Page 105 of What a Scot Wants
“It seems she took the last stay at Haven to heart,” Emma replied. “She paid us a visit a few weeks ago. She found work in a hothouse in Leith and says she’s doing well. Mary brought some flowers for the girls and taught them how to bind them prettily, like so.”
The unexpected news lifted Imogen’s spirits. It made her so happy to hear that one of the girls she and Emma had helped, one who she had started to worry would never learn or change her ways, had moved forward with her life. In truth, Mary was one of the lucky ones. She’d not been forced by a relative or an employer or beaten by a husband. She’d simply made bad decisions for herself. But now, it sounded as though Imogen and Emma had finally gotten through to her.
The door opened, and Sorcha swept inside, followed by Lady Kincaid and Ronan’s mother, the duchess. Well…soon to be the Dowager Duchess of Dunrannoch, once the hour was through. The older woman didn’t seem at all unhappy, though. In fact, out of the handful of them in the apartment, it was Lady Dunrannoch who beamed the brightest.
The duchess had had a good old laugh over the rumors of Ronan’s supposed illegitimacy. Apparently, she and Imogen’s mother used to have a game where they sent each other the most outrageous letters, to see who could get the other to visit first. Lady Dunrannoch had won that year, with a panicked Lady Kincaid riding at breakneck speed to Maclaren with a wild-haired, half-asleep, and utterly confused vicar in tow. The two women had collapsed in undignified giggles at the memory.
The current duchess surveyed the group. “Excellent! You’re all ready! The guests have gathered at the abbey, and I don’t see any reason to delay. Oh, this weather!” she exclaimed, looking thoroughly scandalized by the threat of rain. “And onRonan’swedding day. Of all my children, he always has to be the most difficult.”
Aisla raised a brow at Imogen, who bit back a grin. “They say rain is good luck,” Imogen put in with a wink toward her future sister-in-law. Another ripple of happiness took her somewhere closer to giddy. Ronan’s family was so large, so vast, and so far they had been welcoming and warm. She couldn’t wait to meet his other siblings, their families and his friends… In truth, going to Maclaren made her shiver with anticipation more than it made her sad.
Haven would not just survive—it would thrive, just as Imogen and Emma had always dreamed. For Imogen, marriage had always spelled disaster for Haven. Her husband would be given her dowry under the law, and her life’s work would eventually fold and shutter. But not this marriage, and Ronan had seen to it. He’d given Imogen the greatest wedding gift imaginable: her dowry to be dispensed as she deemed necessary.
“I dunnae need it, nor do I want it,” he’d told her the week before when working through the solicitor’s papers. “Haven is yer love and passion, and so it’s mine as well. Do what ye planned to before. I’ll no’ stop ye. Ever.”
His promise that Haven would never lack for anything had come on the heels of an unexpected and more-than-generous contribution from none other than Lady Reid. She had surprised Imogen further with an accompanying note, briefly congratulating her on her upcoming wedding and saying that she hoped they could become acquaintances in time. Imogen had responded in kind, impressed by Grace’s goodwill.
“Rory? Are you ready?” she asked once Hilda had pinned a last dark curl away from her narrow face.
“Aye. I mean,yes, Lady Im. And you look like a right rum-mort, too.”
“Rum-mort?”
Rory grinned. “A queen.”
Imogen’s gown had been completed just days before, and she had fallen in love with it immediately. It was simple, yet elegant, cut of creamy satin and a lighter white lace overlay. Unlike some of her previous fashion choices that ran the gamut from frivolous to practically nonexistent, this dress embodied who she was…at least who she wanted to be. It sported small capped sleeves and a modest bodice strewn with seed pearls that tapered to aVat her waist before falling in graceful, voluminous folds to the floor. A lace train with delicate embroidery hung from her coiffure all the way to the hem of the gown. White elbow-length gloves with pearl buttons and silver slippers completed the ensemble.
“I don’t think anyone has ever paid me a finer compliment,” she replied, holding out her hand. Rory took it, and they left the apartment, leading the other ladies through the grand corridors toward the front of the palace. The Comte had made himself scarce after an initial greeting, and now it almost felt as if the whole of the palace was theirs and theirs alone.
Outside, the early September air was humid and dense, and there was barely a breeze at all as she and Rory and the other women met with a handful of very handsome gentleman. And one gaming hell owner.
“Mr. McClintock, it’s good to see you,” Imogen said as Hilda ran one last hand over her skirts and nodded her approval. She then joined McClintock at his side.
“Lady Imogen, it’s a fine day, is it not?”
She peered at the sky dubiously.
But McClintock waved his hand. “Ye’ve dealt with worse stuff than this. Good on ye, lass. My felicitations.”
The man made a bow and led Hilda toward the ruins. He was absolutely correct: she had dealt with worse stuff than rain and had turned out just fine. She smiled at McClintock’s straightforward words and turned to meet her future brother-in-law.
“Ye look lovely, my lady,” Niall said as he reached for Aisla’s arm. He and Brandt Montgomery, who claimed Sorcha’s hand and reverently kissed the ridge of her knuckles, wore full dress kilts in their clan colors. The other men gathered to receive the ladies and lead them to the abbey wore formal breeches and swallowtail coats.
“Tarbendale has the right of it, Lady Imogen,” Lord Bradburne said as he offered his arm to Lady Dunrannoch. “You are truly stunning.”
“Thank you, Your Grace. I’m so pleased you and Brynn made the journey north for our wedding.”
“She would not have missed this for the world, and she’s been longing for a reason to return to Scotland,” he said with a wink before leading Ronan’s mother toward the abbey. Imogen could already hear the string music playing inside. The ruined abbey with its roofless nave allowed the musicians’ notes to carry.
A rumble of distant thunder joined in and drew a curse to Rory’s young lips.
“Sorry, Lady Im,” she quickly said.
“I can’t argue your point,” Imogen replied as Lord Northridge stepped forward and extended his arm to both Rory and Lady Kincaid.
“Best hurry,” North said before eyeing Rory skeptically. “Though, young lady, I’m not convinced your legs can keep stride with mine.”
Imogen saw the teasing challenge in the earl’s eyes, as well as Rory falling for it. “Horse shite, I could beat ye any day of the week!” North burst into raucous laughter while Lady Kincaid gasped. Rory bit her lip, though she did not look repentant in the least.
