How to Marry a Highlander (falcon club ) Read online

  “No.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because there no be funds in the bank to be drawn.”

  “There must be. Yer hiring four chambers in this hotel an breakfast, lunch, tea, an dinner every day.”

  “I’ve no paid a penny for those.” He’d called in an old debt from the hotelier, a man for whom he’d done several jobs the likes of which his sisters would never imagine.

  “But, what—”

  “Dinna ask, Sorcha.” He set a hard gaze on her. “I’ve told ye afore: Ye dinna want to ken.”

  She nodded briskly, but her brow was tight. Along with Una she was the best of the lot. While he’d worked for Myles here in town to earn money to send home, for five years she’d kept the estate running with that money. Her competence in managing the land was all that had stood between his people and starvation.

  “I’ve so many ideas, Duncan, but I need capital to pay for them. I’m that frustrated. If I could make a wee improvement here or there, I could do so much.” She was silent a moment. “Ye’ve got to wed an heiress. ’Tis the anly way.”

  He stared out the open door. “I canna.”

  “Stubborn ox. Too guid for a rich tradesman’s daughter?”

  He allowed himself a smile he did not feel. “Aye. Something like that.”

  She let that sit for a moment. Then: “Yer lying to me. Una told me the truth o’ it.”

  Una was too perceptive. She understood why he refused to wed again.

  “Sorcha, ye’ve got to marry.”

  “Duncan—”

  “I’ll no hear otherwise. Chuise a man. Any man that can give ye a bairn. A widower, if ye wish: a man that’s already proved he can father sons. Bring him afore me an I’ll see it done to yer liking.” By ancient right the Eads earldom allowed a woman to inherit and pass the title to her child. No lord of Eads had ever failed to produce heirs, but there was a first for everything.

  Beneath the cap of smooth black hair tied tight at the nape of her neck, Sorcha’s eyes flashed like a brewing storm. “Ye’ll have to tie me up an drag me to the altar.” There was no childish defiance in her face, only cool, clean determination—the other side of the coin from the vibrant, fiery-haired woman who’d stood before him quivering yet insisting he wed her.

  “Yer too much like I was, sister,” he said. “Ye’ll be worse aff for it in the end.”

  She hitched a fist on a hip and cocked her head. “Tell me, brither: Hou would it be possible to be worse aff than ye nou?” She strode up the stairs.

  Duncan drew his watch from his pocket. Thick gold with the crest of clan Eads embossed upon it, it was the last family heirloom remaining. It’d have to go now. He’d seen the quick calculation in the lady’s lily pad eyes; he couldn’t have her spending her pin money on his sisters. That, and if he was going to distract the matchmaker from her program he’d need to look the part of a gentleman. A trip to the pawn broker then to the tailor, and he’d be ready to embark on his own mission to save the virtue of a clever maiden from himself.

  5

  There were lessons to be learned from taking four Highland Scotswomen of modest means and little London experience to the drawing room of one of society’s grandest ladies at the fashionable hour.

  For instance, nine out of ten London ladies and seven out of ten London gentlemen do not apparently understand brogue. Also, three out of five debutantes are atrociously spiteful, and two out of five young gentlemen actually emit drool from their mouths when introduced to a girl of Moira’s beauty. Finally, Scottish ladies do not hold their tongues when their elders chastise them unjustly.

  The visit to Lady Beaufetheringstone’s house was not, however, a thorough wash. Tobias’s championing of the Eads ladies was enough to make a sister cry in gratitude. Lady B was splendid too. Upon their departure she apologized for the horrendous manners of several of her guests (“I will cut them from my guest list!”) and said she wished Lady Una and Lady Moira to attend her ball three days hence. Young Lady Lily may attend too if she could restrain herself from knocking over every potted plant, vase, and footman. Lady Abigail was welcome to enjoy the Beaufetheringstone library to her heart’s content during the ball (“Really, my dear, dancing is the least of what goes on at one of my balls. But you may bury your nose in a book if you prefer.”).

  All in all, it could have gone worse.

  Teresa sank back against the squabs of the carriage Toby had hired for them and closed her eyes.

