A Question for Harry Read online

  “None taken, my lady.”

  Fiona shared a grin with her sister-in-law who was not technically the only daughter of an American robber baron. She had a sister.

  “Wolves, Granny?” Fiona addressed her grandmother with a low chuckle. “Nay, they are not wolves but sharks. See how they circle me, like a tasty bit of bait in these frigid waters? Every one of them ready to devour me.”

  Fiona smiled flirtatiously at a passing gentleman, even going so far as to hold her fan in front of her face with her left hand to indicate in the age-old language of the fan that she desired his attentions. Though the man nearly tripped over his own feet as he turned to watch her, he still did not approach, proving her point. “My brothers have become the shoals that protect me and keep me safe, and you as well, Granny, as colorful as an anemone that enfolds me. Little do my brothers know that their behavior is counterproductive to their edict that I let myself be courted –and so is yours, Granny. One cannot court where one cannot first meet.”

  Lady Hyde’s lips pursed. “Evelyn,” she said tightly aside once more. “Your influence upon my dear Fiona has made tremendous strides these past several years. She can be everything that is proper and demure, a true lady … when she wishes to be. However with such unseemly outbursts continuing, I fear that her more rebellious nature is not to be contained.”

  Eve smiled serenely and offered ruefully, “I did try to beat it out of her again and again, my lady, but to no avail. At least she no longer indiscreetly hangs out over the balcony at the theater to call greetings to her friends and wave at random gentlemen.”

  Lady Hyde snorted indelicately as Fiona beamed fondly at Eve. There was a reason Eve was one of her favorite sisters-in-law. “Thank goodness for small favors,” the elderly lady said, taking Eve’s hand in hers and patting it lightly. “Indeed, my granddaughter’s more flamboyant displays are now thankfully largely confined to the privacy of her own home. Quite unlike your behavior, dear girl, when you had your first Season here.”

  Eve squeezed the dear old lady’s hand between hers and winked at Fiona. “I blame my American upbringing, of course. Why with your tutelage at a younger age, perhaps it might not have taken me quite so long to become a proper lady.”

  “Perhaps not. Perhaps not,” Lady Hyde patted Eve’s hand again, as if her words were not blatantly tongue-in-cheek. “Though you are now, of course.”

  Eve winced but added smoothly, “As Fiona will surely be one day as well.”

  Lady Hyde only raised a brow but did not verbally concur. Not that Fiona expected her to, of course. She’d long been a trial to her grandmother, especially in the unhindered years between her mother’s death and Richard’s marriage to Abby. Perhaps Lady Hyde might have taken her more firmly in hand when Fiona’s mother died if she hadn’t been mourning the death of her only daughter, her only child, and things might have been different for Fiona now. She might be more ladylike, more subdued, but she was not and was, admittedly, thankful for it. In truth, she was rather glad to have been raised as she was.

  It had made her who she was … exasperation to her grandmother and all.

  Dear old thing …

  “Posture, Fiona!” Lady Hyde prodded Fiona with the point of her fan once again, effectively poking away any tender sentiment that might have hovered in Fiona’s mind.

  She scowled at her grandmother, lips parted for a retort when Eve shifted uncomfortably by her side.

  “Lady Hyde, I am feeling a tad fatigued after all this standing. Would you mind terribly if Fiona helped me to those chairs on the far side of the room?”

  “Not at all, Evelyn,” Lady Hyde allowed grandly. “I have said it before and I shall say it again, it was quite wrong of my grandson to bring you out so soon. Away with you!”

  “She’s said it about a thousand times,” Fiona whispered fiercely as Eve took her by the arm and led her away. “She’s driving me batty and wields that fan like a bloody sword! I’m as bruised as a prizefighter and we’ve not even seen supper as yet!” Noticing that Eve was leading her toward the refreshment table and not the chairs set aside for wallflowers and matrons, Fiona frowned. “Didn’t you need to sit down, Evie?”

  Eve’s musical chuckle mingled softly into the melodic strains of the Strauss waltz being played by the orchestra and she whispered confidentially, “La, Fiona, after three babies in three years, I’m fairly certain I could take a break from dancing to birth a child and return for the next set without delay.”

