“Of course it isn’t. But … Oh, never mind.” As if she was qualified to give lessons in propriety. “Just ask a female before you lift her into the air.”
That brought another devastating grin to his lean face. “Aye. I checked the wind first, though, and I reckoned it wasnae strong enough to carry ye aloft, even with that great hat on ye.”
She opened her mouth to retort that by some standards her bonnet was quite modest, but that would trip over her mother’s advice never to apologize for being well dressed. Aside from that, Amelia-Rose saw the twinkle in his eye. “Troublemaker,” she muttered, taking a step backward.
When Jane took her arm, Amelia-Rose actually jumped. “You said he was handsome,” her companion whispered, “but goodness’ sake. I look forward to comparing him to the one with the title.” She chuckled. “Perhaps you could send this one toward one of your less discriminating friends. Rebecca Sharpe doesn’t require a titled gentleman, does she?”
No, Rebecca’s father was already a viscount, and a wealthy one at that. All Rebecca required was a pretty face. And perhaps someone to balance her rather … self-absorbed character. Somehow, however, Amelia-Rose couldn’t imagine Niall MacTaggert blithely fetching sweets and glasses of Madeira every time Rebecca snapped her well-manicured fingers.
“I think he would eat Rebecca for breakfast,” she whispered back, ignoring Jane’s surprised look as they reached the coffeehouse door.
That was neither here nor there, anyway. She was here to give Lord Glendarril another opportunity and, according to her mother, to give herself another chance to charm their best hope for a title since Baron Oglivy, who was nearly sixty years old. That, of course, had made her wonder if her intentionally acting like a complete shrew would cause this horridly unfair agreement to fall apart. It would likely ruin her, but she still wasn’t ready to discard the idea entirely.
At the same time, she couldn’t help reaching for hope. The little Niall had mentioned about his father’s antipathy toward the English certainly hadn’t encouraged her at all, but if his brother the viscount simply felt forced into something he didn’t want, she could muster a large degree of sympathy. A Highlander who would remain in London might do, though his rudeness and lack of propriety certainly wouldn’t either curb her own tendencies or encourage her to improve. But she couldn’t know anything for certain until she spoke with him again. Over a cup of coffee, as it were.
John waited outside with the horses, and she followed Niall’s broad back around the crowd of tables and morass of conversations to a spot close by the front windows. He held a chair for her, and she took a seat, impressed that he did have some manners.
When he’d seated Jane as well, he vanished back into the crowd. Coffeehouses, she knew, weren’t quite as popular as they’d once been, but The Constantinople buzzed with conversation. Mostly male conversation, but her mother had always pointed out that she wouldn’t find a husband in a dress shop.
Of course she had a man now, at least on paper, even if she didn’t particularly want him—and even if he didn’t seem to be present. Niall took the chair opposite her and set a heaping plate of biscuits on the table. Jane reached for one of the treats, and for a second Amelia-Rose thought Niall might pull the plate away. “You appear to be hungry,” she noted.
“Aye. I dunnae see the point of a shop that serves a drink but nae any food. A man could starve to death.” He wolfed down a biscuit and then a second one.
The cups of coffee arrived at the table, and she took a sip of the hot, rich brew before adding a trio of sugar lumps. As Niall alternated between biscuits and gulps of coffee she watched him. A man with an appetite, clearly. Was it just for food, she wondered, then blushed at the thought.
This had nothing at all to do with the morning she’d imagined for herself, but at the moment she couldn’t call it disappointing. Even so, her mother would ask how she’d gotten along with Lord Glendarril, whether they’d dealt better today than they had last night.
“I can’t help noticing,” she said aloud, “that your brother doesn’t seem to be here.”
Niall looked up at her. “Aye, he does seem to be a wee bit tardy, doesnae?” he said around a honey biscuit. “Mayhap he found a broken carriage and stopped to hold it up while they change the wheel.”
“So he’s heroic, is he?”
“Oh, aye. Pulled a trio of sheep out of a bog all on his own just a fortnight ago. He had to go for a swim in Loch an Daimh just to get the top layer of muck off himself. I’m surprised he didnae get mistaken for a cirein cròin and get himself shot.”
“What’s a … one of those?” she asked, deciding not even to attempt the pronunciation.
“A cirein cròin? A great sea monster. It can eat half a dozen whales at one go.”
She snorted, covering her mouth with her hand in a belated effort to hide the sound. “He is very large,” she agreed while Jane elbowed her beneath the table.
“That he is. One time we were repairing the thatch of Widow MacDougal’s roof, and he fell right through onto her bed and broke that, too. I think the old lass wishes she’d been in the bed when he fell, but she’d have been flat as a plank. She did get a fresh roof and a new bed for her trouble, though. Coll saw to that.”
“Is Widow MacDougal one of your tenants?”
“One of our cotters, aye.”
So he meant to spend the morning until Lord Glendarril’s arrival telling tales of what a fine man his brother was. That was well and good, but she preferred to judge for herself. And carefully chosen tales did not paint an entire portrait, anyway. “Does your brother assume all women are empty-headed watering pots?”
That made him frown. “He doesnae.”
“Just me, then?”
“Lass, I—”
“I propose a game of questions and answers,” she broke in. “With no lies allowed.”
Tilting his head, he ate another biscuit. “Nae. A reckon ye want to try to trick me into saying Coll’s nae fit for polite company, and that’s nae so. I ken ye’ve heard tales of Highlands barbarians. Well, we’ve heard tales of delicate, fainting Sassenach lasses. Ye werenae what he expected, is all.”
“Fair enough,” she conceded. “And yet I cannot help but notice that he still isn’t here.” Should it have mollified her that Coll MacTaggert hadn’t planned on a marriage, either, and didn’t particularly want one? It didn’t; at least she’d attempted to play her part. She hadn’t blamed him for all her troubles, at least.
“Coll’s stubborn. He’ll come to the proper conclusion; it may take him a day or two, though. In the meantime, have a biscuit.” He scooted the plate in her direction.
He, and the biscuits, were obviously meant as a distraction, but they both looked tasty. And if she hesitated, the biscuits, at least, would all be gone before she had a chance even to sample one. As for him, thinking about that delicious-looking subject wouldn’t harm anything, she supposed. A little amused despite herself, she selected a sugared treat.
Whether Coll MacTaggert was being cowardly or heroic, the fact remained that he was not there. Perhaps this could work to her advantage. Telling her parents that Lord Glendarril hadn’t bothered to appear could cause them to cancel their agreement with Lady Aldriss. That would set her back into the spinning teacup of being assessed and judged and sent after another man with an impressive-enough title to earn her parents’ approval, but it wouldn’t be her fault for once.