A Borrowed Scot Read online

  The older woman nodded, her surprise replaced by an earnest expression.

  He turned to her, his expression as closed as it had been earlier. “You’re to remain with my housekeeper. It’s the only chance we have of extricating ourselves from this damnable situation. Is that clear?”

  She nodded.

  Without another word, he turned and left. Any questions she might have had were buried beneath embarrassment as she and Mrs. Gardiner stared at each other.

  Neither of them was properly attired for an introduction. She was in her borrowed monk’s robe, and Mrs. Gardiner was dressed for night, her hair tied in dozens of little cloth knots, her pink cotton nightgown adorned with pin-tucking and embroidery wrinkled from bed.

  “Please come in, Miss MacLeod.”

  She nodded and stepped inside the room.

  Mrs. Gardiner’s quarters were furnished simply. Beside the window was a soft and comfortable looking chair accompanied by an ornate needlework covered footstool and a round table on which a lamp sat. Across the room, a double mattress lay plumped atop an iron bedstead. The comforter had been dislodged, indicating that the woman had been asleep when wakened by her employer.

  The housekeeper was not much older than Veronica’s mother would have been, possessed of thick brown hair, soft brown eyes, and arched brows that gave her a perpetual quizzical expression. Short and plump, Mrs. Gardiner exuded a warm kind of peace, as if the emotions swirling around her were a faint and pleasant potpourri.

  They stared at each other for another moment, words evidently being as difficult for the housekeeper as they were for her. What did she say? How could she explain?

  Mrs. Gardiner went to the bed, began fussing with the sheets.

  “I couldn’t take your bed, Mrs. Gardiner,” she said. “If you don’t mind, I’ll sit in the chair.”

  “For the night, miss?”

  For however long she was going to be a prisoner in Montgomery Fairfax’s house. That wasn’t quite right, was it? For as long as she was a prisoner of her own stupidity.

  In the mirror, she’d been happy, almost joyous. In the mirror, she’d been laughing. What had she seen? Had it been a delusion? Had the drugs she’d been given somehow altered her perception of reality?

  She couldn’t remember much of what had happened at the Society, a fact that disturbed her. Yet did she want to remember? She’d been given something to make her acquiescent, but Montgomery Fairfax had done nothing to her, only commanded that she stay with the housekeeper. Like an obedient hound, she was doing exactly what he’d told her to do.

  The problem with rebellion, however, was that it should be based on principle. She had no guiding cause to inspire her to rebel. In fact, her rescuer had seen to it that she had a roof over her head for the night. If she marched out of his house, intent on independence, where did she go?

  No, she was not going to be stupid twice in one night.

  When the morning came, she’d find a way back to her uncle’s house and beg his forgiveness. If that failed, she’d obtain her lockbox. With it, she might have enough money to buy passage back to Scotland.

  There, a plan, albeit an incomplete one.

  She sat in the chair beside the window, thanking Mrs. Gardiner for the warm throw the older woman gave her. Tucking her cold feet beneath her, she closed her eyes and pretended sleep. Or if not that, then oblivion for a few hours. Anything but think of the disaster she’d caused to fall on her own head.

  An hour past dawn the next morning, the downstairs maid announced visitors. Montgomery was already dressed and waiting for them. He descended the stairs to where the Earl of Conley stood bundled up in coat, hat, and gloves, accompanied by his two sons similarly attired and wearing identical expressions—righteous anger.

  He didn’t have a majordomo, but there was no necessity for them to remove their clothing on their own. They wouldn’t be in the house that long.

  He was damned if he was going to welcome the earl. At the moment, he didn’t care if he violated every one of the hundreds of rules of proper British etiquette Edmund Kerr had been trying to teach him.

  You might want to hold your temper, Montgomery. How many times had he heard his brother, Alisdair, say that to him in his youth? Too many times not to also recall the disappointment in his tone.

  The earl looked up at him, evidently understanding that this was not to be a cordial meeting.