  “I’m sorry it didna go aff as ye planned,” Una said. “I’m afeart we havena much talent for high society.”

  “Yet.” Teresa sat straight up. “You only require a touch of town bronze, which will come in time.” Time she did not have. Twenty-six days and counting. “Isn’t that true, Toby?”

  He smiled comfortably at Una. “Quite right.”

  Una returned his smile.

  “May we stop at the bookshop on our way home?” Abigail asked.

  Teresa needed a nap then a pot of tea before she started planning again.

  And she was eager to take up her pen and add the knocking-over-the-

  footman incident to her latest little tale about the make-believe town of Harpers Crest Cove. Freddie would love it.

  But Moira’s face was drawn and Lily was tucked miserably into her corner of the carriage, entirely unlike her usual sunny self.

  “Yes. Let’s stop at the bookshop,” Teresa said. “If I remember correctly, there is a shop nearby that sells the tastiest lemon ices imaginable.”

  Lily’s eyes brightened. “I do like ices.”

  “Ye like all confections,” Abigail said. “Ye even liked that book about confections I found for ye last week.”

  Lily smiled, restored to her usual glow. “I should have liked to read it through, but I’d nothing to trade for it.”

  “Ah.” Tobias reached into his pocket. “It just so happens that I have a book here that I’ve been meaning to sell.” He pulled forth a small volume. “We shall trade this for your confectioner’s book, Lady Lily.”

  “Oh, thank ye!” She took the proffered volume cheerily.

  Una caught Teresa’s eye and her brow lifted. Teresa offered a breezy smile, but she’d glimpsed the title. It was her brother’s most cherished book, a history by an ancient Greek historian that he had carried with him to war and back again.

  “Thank ye, sir,” Una said. “Yer kind to our family.”

  “I pray you, don’t thank me, my lady,” he replied. “It’s my pleasure.”

  The bookshop was an elegant little cabinet at the end of a long corridor from an unremarkable door leading off the street, snug, smelling of lemon polish, and ceiling to floor with books. But the wood of the bookshelves sparkled, the chairs arranged here and there were beautifully upholstered, and several very fine albeit tiny oil paintings decorated the miniscule wall space. The shopkeeper greeted them distractedly. Then abruptly he came to attention and slid off his stool behind the desk. He straightened his spectacles and smoothed out his otherwise neat waistcoat.

  “Good day, ladies.” He bowed. “Lady Abigail,” he said in a quieter voice.

  She gave him a little smile and a nod then went to a shelf and pulled down a book.

  “Is this the one ye showed me afore, sir?” she said.

  “Yes.” He hurried to her. “Yes. That’s the one.”

  Una, Moira, and Lily wandered deeper into the shop. Teresa took her brother’s arm to detain him.

  “You went off so swiftly yesterday after our ride in the park that I hadn’t the opportunity to speak with you privately,” she whispered.

  “Ah, yes. Sorry about that.” He seemed distracted.

  “And . . .?”

  “And?”

  “It’s been three days and you haven’t said a word about your conversation with Lord Eads. Did you speak with him?” The earl had not accepted the invitation to walk in the park with his sisters the previous day, and the day before that had been taken up entirely with measuring an
d hemming gowns.

  Teresa was rather desperate to see him again. But she supposed he saw no reason for that unless he owed her payment on their wager.

  Abigail and the shopkeeper stood with their heads bent close, whispering earnestly. He gestured with the book as though to emphasize a point. She laughed. Abigail—serious, bookish, quiet Abigail who had not spoken a single syllable at Lady B’s drawing room— laughed aloud. It sounded like rusty bells tinkling. But the shopkeeper smiled as though he’d won a prize.

  Teresa stared. Then, as the shopkeeper moved half a step closer to Abigail, her belly filled with butterflies.

  “Toby?” she whispered. “Did Lord Eads meet with your approval? I must assume he did or you would not be ferrying his sisters about in a carriage you hired.”

  “I didn’t hire it. Eads did, of course.” Tobias was still facing her but his gaze was fixed deeper into the shop. Teresa didn’t have to follow his attention to know where it rested.

