Page 67 of The Last Debutante
Her green eyes searched his face for a moment, then she abruptly sank down onto her knees beside him. She covered his hand with hers and looked beseechingly at him. “I was a fool to believe you would forgive me, aye? But will you no’ at least think on what I’ve said? Will you no’ at least consider it?”
How could he deny her? He touched her face, recalling the moments he had spent in her company imagining a long and happy future with her. Imagining their children, their robust estates. He waited for the feeling to come to him again.
“I’ve missed you, Jamie. Ineedyou.”
The feeling still didn’t come.
He wondered why, as he looked at her face, her smile. Her cool smile.She is winter.Cool and close and dark. “Aye, of course I will consider it, Isabella.” He could see her disappointment, but she was too dignified to cry.
“It’s all I might ask,” she said, and pushed herself up. “I shall leave you now. Young John will show us to our rooms, will he not?” she asked, already moving to the door.
“Aye, he will.”
She paused at the door and looked over her shoulder. She was smiling, but it was not a happy smile. “You should have a bath drawn,mo ghraidh,” she said as she walked out the door. “You smell of her.”
Twenty-one
DARIA DESPERATELY NEEDEDsomeone to talk to, someone who would understand and counsel her on the wild emotions she was experiencing—the pangs of regret, the yearning for more, the need to name this thing that filled her heart. Her euphoria had completely dissipated, and in its place was confusion, uncertainty. She despised that feeling. Daria was generally confident and intuitive, but tonight, she hardly knew herself. Much less Jamie Campbell.
She dressed carefully for supper, unsure of who might attend, certain it would be a storm of people, of personalities, of confusion. She wore her best gown, cream and gold silk and chiffon. She did her best with her hair, wishing that she could do something more than a simple knot at her nape. She donned a long strand of pearls and earrings she had been given on the occasion of her eighteenth birthday—which seemed a lifetime ago now. Another world entirely. A less exciting, duller, colorless world. She pushed her feet into slippers encrusted with seed pearls, then viewed herself in the mirror.
She tried to imagine herself through Jamie’s eyes. She tried to imagine how she looked beside the beautiful Isabella Brodie, with her auburn curls and striking green eyes. It was a bit like standing beside Charity, whose beauty illuminated an entire room. Sometimes Daria felt small and inconsequential beside Charity; she couldn’t imagine how small she might feel next to Isabella.
Which was just as well, really. As soon as her parents or Charity came for her, she was bound for England, as she ought to be. And Jamie... Jamie would marry and bear many heirs, just as Bethia had said.
“Well then,” she muttered to her reflection, “best get on with it. Sooner begun, sooner over.” If there was one thing Daria still knew about herself, it was that she could walk into any room and make her way in it. But this would be the greatest test of all. For no Campbell, no English lord or lady, intimidated her quite like Isabella Brodie.
DARIA HEARD THEvoices coming from the great hall before she reached it. It sounded as if the entire population of Dundavie were within, and she slowed in trepidation. She heard only Gaelic being spoken, which reminded her that she was an outsider here. But it also propelled her forward. She needed to see the man who had fueled such deeply stirring emotions in her.
Be brave. Be courageous,her heart whispered.
Daria walked into the great hall and saw at least two dozen people within. No one noticed her. She saw many familiar faces: Robbie and Aileen. Geordie, seated with his slate in his lap. Uncle Hamish and Duff, who was dressed in a kilt and a dark wool coat. Jamie, standing a few inches taller than most, his dark hair brushed back, speaking to someone Daria couldn’t see.
And, of course, Isabella.
Isabella spotted Daria at almost the same moment. The woman’s gaze flicked over her, then Isabella turned her back and resumed her conversation with a gentleman.
Daria had been in too many ballrooms not to know when she’d been cut, no matter how subtly. And that had not been particularly subtle.
As there was no one to announce her, Daria debated how to enter the room. Then Jamie turned his head and saw her. When his gaze met hers, Daria’s foolish heart fluttered like a little hummingbird. Was she mad, or did something spark between them? Hadhefelt it?
He walked toward her, his gaze on her. He was dressed formally in a black coat and white waistcoat, as stately as any English lord she’d ever seen. He was... magnetic. Heartachingly handsome. And Daria was aware of a ridiculously big smile on her face as he neared her.
He smiled, too, as he reached her. “Miss Babcock. Welcome.”
Daria curtsied from unthinking habit. For some reason it made Jamie’s smile broaden. He held out his hand. “Up, lass, before I begin to believe that, at long last, I’ve pushed you around the bend.”
Daria put her hand into his, and Jamie squeezed it lightly as he lifted her up. His gaze slipped over her, lingering on the strand of pearls over her bosom. “How lovely you are.”
Daria’s heart rose to her throat.
He cocked his head to one side. “We’ve a few guests this evening, aye?”
She nodded. She must have looked frightened, for he leaned in and murmured,“Be brave.”
Daria couldn’t help but smile. “I suppose that is your way of warning me.”
“Perhaps a wee bit.”
