“Away to Glasgow. I’ve got a special order to deliver, and Ian needs some help. With the unrest in England and the Lowlands, he can’t find an overseer for the mill. The workers want higher wages, the merchants want more say in Parliament, and the rich noblemen want to wear blindfolds and pretend nothing is wrong. A storm is brewing, if ye ask me.”
“Poor Ian. And he canna return until someone replaces him.”
“Ye ken he’s been away for over two months, and his Lissie is missing him.”
“The MacNaughtons can’t add a new bairn to the family lineage if the couple are miles apart.” Brodie measured out a dram of the amber liquid, inviting Lachlan to do the same. “To the next generation of MacNaughtons!”
“To the firstborn of Ian and Lissie,” agreed Lachlan. An idea began forming in the back of his brain. Perhaps…
“Och, ye’ve got that look in yer eye like a good bargain is about to come yer way.” Brodie leaned forward, his elbows on the rough wood of the table, boots scuffing the plank floor. “Or does it have to do with the female persuasion?”
“No. Grandda sent me to Glasgow to cool my temper. That fousome Craigg tried to cheat Rory MacDunn. Wanted his prize ewe when the poor mon came up short one lambie.” Lachlan’s jaw ticked, remembering the confrontation. “Brodie, we have to find a way to make this right.”
“Craigg? Perhaps he could have an accident while out hunting.” The glint in Brodie’s eyes told Lachlan it was said in jest. But it was tempting.
“I’ll be the worst chief the clan has ever kent. Ye’re the one who should be taking over, no’ me.”
Brodie’s smile faded. “Aye, Brother, I ken ye dinna want to do it. Ye’ll settle disputes with a fist when the argument turns petty, which would work for some but no’ all. We’ll have to put our heads together and come up with a plan. See if Ian has any ideas.”
“I ken a way I could put you with Grandda. Take my place, so to speak, for a short time.”
Brodie’s bright blue eyes narrowed, but his grin returned. “I’m listening.”
“Suppose I shared the responsibility of the mill with Ian until an overseer was found? He could spend a month at the castle while I was in Glasgow. And then we’d switch places.” A weight lifted from Lachlan’s chest as he said the words. A reprieve of sorts, he told himself. “We could convince Grandda to let ye take my place while I’m gone, and then he’ll see how much better ye are with people than I am.”
“God’s bones, mon, ye make yerself sound like a social pariah or one of those mad hermits. Ye arena that bad, at least no’ with the ladies.” Grinning, Brodie leaned back to allow the maid to set down plates of fresh bread, mashed potatoes, and turnips. “However, ye may have come up with a temporary solution. I dinna think Ian will be averse to coming home for a spell. Ye could weed out any applicants, and Ian could speak with them when he returned.”
Lachlan gave the lass a wink as she brought fresh mugs of ale. “Do me a favor and mention it to Grandda when ye get back. I’ll talk to Ian.”
“Sure, and send me to do yer dirty work, will ye?” Brodie shook his head. “He’ll see through the ploy, but I’ll tell him just the same. If we really want anything to change, we need to make our plea to the women. Our grandmother is the only one I ken that might alter his opinion once set.”
“Aye, she’s always had a way with him. Ye should have seen the two of them, flirting yesterday. Time hasn’t changed how the two of them feel for each other.”
Brodie sopped up some gravy with his bread, stabbed a fork into the meat, and waved it at Lachlan. “We all need to find a woman like that. One to keep us happy and robust in our later years.”
“I’d settle for happy and robust in my present years.”
But it would take more than a woman to satisfy fate and his future. In the meantime, there was still half a bottle of whisky to be drank and a willing female to be satisfied.
Chapter Two
A Deceiving Demeanor
Late March 1819
London, England
Fenella licked her lips and jerked one shoulder. “Is that better?”
“Oh, Lord Almighty,” groaned the lady’s maid. “That’s more of a tick than a temptation. Stop thinking of each step and make it one smooth motion. Like this.”
Rose’s tongue slid along the seam of her lips as she rolled one shoulder in a come-hither motion and took one step toward her mistress. “I’m terribly thirsty. Would you be so kind as to get me a lemonade?” she asked huskily in the feigned intonations of a noblewoman, lashes fluttering.
“I may kiss you myself if you come a step closer.”
Rose looked at Fenella and winked. They both burst into loud guffaws. Imitating their elders had instigated their friendship as children. The maid’s prowess at mimicking others had given them hours of entertainment. She could be a French maid one day and a countess the next.
“What’s going on in there?” asked Lady Franklin from the hall, poking her head into the room.
“Nothing, Mother. Just being silly girls,” Fenella answered.
“That will be the day when you take your nose out of the books,” grumbled her mother as she continued past. “You should be choosing a dress and jewelry and deciding how to wear your hair tonight.”
“This is useless. I’m quite happy helping Papa with the ledgers and the estate.” Fenella sighed and fell back onto the bed, arms spread above her head, long legs dangling against the counterpane as her feet brushed the floor. “He has spoiled my chances to be a happy docile wife, raising me as if I were his male heir. No man would give me the same freedom or deference. Evie would be happy to snare a viscount or an earl. Why must I be delegated to find the titled husband?”
Rose ignored the comment, pulled out the jonquil muslin, and held it against her own chest. “What would you like for tonight? This, or the Pomona with the sheer overlay?”
Fenella studied her pretty maid. The yellow was stunning against Rose’s dark hair, dark eyes, and slightly golden skin. “I think it’s time to pass that on to you. I look horrid in that color, no matter what Papa says, and it suits you so much better.”
“You are too generous, Miss Fenella. Though I agree, the jonquil does not do justice to your creamy complexion.” Rose grinned and held the apple-green dress under her mistress’ chin. “This green will contrast the pale gold of your hair and reflect in your gray eyes. We’ll add the crystal half-tiara with the matching earrings to add a sparkle.”
“I’m pretty, I suppose, but you always manage to make me sound almost beautiful.”
“Because you are.” Rose shook her head. “I don’t know how we can both be looking in the same mirror.”
“Then why does Mother insist I bend my knees and slouch my shoulders to appear shorter?”
“That has nothing to do with your face. Besides, a taller man would appreciate your height.”
“And my intellect?”
“I’ll admit that does pose a problem for most men of the ton.”
As they prepared for the ball at Almack’s, Fenella thought of the night ahead. Hours of tedious conversation and the universal pretense that everyone was interested in the weather, the horse races, or who had been with whom at Hyde Park that afternoon. Watery lemonade, stale cucumber sandwiches, and too much dancing. She hated to dance. Her tall frame was not conducive to being twirled around like a rag doll or led gracefully between sets of couples. She always felt awkward, and preferred sitting behind her father’s desk or climbing into a saddle. Yet, her sister Evelina could not wait for the first sounds of the orchestra to strike. Evie was light on her feet, with a petite frame, waves of caramel hair, and doe-like brown eyes.