  It was Fiona’s turn to laugh at Eve’s uncharacteristically bawdy comment. “I knew that must have been a piece of flummery but I didn’t dare to call you out since you were so kindly freeing me from Granny’s arm’s length. I don’t know how I am to endure much more of this.”

  Eve only smiled. “Your grandmother is merely relishing having her only granddaughter presented for the Season. You should take so much pleasure.”

  “How can I? We’ve been here a week already, and I haven’t been able to meet a single gentleman who did not cower away under her hawkish glare or my brothers’ overbearing presence. I haven’t even been asked for a dance.” Eve opened her mouth to respond but Fiona rushed to add a proviso to her statement, “Someone other than one of my brothers. Did they all have to come along? I’m surrounded by them. Why even Jack Merrill is here and he’s not even related!”

  “Oh, pish posh, Fiona,” Eve dismissed with a wave of her hand. “If you’re not enjoying the Season it is because of your own determination not to. If I had been the one to tell you that we were coming for the Season, you would have been overjoyed, and I said as much to Francis. You’re simply upset that your brothers have finally denied you something when they’ve done nothing but spoil you your entire life. But, dearest, in spiting them, you only spite yourself.”

  She had been spoiled, there was no point denying it. But when one’s every wish was granted, over time a certain expectation for more of the same became understandable. That her wishes hadn’t been granted in this instance still befuddled Fiona. Even so, it wasn’t spite that kept her from enjoying herself.

  If she were honest with herself, Fiona knew that it was the fading but still tangible possibility of spotting one particular head amongst the crowd that had kept her on pins and needles, leaving her feeling far too testy to enjoy much at all.

  Ever perceptive, Eve’s eyes narrowed. “You know, I’m beginning to think that’s not it at all. You haven’t been yourself for weeks. What is it that has you so tied in knots?”

  “The fact that Francis brought me here against my wishes isn’t enough?”

  “If it were only that, I could understand your anger,” Eve said. “But this isn’t anger I’m seeing. What is it?”

  Since fear was the last emotion Fiona would ever admit to even at the confessional, she only shrugged. “Bafflement, pure and simple, that I must endure this at all. Lord Ramsay is a lord, not a stable lad nor a shopkeeper.”

  “Nor is he at all what we imagined for you.” Eve managed a serene smile though clearly she did not credit Fiona’s defense. “But there are a hundred gentlemen here in this room who might be. If not, a hundred more still to be met. Perhaps if you worked as hard at enjoying yourself as you do holding this grudge, you might not have a frown on your face that can be dreadfully off-putting to any other gentlemen who might dare to ask for a dance.”

  “Hmph! It isn’t any frown of mine that is discouraging any potential suitors! It is the frowns and glowers of nine … no, ten, oversized Scotsmen that are scaring them off! Thank goodness James had the courtesy to remain in New York!”

  “I’m certain if we had given him greater warning …”

  It wasn’t easy to nurse her temper when Eve was equally determined to soothe it away. Reluctantly giving in to a smile, Fiona took a deep breath, exhaling the last of her ire.

  “Better. Now smile or you shall scare the gentlemen off yourself. Though how they can stay away, I cannot imagine. You look beautiful.” Eve whispered softly and kissed
Fiona’s cheek.

  Fiona fiddled with a length of ribbon hanging from her waist with a surprisingly modest blush. She had wanted to look her best tonight, and thanks for Eve’s insistence the previous spring (while Eve had been between pregnancies) that they spend a glorious month in Paris having their wardrobes made, she felt beautiful.

  Tonight she wore a gown from a newer designer in Paris, House of Paquin. The silk gown of a lavender so pale it was almost white. The bodice and front panel of the simple, A-line skirt were covered in delicate floral and scrolling tambour embroidery of darker purples, white and brown. Along the edge of the low cut bodice was a border of brown velvet ribbon, trimmed with a narrow pleated edge of white lace that cast a soft shadow across the tops of her breasts and ran up to the very edge of her shoulder before soft Chantilly cascaded in layers down her upper arms.

  “I would say you look breathtaking, really.”

  Fiona stilled her to the core.

