“Thank you, Mr. Wright, but I see no reason to dismiss Mr. Cooper’s opinion whereas yours clearly leaves a great deal to be desired. Not that I’m surprised, mind you. The Scots have always been more lenient than we Brits with regard to propriety.” Lord Elkins scoffed. “A country that facilitates marriage over an anvil at no more than a moment’s notice is not to be trusted.”
Blayne studied the viscount’s neck and wondered how long it might take to wring it.
“My apologies,” he said, infusing each word with the thickest brogue he could manage. “I wasnae aware a man could be judged by the country in which he was born, though I do thank ye, Lord Elkins, for bringing the notion to my attention.”
“What’s he saying?” Mr. Cooper whispered to Miss Russell. “I don’t understand the half of it.”
Blayne ignored him in favor of raising his glass. “To Lord and Lady Elkins, whose hospitality this evening has been incomparable.”
The viscount narrowed his gaze on Blayne, but said nothing else. Instead, he silently drank while everyone else did the same.
“Come, Charlotte,” Lady Elkins said once dessert was over, “let us remove ourselves to the parlor so the gentlemen can have their brandy in peace.”
Blayne dearly wished he could go with them. Suffering through another half hour or more in Lord Elkins’s company did not appeal in the least. But, protocol was protocol and on the heels of his latest argument with the viscount, he probably ought to try and make a better impression.
Catching Miss Russell’s eye as she left the table, he gave her a reassuring smile. She’d employed him to save her, not to make matters worse. It was time he swallowed his pride and got down to business.
6
Charlotte met Mr. MacNeil the following day in much the same way she had when he’d escorted her to Carlisle & Co. This time, however, they were headed for the bank so she could deposit the latest royalty payment she’d gotten from Avery.
“I’m sorry about last night,” Mr. MacNeil said as soon as he sat down across from her in the hackney. “I have a tendency to say what I think instead of what others might need to hear.”
“And yet, by some miracle, Papa had only good things to say about you this morning.”
“Perhaps on account of me telling him I voiced my support for yer choice in literature not because I approve, but because women like to believe they are given the freedom to do as they please.”
Charlotte sat up straighter. “You did not.”
His eyes gleamed with amusement. “I explained to him that in my experience, independent minded females must be allowed to believe they have a say and are getting their way. Naturally, in the end, a wise man will know how to steer them in the right direction.”
“You presented it like a tactical campaign.”
“Lord Elkins is a former field marshal, is he not?”
“Good lord.” His manipulative skill was most impressive. Until a thought struck. She frowned back at him. “Was any of it true?”
“Of course not,” he told her gently. “I merely sought to gain his approval.”
“In that case, I do believe you met with success.”
A smile teased the edge of Mr. MacNeil’s mouth until Charlotte’s stomach began to tie itself into knots. He held her gaze. “Did he follow up on his threat and confiscate yer books?”
Charlotte did her best to tamp down the rage she’d experienced after the guests had taken their leave. It wasn’t easy. “He tossed them into the fire.”
Her throat worked with the effort it took to hold back her tears. It wasn’t so much the harsh words her father had spoken that pained her, or even his act of destroying something she valued, but rather his rejection of her as a person. She’d labored for months over those books, poured every piece of her heart and soul into them. If he ever discovered she’d not only read them but that she had penned them, he’d probably have her thrown out of the house.
As for Mr. Cooper, his opinion of her work only underscored her need to avoid marriage. He’d never approve of her writing such nonsense, as he’d put it.
“I’m sorry,” Mr. MacNeil said. His gaze was truly conciliatory. “If ye like, ye can borrow my copy. Or we can stop by a bookshop so ye can purchase another.”
Warmed by his kindness and understanding, Charlotte gave him a smile. “Thank you. I appreciate the offer and the suggestion, but the thing is, Mr. MacNeil, I only gave Papa one of each book. There are duplicates under my bed.”
His grin was instantaneous. “Ye scheming minx.”
She savored the light camaraderie she felt in his company. So when they were done with her errand and he suggested they stop for a walk in the park, she agreed.
Anything to prolong their time together and delay her return home.
Not wise.
She didn’t care.
“Do ye ever wonder why we were put on this earth or what our purpose might be?” Mr. MacNeil asked while they walked with Daisy following at a respectable distance.
“Sometimes. More so when I was younger, I think.”
“And did ye ever figure it out?”
She laughed in response to his teasing tone. “I believe I decided it had to be for the sake of the puppeteers.”
He gave her a curious look. “The puppeteers?”
“Yes. All those people who want to dictate the lives of others.”
“Like yer parents?”
“For example,” she agreed with a small shrug. “Of course they never planned on resistance – on some of the puppets having wills of their own.”
“Hmm… I’ve recently been reading Descartes’ Discourse on the Method.”
“Ah, je pense, donc je suis. I think therefore I am.”
“Ye’re familiar with it?”
“Not especially. Just with that one saying. My sister, Edwina, dabbles in philosophy. At one point this particular idea was all she cared to discuss.”
“It is an interesting observation. If one can call it that.”
“And hard to dispute, although I must confess some surprise at hearing you mention it. Discourse on the Method has very little in common with The Earl’s Secret Escapades, which you’ve already claimed to be your favorite book.” She gave him a playful nudge with her elbow.
“Am I not permitted to have a broad interest?” When she failed to answer quickly enough he said, “One enriches my mind, the other offers escape. They’re as different as…pork roast and ice cream. One doesnae have to exclude the other. They’re just differently suited.”
“Hmm. An interesting point.”
In fact, everything about Mr. MacNeil was interesting. He fascinated her and left her wondering long after they’d parted ways. Each time she saw him during the course of the next eleven days, he’d say something surprising – something that didn’t fit with the sort of man who just ran a St. Giles tavern. Even with his history as Carlton Guthrie’s lieutenant taken into account, something didn’t add up. He was too skilled at sliding into the role she’d asked him to play. To the point where she was starting to forget he wasn’t who he pretended to be.