  “My niece is here?”

  “Yes,” he said. “In the company of my housekeeper ever since she arrived.”

  “You think that’s enough, sir? You’ve only made the situation worse.”

  “What did you expect me to do? Leave her on your doorstep in the cold?”

  The older man straightened, a banty rooster showing his puffed up chest.

  “Within hours, all of London will know she spent the night under your roof.”

  “In the care of my housekeeper,” he said.

  “I’m not aware of society in America, sir, but in England, our females know how to comport themselves. The fact that my niece has shown lamentable judgment requires that she be punished.”

  “How? By turning her out of your house?”

  “Refusing to do so would indicate I condone her actions.”

  “What about familial loyalty?” he asked.

  “I believe I am demonstrating that, sir, by refusing to allow my niece to taint my children with her scandal.”

  “It isn’t a scandal unless you make it one,” Montgomery said.

  He held his temper in check, leaned against the wall, folded his arms, and regarded the three of them.

  “I doubt all of London knows she’s here. I doubt anyone does. Take her home, punish her if you must, but don’t misjudge the situation. Your niece was in some difficulty. I provided her assistance. That’s all.”

  “She returned home nearly naked. Can you explain that?”

  He couldn’t. Not without confessing Veronica had also been naked in front of dozens of men. He doubted the revelation would better the situation.

  “Nothing happened between us,” he said. “You’ll have to take my word for it.”

  “Tell that to the rest of society, Your Lordship,” the earl said, accentuating the title. A hint, then, that Montgomery had not once addressed him properly.

  Nor did he have any intention of doing so. He was tired of jumping through English hoops.

  “You’ve been in London a few months, have you not?”

  “Two,” he said. “Two months.” Two endlessly long months.

  “Can you honestly say that you believe there won’t be a scandal? Surely you know how quickly gossip travels in London?”

  He nodded reluctantly.

  “Everyone knows who you are, Your Lordship. Or do you discount that, as well?”

  He shrugged.

  “I’ve made inquiries as to the Society of the Mercaii. Are the rumors I’ve heard true?”

  He exchanged a long look with the earl. “Last night was my first visit, and my last.”

  “Which did not answer my question.”

  “I don’t know what you’ve heard,” he said, “but it isn’t a place I’d urge a woman to visit.”

  “Veronica didn’t attempt to hide her identity at all?”

  He reluctantly shook his head.

  “So there’s every chance she was recognized. She’s ruined, regardless,” the earl said, his tone dispassionate.

  He held himself still, waiting for the earl to continue. The other man didn’t say another word, the silence measured by the soft ticking of the mantel clock in the drawing room.

  Montgomery. Caroline’s gentle chiding annoyed him. Had she become the voice of his conscience?

  The stark reality was that the Earl of Conley’s niece was in a damnable situation.

  A ruined girl had no future in Virginia. Her only chance for a normal life was to be sent to a relative in another state, one as far away as possible. A soiled dove rarely returned to her family.

>   But the Earl of Conley wasn’t thinking of sending Veronica away. He was simply going to refuse to acknowledge her. She’d become one of those hopeless women Montgomery had seen often enough on his walks.

  He was not responsible for the Earl of Conley’s niece. He didn’t want to be responsible for the Earl of Conley’s niece. Look how abysmal he’d already been at protecting a woman.

  Do the right thing, Montgomery. Caroline’s soft and feminine voice had no business whispering to him.

  Damn it, he didn’t want to do the right thing. The right thing had never brought him any solace or joy in life. The right thing had separated him from his family, destroyed his future, and brought him to this godforsaken country.

  “Why are you here?” he asked. “To fetch Veronica only to leave her at your doorstep? Or are you simply going to dump her in the middle of London?”

  The Earl of Conley took a few steps forward, his two sons flanking him.

  “I’ve come to forestall any further scandal. All of London knows who you are, Your Lordship. Whether you believe that or not. Whether you also believe it or not, the situation is demanding to be rectified, by whatever means necessary.”

