Page 39 of The Last Debutante
“You all seem to have forgotten that I was only recently engaged to be wed to a Brodie,” Jamie reminded them. “As I recall, you all thought Isabella quite bonny, aye?”
“We’ve no’ forgotten it, Jamie,” Aileen huffed. “But we’ve forgiven it.”
“I would hope so, as our situation is such that she and I might be engaged to be wed again,” he’d said crossly.
Geordie gestured to the pinkish scar across his throat and scribbled,Tuk me hed.
“Your head is still firmly attached to your shoulders, lad. And the loss of your voice lies with you alone.”
Geordie had taken issue with that, slamming his slate onto the table and scribbling so tragically illegibly that even the butler was moved to try to decipher it as he dripped gravy onto the floor at his feet. Alas, he could not, and Geordie did not seem inclined to scrawl again.
“Well?” Jamie demanded of them. “Shall we invite the Ransom to dine?”
No one spoke for a long moment. No one made eye contact. When Robbie cleared his throat as if preparing to speak, all eyes turned to him. “Perhaps...” he said carefully, glancing about him, “she’s no’ as bad as we believe.”
That earned him a murderous look from his wife and a look of surprise from his laird.
“Well, she’s made Dougal Campbell happy, aye?” Robbie continued defensively. “And she’s reached the lad Peader, though the good Lord knows how she’s done it. He’s laughing like he’s never laughed before, a different boy altogether.”
“Nevertheless—” Aileen began.
“She’s even taught the wee ones to sing a right cheery song, and if that won’t warm your bloody cockles I donna know what will!”
That was followed by a lively debate over whether the children should be singing in English at all.
But then Jamie said, “There is one more thing I should like to add to this spirited debate. She plays the pianoforte.”
Now all eyes were riveted on him. Eyes wide with surprise and—dare he think it?—hope.
“Laurna! Where is she, then? I’ve missed the lass,” Hamish said as he examined his sherbet with a critical eye.
“The pianoforte,” Robbie said skeptically.
“Heard it myself,” Jamie avowed. “She doesna play as well as Laurna, but she plays well enough for us.”
Jig,Geordie wrote, his mood brightened by the prospect. He’d always enjoyed a good Highland dance.
“The tune I heard her playing seemed sprightly enough. The only way to know if she can play a jig is to invite her to do so, aye? Well then, what say you? Shall we have a wee bit of music return to Dundavie?”
The answer was a grudgingaye.
Jamie summoned Daria the next morning. She swept into his study in a gown of pale green muslin just behind Young John, marching forward like a woman determined to have a word. Aedus and Anlan trotted behind, Anlan’s nose to the floor as if they were out on a brisk walk. The dogs almost collided with her when she suddenly drew up short to have a look around at the paneled walls, where the portraits of past lairds hung. She seemed a wee bit caught off guard by the history that his study was steeped in, but then quickly remembered herself and said, “I beg your pardon,” dipping a curtsy that he suspected was more out of habit than anything else. “Are these your ancestors?” she asked, peering up at one notorious Campbell, whose tamo’-shanter sat jauntily on his florid head, his belt sliding beneath a wide belly.
“Aye, they are all Campbells of Dundavie.”
“I rather like the look of this one,” she said. “There’s a bit of a twinkle in his eye. He might lead one to believe that not every Campbell laird is dreadful.” She slanted a look at him from the corner of her eye.
“I’m no’ dreadful, Miss Babcock, far from it. If you need convincing, I could demonstrate just how dreadful I could be.”
She clasped her hands at her back. “No, thank you. I will take your word on that score,” she said pertly. “You sent for me? Should I assume the ransom has come? Or there has been word of my grandmother? Or perhaps you were merely looking for your dogs,” she said, and arched a brow.
Bloody useless dogs. “I sent for you because I have considered your request to dine at the Campbell table—”
“Thank heaven!” she said to the rafters, loud enough that both dogs began to wag their tails in anticipation of something great happening. “I willperishif I am forced to dine alone one more night—”
“Pardon, lass, but I’ve no’ as yet extended an invitation.”
She blinked. And smiled sheepishly. “No, you have not. But I doubt you called me here to tell me youwon’textend an invitation.” She cocked her head curiously to one side. “You didn’t, did you?”
