Page 52 of The Last Debutante
A coachman opened the carriage door and lowered the step, and Daria heard quite a lot of nattering. She knew instantly who it was and watched as Mrs. Gant emerged first from the carriage, followed closely by Mrs. Bretton. “Oh no,” she murmured, earning a look from Jamie.
“Might we be introduced to your fair companion, Laird?” the fat man asked, eyeing Daria with delight, as one might eye a piece of cake.
Jamie reluctantly said, “Miss Daria Babcock, may I present Lord Murchison and his daughter, Lady Ann Murchison.”
“How do you do?” Daria automatically slid into a curtsy. She racked her brain for any knowledge of them, but concluded she had never heard of the lord or his daughter.
“Look here, Mrs. Gant, it’s our little companion!” Mrs. Bretton trilled as the two women bustled forward. “Miss Haddock!”
“Babcock,” Daria softly reminded her, extending her hand.
“Yes, yes, of course,Babcock.You must forgive me; I have a terrible memory for names. My dear, what are you doinghere? Does your grandmother live here, in thiscastle? I understood from Mr. Brodie that her abode was quite plain.”
“No, she doesn’t live here,” Daria said, and panicked as she glanced at Jamie. What was she to say? An opportunity to escape had presented itself on a silver platter, and yet she felt an absurd moment of hesitation.
“She can tell us all about her visit and her grandmother over tea,” Lord Murchison said, and smiled broadly at Jamie. “The laird will want to impress our guests with that fine Scottish hospitality he’s so generously shown me. And besides, I have a small proposition for you, Laird.”
“Have you,” Jamie drawled, his eyes narrowing.
Lord Murchison laughed. “There’s no call to look so stern,” he said, reaching up to clap Jamie’s shoulder. “A conversation between men, that’s all. Ann, my dear, you must engage Miss Babcock and learn all about her visit to Scotland.”
“I’ll do no such thing,” Lady Ann said, and followed her father as he began to walk toward the keep as if he’d been invited in.
Daria did not like Lord Murchison. She’d known a handful of men like him, overreaching lords full of their own self-importance. Nevertheless, he was her way out of Dundavie, and she had to decide what she must do.
“Doesn’t this look imposing?” Mrs. Bretton said, looking up at the keep. “Shall we go in for tea, Miss Haddock?”
“Babcock,my dear,” Mrs. Gant said. “MissBabcock.Haddockis afish,” she explained as the two women walked toward the entrance, leaving Daria behind with the dogs.
Sixteen
IF THERE WASa person on earth whom Jamie could scarcely abide, it was Lord Murchison. He was the worst sort of Englishman, his feelings of superiority quite evident, particularly in the way he attempted to lord over Dundavie as if he had run all the Campbells from the land and taken possession.
That was clearly his plan.
Twenty acres, he said in the privacy of Jamie’s study. For twenty acres, he would pay Jamie what he tried to pretend was a princely sum of fifteen hundred pounds. It was a laughable, insulting amount, but Jamie understood the offer. He guessed that Murchison had heard of Hamish’s blunder and knew the Campbell coffers needed an infusion of cash if they were to survive the coming winter. That, coupled with the breach between the Brodies and the Campbells... it all made Jamie rethink the letter from Malcolm Brodie.
He told Murchison no. He was succinct and to the point, and still, Murchison tried to argue. So did his brazen daughter. “Do you understand what we’re offering?” she asked.
He gripped the arm of his chair to keep from speaking unkindly to the young woman. “I was shot in the leg, no’ the head, lass. I understand you very plainly—you would steal Dundavie from beneath my feet if you could divine a way. Now then, your proposition has been made and rejected. Shall I return you to your guests?” He stood.
“Very well, Campbell,” Murchison said, standing too, tilting his head back to glare up at him. “If you feel you have the luxury of bargaining with the lives of the few clansmen you have left, then who am I to dissuade you? Pay no heed to the predictions of a harsh winter.”
“And now you will predict the weather for me, too, will you?” Jamie opened the door.
Murchison scowled as he went out. So did Lady Ann, her face a younger version of her father’s. Jamie pitied the man who would one day be bound to that one.
He followed them to the small receiving salon across the hall. Daria was perched on the edge of a settee, her back rigidly straight. She looked as if she were enduring torture. The two Englishwomen—Mrs. Gant and Mrs. Bretton, “tourists of your fine country,” one of them had said—were ogling a very old jewel-encrusted leather sporran that had belonged to Jamie’s great-grandfather. Jamie had hung it on the wall to remind him of the days when wearing the Scottish garb had been forbidden by the English. He hung it there to remind all Campbells that the English would never again tell a Campbell what to do.
“There you are!” the smaller of the two old ladies said. “We worried you’d not come back for us.” She laughed a little nervously.
“Pardon, Laird.” Young John was trying to enter the room with a cart bearing the tea service. Jamie moved so that he could push it into the room, the wheels squeaking loudly. Young John stopped the cart in the middle of the room and began to methodically transfer the tea service to a small table in the sitting area as everyone watched.
“It’s quite an impressive castle you have here!” one of the ladies said. “It looks very rustic and...old. It must require an awful lot of upkeep.”
“Aye,” Jamie said, clasping his hands behind him. How might he politely send this group on their bloody way?
“Will the work all fall to you?” she asked brazenly. “Lord Murchison explained that your people are all flocking to Glasgow and Edinburgh or even farther afield in search of work.”
