Page 24 of Sinful Scottish Laird
Little wonder why they were fawning. She was dressed in a gown the likes of which Cailean’s mother often wore when she returned from visiting England: polished silk, highly embroidered. Her hair was artfully adorned and her face was not powdered as so many men and women in France were fond of doing. Personally, Cailean didn’t care for all the powdering, and he never wore wigs as Englishmen did—he had quite enough of his own hair, thank you, which was presently tied into a queue.
A hint of a smile played across her lips as Somerled tried to impress her with God only knew what. Cailean guessed that Lady Chatwick was quite accustomed to men babbling like simpletons when they first met her.
Aye, she was bonny; he’d not deny it. Bonny enough that some unoiled, unused part of him had wanted to come to dine. It helped that he’d been browbeaten by his oldest sister and his mother into escorting Cat. The lass had been beside herself with elation when Cailean had at last agreed to see her to this soiree. She had thrown her arms around his neck, whispered a fevered “Thank you,”then grabbed the hand of her cousin Imogen and tugged her along as she began to complain about the choice of gowns she had to wear to such an important event.
Cailean had groused about it, naturally, but privately he was not unhappy he had an excuse to come and witness how the barmy Englishwoman would conduct herself with the fortune seekers in attendance tonight.
Mr. Kimberly, her uncle, was conducting a tour, as if none of his guests had ever seen the inside of a hunting lodge. Cailean hung back, idly listening, his gaze wandering often to their glowing hostess.
How different she appeared tonight. Regal. Wealthy.Boidheach—beautiful. Quite different from the last two times he’d seen her. Gone were the bedclothes, the cheeks pink with sleep and the hair tousled about her shoulders. Gone was the soiled gown and leather apron, the bit of vine stuck in her braid, the smudge of dirt on her cheek. She wore a gown that shimmered when she moved and an embroidered stomacher so tight that her breasts all but spilled from her bodice. He was clearly not the only man to have noticed—all the bachelors looked as if they were teetering on the verge of enchantment.
That was what she wanted, he supposed.
They meandered through the hallways, taking in this or that. Mr. Kimberly was apparently the sort to keenly study the history of mundane things—he was determined that no part of the lodge go unmentioned. Yes, they’d done a remarkable amount of work in the last weeks, and, yes, the rustic nature of the lodge held a certain charm. Clearly, a good amount of money had been put into the work. But it was a bloody lodge all the same.
With the tour completed, they were once again in the great room. Cailean fought a yawn. Thus far, the evening reminded him of many interminable evenings he’d spent at Norwood Park. He might have at least looked out at the stunning view of Lochcarron, but on this dreary, wet evening, he could scarcely make out the loch at all.
He idly surveyed those gathered. Men were pathetically simple creatures—they were all of them slaves to feminine allure, stumbling through life like a herd of cattle while images of naked ladies and the burning hope of actually seeing one danced about their heads.
In her circle of admirers, Lady Chatwick suddenly laughed, the sound of it light and airy, and the gentlemen shifted closer to her. Ah yes, a mere smile, coyly given, could compel them all to daring acts of chivalry.
He looked away from that group and happened to catch sight of Catriona. She and Finella Murray had their heads together as if they conspired against nations instead of unsuspecting gentlemen.
Cailean glanced at his pocket watch and wondered how long before supper would be served. Someone moved beside him, and he turned his head, saw a woman he knew to be part of Lady Chatwick’s household. He nodded politely, and she squinted her brown eyes at him.
“I know you,” she said. She did not sound pleased; she sounded a wee bit accusatory.
“Pardon—I am Mackenzie of Arrandale,” he said. “And you are...?”
“I beg your pardon. I am Miss Belinda Hainsworth,” she said, and offered her gloved hand to him. “I am cousin to Lady Chatwick.”
Cailean took her hand as she sank into a curtsy so stiff that he wondered if she was perhaps not in the habit of it.
“The weather is wretched, is it not?” she asked as he pulled her up. She folded her arms over her middle as if warding off a chill. “I fear it is too damp for Lord Chatwick.” She leaned closer to Cailean and whispered loudly, “A nun once told me she had to leave Scotland, for all the dampness had given her a permanent ague!”
Cailean’s brows rose with surprise.
She nodded with great verve, as if she’d just imparted some vital news to him. “Fortunately, I rather suspect we shall not be here long.” She sighed, leaned back against the wall.
“And why is that, then? Your lady has gone to the trouble of repairing Auchenard.” And restoring a garden to its “former glory” for all the garden parties she threatened to have.
“Well,” she said, shrugging lightly, “her ladyship will marry again by year’s end.”
Something in Cailean hitched. He glanced down. “I didna know she was affianced.”
“Well...not officially, mind you,” Miss Hainsworth said and then smiled pertly. “But she knows who she will marry.”
Cailean swallowed down a disturbing bit of disappointment.Already?“Is he here, tonight, then?”
“Here!” Miss Hainsworth laughed. “I should think not!”
“A Scotsman?” he asked.
“No, of course not,” she said, as if that was a ridiculous question, and a wee bit of light shone on an old, deep wound in Cailean.
“I’m really not to say, but I suppose there is no harm in telling you. After all, you’re not acquainted with the gentleman.” She straightened her shoulders and said proudly, “My cousin will marry Captain Robert Spivey of the Royal Navy. When his commission ends, that is. We do not as yet know when that shall be.”
It seemed to Cailean as if everything around them slowed, the sound receding as he reeled at the mention of that name. It was impossible.Impossible.