  Her nerves sang. Abigail and the bookseller! And Lily and Tobias? Teresa hadn’t seen any sign of her brother’s especial interest in that twin as yet. But he had given away his most cherished keepsake for her. Could it be love already? It must at least be strong admiration.

  She drew in a steadying breath. She mustn’t get ahead of herself. But now Abigail was looking straight into the shopkeeper’s face and her hand rested beside his on the open page.

  “Tell me, Toby.” Nerves cracked her voice.

  Tobias’s attention came back to her a little dazedly. She resisted turning to see if Lily’s eyes were likewise hazy.

  “I spoke with Yale,” he said. “He admitted that Eads has an unsavory past, but before that there was a tragedy in the family.” He looked grave. “It seems his full sister perished under peculiar circumstances while he was in the East Indies. It drove his father into the grave. Soon after that, when Yale met Eads in the Indies, the earl was in mourning over the death of his wife—a French girl.” Tobias shook his head. “Poor fellow, losing both his sister and wife in so short a time.”

  “I should say so,” she uttered, the butterflies hardening into a lump in her midsection.

  “But Yale did make one thing clear, T. The earl is a man of honor. He said he hadn’t always liked Eads, but he’d trust him with the welfare of a woman any day.”

  Teresa’s heart thudded very fast. “Does that mean that you will allow the wager?”

  Tobias nodded reluctantly. “I’ll allow it.”

  “And you won’t tell Papa or Mama?”

  “I’d be as insane as you to tell them.”

  Abigail was all private smiles and soft blushes on the carriage ride back to the hotel. Lily teased her and Teresa looked for some telltale sign of similar infatuation in the twin’s bright eyes. She found none. For his part, Tobias displayed no more symptoms of love-struck distraction.

  As though he had been watching for their carriage, Lord Eads met them before the hotel. A boy holding a saddled horse waited nearby.

  Lily and Effie told their brother of their activities while still standing on the street like the veriest hoydens, but Teresa couldn’t bring herself to hurry them inside. She liked simply watching him. His whiskers were gone, leaving his jaw smooth and hard. A new coat stretched across his wide shoulders, his buckskins were fine, his boots shone, and his cravat was beautifully starched.

  He looked like a gentleman. But even without his rough Highland patina he made her pulse quicken.

  “Are you coming or going, my lord?” she said as the others finally climbed the stairs to go inside.

  He was staring at the hotel door through which his sisters had disappeared. “What did ye do to Abby?”

  “I don’t mind it that you have just ignored my question. I know you are discourteous to me because you don’t like me. As for Abigail, I did nothing.

  The bookseller did. We stopped at the bookshop, which apparently she has already visited several times. I think they’ve developed a tendre for each other.”

  He turned his beautiful gaze upon her. “I niver said I didna like ye.”

  Her heart stumbled. “Then why do you speak to me as you do? And why didn’t you come to the park with us yesterday or to Lady B’s today?”

  He shook his head. “Yer a meddlesome woman.”

  “You’ve just insulted me again.”

  “I’ve no tact, Miss Finch-Freeworth.”

  “That isn’t true. At least, not when you speak to your sisters. You are gracious and solicitous with them. It’s only with me that you are rude. You are trying to frighten me off.”

  “Mebbe.”

  “Well you cannot. Not yet, at least. Now you owe me on our wager, my lord.”

  His cheek creased. “Aye?”

  “Abigail and the bookseller.” She lifted a forefinger. “That is one. I demand payment.”

  “They’re no betrothed yet.” His eyes twinkled.

  “Not yet.” She couldn’t help smiling. “But clearly they like each other. I thought . . .”

  “Ye thought to collect in advance?”

  She was a little breathless. He stood close and she could not now hear the carriages passing or the shouts of an apple vendor on the corner over the pounding of her heart. “I hoped you might consider it.”

  “What? Here in the street?” he said in a low voice.

  Yes. “In private, if you will.”

  “I will.”

  “You will?”

  “I’m a man o’ my word, miss.” His mouth tilted up at one side.

  “Would you say my name again?” she breathed.

  “Miss Finch-Freeworth.”

