lady. Indeed, if she’s as strong-willed as you,
I’m sure she’ll bite the head off any English gentleman who dares
approach her,” she said with a mock shudder.

“Och, that’s the problem. She isn’t. Quite the opposite, she’s as sweet-tempered as my mother was.” He gave a wistful shake of his
head. “I’m already regretting my agreement to bring her to town.”

“It isn’t a mere agreement,” Eloise reminded him. “You made a sacred promise to your father that the pair of you will reside with your grandfather these next three months. That your grandfather
accepted the arrangement can only mean he bitterly regrets his actions toward your parents and seeks to make amends.”

Ewan doubted it. The old bastard’s agreement merely signified that he sought to control Ewan and his sister now that their father was out of the way to prevent it. However, Eloise meant well, and he was glad to call her a friend. Not wishing to overset her further, he allowed her to return their conversation to descriptions of those insipid society functions.