  Isn’t that how it always went? The moment your defenses were down …

  Chapter Three

  From the diary of Lady Fiona MacKintosh – June 1892

  I just met the most marvelous gentleman! His name is Harrison Brudenall and he is a marquis from London! He has come to Edinburgh to meet with Richard and a group of investors about something or another. And Richard tells me that it has taken him years to learn tolerance for the marquis because the gentleman once courted Abby!

  I cannot countenance it, of course. The marquis is surely not so old to have wooed Abby when she had her Season so long ago. Nor can I understand why Richard would harbor any intolerance for the marquis. He’s so magnificently dashing and handsome with vivid blue eyes that simply dance with laughter.

  He teased and flirted outrageously all through dinner until I was giggling like a schoolgirl. Yes, I know at seventeen that I technically am such a girl but never have I been the object of such practiced flirtation from such a posh London lord as the marquis!

  A hundred eligible men in the room, Eve claimed, but only the one gentleman Fiona was most reluctant to greet dared seek her out. And it could not possibly be another behind her. She knew as much without turning to look that visual confirmation was completely unnecessary. Only all too well did she recognize the deep, delicious baritone that reverberated with a little quiver through her.

  “Lord Aylesbury!” Eve turned with a smile, holding out her hand in warm welcome. “Fiona,” Eve caught Fiona by the elbow as if she sensed Fiona was on the verge of bolting like a startled deer. “You remember Lord Aylesbury, don’t you?”

  Oh, Lord Aylesbury, she longed to drawl with dripping scorn. Why yes, I might remember you. Aren’t you the reason I am still unmarried at the ripe old age of twenty?

  Or perhaps a lovely lie? I’m sorry, I don’t think I recall a Lord Aylesbury.

  Either would have been acceptable.

  Either was better than being tongue-tied.

  “Fiona?”

  As difficult as it had been to summon the willpower to come to London with this moment as a mere possibility, it was even more difficult than she might have imagined, turning and facing him in reality. Her heart pounded a nauseating rhythm against the tight confines of her corset. The gooseflesh raising the fine hairs on her arms was at odds with the heat rising with the flush that was surely reddening her cheeks. Damn her brothers for forcing this upon her!

  “Lady Fiona,” Aylesbury said, holding out his hand.

  Fiona stared at his gloved hand blankly before lifting her eyes to briefly skim his face before her gaze fell again.

  She should have opted for the year instead. The misery of three hundred and sixty-five days would have been nothing compared to the agony realized in that single, fleeting glance. Hair as black as night, vividly bright blue eyes under thick black brows. A face so ruggedly beautiful it made her heart pinch painfully.

  The Marquis of Aylesbury possessed a smile that would steal a woman’s soul.

  A smile …

  With a frown, Fiona glanced up at him again, noting his taut expression, the faint brackets etched around his mouth and the slight downturn of his lips. Where was the smile? The light of humor in his eyes?

  No, Fiona berated herself. She might have to be here but she wouldn’t care. Not again.

  “Fiona? Won’t you say something?” Eve prompted.

  Mutely shaking her head, Fiona looked pointedly away.

  Really, what did a woman say to the man who had broken her heart?

  “Eden, my love,” Glenrothes called the loving sobriquet to his wife as he approached. “Look who I found among the crowd.”

  They all turned, and a relieved but honest smile creased Fiona’s dimples as she recognized the handsome, sandy-haired gentleman her brother was bearing along with him.

  “Lord Temple!” she said with affectionate welcome, holding out her hand in greeting. He took it, placing a proper kiss on the back of her hand before squeezing it between both of his hands warmly but solemnly.

  Anthony Temple had served with Richard and Vin during their years in the Scots Guard fighting in Egypt and Burma. Though he had been briefly incarcerated with Richard before they escaped from rebel forces in Egypt seven years before, the family’s true affection for him had been born from his rescue of Vin from those same rebels just two years past. Temple’s visits to Edinburgh had been rare but his company pleasurable despite his typically somber mien.

  He turned to greet Eve as well. “What a surprise to see you here!” she gushed, narrowing her eyes on Fiona.