  “Teresa, that is.”

  The twinkle in his eyes seemed entirely for her. “That wouldna be proper, would it?”

  “Perhaps not, but I should like it quite a lot.”

  He moved a half step closer. “What have ye got in that bonnie head o’ yers, lass, that makes ye believe ye’ve got leave to make demands as ye do?”

  Dreams. Hopes. The desperate wish for somebody to understand her. “I am a distant relation to the king and imperiousness is in my blood.”

  “I dinna believe ye.”

  “Hm.” She could not hold his gaze any longer. “Lord Eads, Mr. Yale says you can be trusted with a woman’s safety,” she said to her gloved fingers twined together. “But, it is the most curious thing, you see: It turns out that I do not feel in the least bit safe with you.”

  “That surprises ye?”

  “Eighteen months ago I thought I knew . . . something. Even the other day when I went to your flat I thought I did. But the more I see of you the less . . . the less . . .”

  “The less like a game it seems to ye.”

  She looked up. His handsome face was sober.

  “No,” she said. “It was never a game. Only . . . I wish you would speak to me.”

  “I’m speaking to ye nou.”

  “About something that matters. About something real.”

  He did not look at her as though she were queer. He did not scowl or frown or shake his head in confusion like everybody in Harrows Court Crossing always did when she spoke her heart.

  “I did remember ye,” he said quietly. “Hou can a man forget the sweetest smile he’s ever seen?”

  Oh. “Sweetest?”

  His gaze traced her features. “Aye.”

  “Why did you pretend you didn’t recognize me?”

  “I wanted ye to go away. I want ye to go away nou. I’m praying ye’ll go away o’ yer own accord so I willna have to make ye.”

  “I cannot,” she said through the clog in her throat. “I made a promise to your sisters.”

  He paused a moment. “Will ye have a ride aboot the park?” He gestured to the boy with the horse.

  She blinked in surprise. “With you?”

  “Aye.”

  “Now?”

  His cheek dented again. “Aye.”

  “I haven’t got a mount here, and I am not dressed for it.”

&n
bsp; “Tomorrow morning, then?”

  “My lord, are you . . .” It was not possible, not after what he’d said. “Are you courting me?”

  He laughed. “Ye’ve no patience for uncertainty, do ye, lass?”

  “Please don’t call me lass. And no. But . . . are you?”

  “I anly wish to thank ye for the day ye’ve given ma sisters.”

  She sucked in her disappointment. “In that case I had better go inside and see what’s what. The day I gave them wasn’t quite ideal.” Teresa started up the steps. The earl followed.

  She halted two steps above him. “Lady Beaufetheringstone is holding a ball three evenings from tonight. Will you escort your sisters?” She fully expected him to decline this invitation above all. To him there could be no good in returning to the place she had first seen him.

  “Aye, I’ll do it,” he said, took the two steps in one, and looked down at her.

  “Teresa Finch-Freeworth o’ Brennon Manor in Harrows Court Crossing,” he said quietly, as though savoring the syllables upon his tongue. “Ye’ve no idea the sort o’ man I am or the deeds I’ve done.”

  “Then either you will have to tell me and allow me to make my own judgments, or I shall have to judge you according to the deeds you do now.

  Shan’t I?”

  He shook his head but he offered his arm. She laid her hand upon it.

  “There,” she said as briskly as she could. “This isn’t so hard, is it?”

  Duncan wanted to laugh. “Managing female,” he muttered.

  “Barbarian Scot.”

  “Saucy—”

  “I asked you not to call me lass.”

  “Ye asked me to marry ye too, but I havena done that either, have I?”

  “Not yet.”

  An expensive carriage with wheels rimmed in red, shining panels, and a matched quartet drew up on the street behind them. A young fellow disembarked. Without showy display, the diamond lodged in his neck cloth and the cut and tailoring of his garments proclaimed his wealth. He paused to speak with his coachman.

  She drew away from Duncan and went to the porter at the door. “Who is that gentleman?”

  “That’s Mr. Reginald Baker-Frye of the Baker-Fryes of Philadelphia, miss,” the porter confided with a weighty nod.