  In Virginia society, the quickest and most expedient way to solve the situation would be for the couple to marry. They’d take their wedding journey to a relative’s home or perhaps visit the Springs. After a few months, they’d return home, and if a child was born, the old biddies would count on their fingers; but they’d do so quietly, without public comment. What they said in the confines of their sewing circles was another matter.

  The problem was, he hadn’t done anything to warrant having to take responsibility for Veronica Macleod. He hadn’t touched her. He hadn’t thought about touching her. In fact, he’d attempted to be the only honorable man among dozens.

  Perhaps he should have remained in the background and let them do what they wanted to her, but he would have hated himself for his inactivity. He would have been as responsible for her degradation as those who caused it.

  Doing nothing would have been the response of a coward, both last night and, regrettably, now.

  Doom settled over him, the same cloud of doom he’d felt all night long.

  “I see no other alternative, sir,” the Earl of Conley said, as if hearing his thoughts.

  Neither did he, damn it.

  “I’m not prepared to marry,” he said.

  The Earl of Conley’s lips turned upward in a half smile. “Nor am I prepared to have scandal touch my family’s name, sir. We’ll let it be known that it’s a love match. Society is accepting of impulsiveness.”

  “Just not reason.”

  The other man inclined his head slightly, an imperious gesture that annoyed him further.

  “You have a choice, of course, Your Lordship.”

  To marry Veronica MacLeod or leave her to her own fate. In that moment, he honestly wished he could. She’d been foolish and improvident, yet she didn’t deserve the punishment that her uncle—and society—would mete out to her.

  The Earl of Conley nodded, evidently satisfied.

  “Veronica will come home with me now. In two days, the wedding will take place. That will give you enough time to arrange for a special license.

  “Even if I’m an American?”

  “You’ll find that money stifles a great many objections, sir. Even in the case of Americans.”

  He stared at the Earl of Conley for several ticking moments.

  The hours before dawn had found him awake, attempting to reason a way out of this predicament. He hadn’t come up with a solution. Nor could he standing there.

  “I’ll marry her,” he said. “Damn it, I’ll marry her.”

  Mrs. Gardiner woke her from a surprisingly restful sleep. The sleep of the just, the unrepentant, the innocent, which hardly applied in her situation but for which Veronica was grateful.

  “Pardon me, miss, but His Lordship wishes you to meet him downstairs.”

  She glanced down at the hated brown robe.

  “I’ll see if one of the maids has a dress you can borrow,” Mrs. Gardiner said, correctly interpreting her look.

  She shook her head. “Never mind,” she said. Montgomery Fairfax had already seen her attire—and more.

  “You have no shoes on, miss.”

  She glanced down at her feet as if just then discovering them bare.

  “I’ve lost them,” she said, then smiled at the housekeeper to indicate that it was no great loss. Compared to the loss of her home, security, and whatever future she might have had as a poor relation in her uncle’s home, what was a pair of shoes?

  She slipped behind the screen, performed her morning ablutions, and, once finished, left the room and descended the steps. Halting at the landing, she stared down at Uncle Bertrand, and behind him, Adam and Algernon.

  Uncle Bertrand glanced up at her. She would not make the mistake of speaking first. She might not be as learned as her cousins in the ways of London, but she was astute when it came to people.

  Uncle Bertrand liked to be in charge.

  He gave her a disgusted glance.

  In all honesty, she could not blame him for being annoyed at her appearance. She’d not brushed her hair, and she was as improperly attired as she’d been the night before.

  “Is Mr. Fairfax not here?” she asked, descending the rest of the steps.

  “He’s the 11th Lord Fairfax of Doncaster, and more properly referred to as His Lordship. And he’s given us the privacy necessary for this meeting.”

  Before she could speak, he waved his hand toward the door.

  “You’re coming home,” he said.

  Had he forgiven her?

  What had Montgomery Fairfax said to him to bring about this great change?

  She clasped her hands in front of her, not about to annoy her uncle with too many questions.