  A shadow of a smile crossed Temple’s lips though it did settle in his eyes, lighting their amber depths warmly as he, too, looked back at Fiona. “A pleasurable one, I hope?”

  “Very,” she rushed to assure him. A fool couldn’t have missed the incongruity between the ways she had greeted the two men, and Eve frowned even more fiercely. But Fiona pointedly ignored her and everyone else, focusing her attention entirely on Lord Temple as if he were her savior.

  “Would you care to dance?” Temple asked with a trace of a smile as the next dance was called.

  “I would love to,” Fiona accepted with honest enthusiasm, taking his arm as he led the way to the dance floor without even casting a glance back over her shoulder. “The lads have done little more than trod upon my toes tonight.”

  “I hope I make a better showing.”

  “I promise you, you can do no worse!” Fiona assured him with a teasing grin.

  “I wager I can,” he jested quietly.

  Allowing her a moment to hook her train loop around her wrist, Temple took her hand in his and settled his other hand firmly at the small of her back as the opening bars began to play. With little reason to, Fiona hadn’t studied her dance card but was pleased to recognize the strains of a lively mazurka by Claude Debussy.

  Lord Temple took a step forward, setting them in motion and Fiona cast one last look at Lord Aylesbury before the spirited Polish folk dance required all of her attention.

  He was watching her, his expression more grave than she ever imagined it could be.

  Good God, Harry Brudenall, is that really you?

  If it was, he was nothing like the Harry she remembered.

  “Are you quite all right, Lady Fiona?”

  Fiona looked back up at her dance partner with a smile. “My apologies, Lord Temple. I am not as familiar with the steps of the mazurka as I should be.”

  Belying his claims otherwise, Temple led her skillfully and enjoyably through the steps. The mazurka was a couple’s rather than patterned dance, keeping Fiona partnered with Temple throughout the set. It was also complicated enough to command the dancer’s whole attention.

  Regrettably, it did not.

  Despite her best efforts to ignore him, Fiona was entirely too conscious of Aylesbury’s serious gaze following her.

  Until that gaze was gone.

  The awareness faded and Fiona sighed with relief, putting some effort into enjoying herself. “Despite your warnings,
my toes are surviving quite nicely.”

  “It is a surprise to us both, I assure you,” he jested in his quiet way. “Much to my mother’s chagrin, I am not one to frequent society balls.”

  As contained and solemn as he usually was, that didn’t come as a surprise to Fiona at all. “So what brings you out tonight then?”

  “Richard wrote that you were all coming to town so I thought it might be nice to make an exception.”

  Fiona groaned as she was twirled around the corner. “Please do not tell me that he recruited you to assist in this mad effort to see me married off! I hardly require yet another pair of censuring eyes frightening off all the eligible gentlemen!”

  “No,” Temple shook his head with a low chuckle as he began to move her around the floor. “I’m most definitely not here to chaperone you, Lady Fiona, but perhaps instead to join the ranks of said eligible gentlemen.”

  “Join the ranks …?” She began to ask and then it struck, what he had actually said. A blush blossomed on Fiona’s cheeks and she nearly stumbled. Was Lord Temple saying that he intended to court her?

  “Lady Fiona? Have I shocked you into silence?” he teased lightly. “Perhaps I should have begun as I had originally intended with an invitation to join me for a ride?”

  Another blush heated her cheeks and Fiona studied Temple through her lashes, noting for the first time his strong facial features and sandy hair. His light brown eyes so solemn yet warm. And he was tall, a pleasing aspect of any gentleman given Fiona’s own unusual height, with a muscular military bearing.

  He didn’t have dark hair but he was very handsome indeed, though she hadn’t once stopped to consider it before. Temple had come into their lives when Fiona’s thoughts had been far too occupied with thoughts of Aylesbury to notice anything else.

  Alas, that hadn’t seemed to change.

  Glancing around the ballroom, it took Fiona a moment to locate Aylesbury once again, not on the sidelines but amid the dancers with a young, blonde miss in his arms. He was saying something to her, though Fiona couldn’t make it out from the distance. Whatever it was, it stirred none of the adoration in the young woman that Aylesbury usually inspired in females.