  “Thank you for forgiving me, Uncle,” she said. The gratitude she felt was tempered by the knowledge that she would, no doubt, have to pay for her uncle’s largesse in the future.

  “I haven’t forgiven you,” he said flatly. “You’ll remain with us until His Lordship acquires a special license. You’re to be married, Veronica.”

  Stunned, she could only stare at her uncle.

  When she made no comment, he continued. “His Lordship understands that, while the situation was in no way of his doing, any other action would be unthinkable.”

  “Married?” She cleared her throat. “I don’t know the man, Uncle.”

  “You should have thought of that before appearing with him naked.”

  How odd she couldn’t think at the moment.

  “You should count yourself fortunate, indeed. His Lordship is quite a wealthy man. At least you will be well provided for, unlike your mother.”

  “My father was a well-respected scholar,” she said. “A teacher.”

  “Who had not held a post since before you were born. He dabbled in poetry, Veronica,” he said, the depth of his loathing evident in the disdain dripping from each word.

  Her father’s poetry was beautiful, lyrical, and moving. None of it had survived, however. Yet if she could have shown her uncle, she was sure that he would have appreciated her father’s great talent.

  “Your mother’s inheritance provided a roof over your head.”

  To that, she had no answer.

  He turned and nodded to his sons. Neither Algernon nor Adam had looked directly at her. They only stepped aside so she could precede them, following Uncle Bertrand out the door.

  Veronica managed to keep silent all the way back to Uncle Bertrand’s home, a feat easily managed since no one in the carriage seemed inclined to talk, least of all to her.

  Instead of being a poor relation, she was to be married. Instead of living forever in Uncle Bertrand’s house, she was to have a husband.

  Not only was she free of Amanda, Uncle Bertrand, Aunt Lilly, and her four other cousins, but she was to have an establishment, a family, of her own.<
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  She wanted to dance. Even then, her feet wanted to tap on the carriage floor. If she’d begun to sing at the top of her voice, Algernon and Adam would have nudged each other and commented about poor daft Veronica, who was making a spectacle of herself. Had the girl no sense at all? Uncle Bertrand would have frowned at her again—or still—since he hadn’t stopped frowning.

  A husband. She was to have a husband. Not simply any husband, but an American: Montgomery Fairfax.

  He was a stranger.

  Perhaps she should be more sober, look at the situation with a more realistic view. While it was true he was a handsome man, appearance wasn’t as important as other qualities in a husband.

  He was kind and evidently possessed of compassion, or he wouldn’t have rescued her from the Society.

  He hadn’t been the least bit happy about it, however. His gaze hadn’t revealed any warmth when he’d looked at her. Her Gift had discerned the degree of his pain. Did he mourn for someone? The pain she’d felt in Montgomery had been strong and deep. Did he grieve for a lost love?

  Had her uncle pressured him into marrying her? Of course her uncle had used some sort of pressure to induce His Lordship to marry her. He hadn’t developed a tendre for her in the few hours they’d been together. Alone, together in a carriage, with nothing more than a thin robe between her and nakedness.

  He’d seen her naked.

  Heat traveled over her skin.

  So much for lust.

  Wasn’t he supposed to be overwhelmed by the power of his feelings for her? He’d seen a great deal more than her shapely ankles. Yet all he’d done was place her in his housekeeper’s company.

  What would she have done if he’d made an advance? Of course she would have dissuaded him quite precisely. She would have told him, in no uncertain terms, that she was not that type of young woman, her actions to the contrary.

  Yet he hadn’t done anything. He’d acted the perfect gentleman. She was the one who’d bent every rule of proper behavior.

  To be a good wife, she’d have to learn as much about her husband as possible. If for no other reason than to express her gratitude to him for rescuing her twice. Once, from a scandal of her own making, and secondly, from her abysmal future. She hadn’t the slightest idea how to be a wife, but she had some experience in watching a loving couple. Her parents had been devoted to one another.