“Ewan?”
Cameron laughed. “Well, that might be true, but I have subjected myself to the torture at least once to humor my lady. What’s on your schedule for the rest of the morning?”
Oliver took a deep breath. “Jeweler’s, then a florist.”
“She deserves all of it,” Cameron said with a faint smile. “I’ll keep an eye on things here if you want to make a run for it. Derrick and Peter are roaming the streets keeping watch, though, so don’t start weeping into your blossoms.”
Oliver attempted a cool look, but he wasn’t sure Cameron didn’t have a point there. He made his laird a bow, then looked at Ewan who strode out of the salon like a conquering hero.
“Let’s go,” he said briskly. “I’ll help you keep from faltering at this critical juncture.”
Cameron snorted. “They’re handfasted, lad. I think he’s safe.”
“So says the man who continues to woo his lady every day,” Ewan said, nodding knowingly. “Study him, Ollie my lad, and see how it’s perfectly done.”
“Nay, you can’t have the title,” Cameron said with a snort, “but you’re also not wrong. Go to, Oliver, and make me proud.”
Oliver nodded, then walked away with Ewan who he assumed knew where they were going. Ewan patted him on the shoulder.
“Trust me.”
Oliver was thoroughly unnerved to find that he did, but it had been that sort of holiday so far. He put his shoulders back, took a deep breath of suitably manly proportions, and marched on into the fray.
He emerged from battle an hour later with a ring in his pocket, a shopping bag containing clothing and topped with chocolate in one hand, and flowers in the other. If that didn’t win him the day, he supposed there was always the fallback plan of taking his love to the local chippy, but he was hoping for better things. He spotted their crew up the street and blew out his breath in preparation for things to come.
“Steady,” Ewan murmured.
Oliver shot him a glare on principle alone. “I’ve got this.”
“And the proposal?”
“Still working out the details of that,” Oliver admitted. “Nice restaurant? Romantic walk at sunset on the beach? Drop to my knees right here on the pavement?”
“Those aren’t terrible choices,” Ewan conceded. “I’ll help you think of something better, but whatever you do, don’t just blurt out the question the moment you’re within whimpering distance.”
Oliver would have delivered the elbow Ewan deserved, but he was holding treasures for his beloved. There were justsome things a man had to prioritize when his world had been completely rocked by a Renaissance—
“Oh, I say,” a voice said sharply, “do look where you’re going, what?”
Oliver felt as though he’d just fallen into a terribly proper BBC production of some high-brow Victorian house party—and he was halfway to saying as much when he looked at the couple who had emerged from the shop to his left and recognized them.
He supposed he would be thanking Ewan later for removing his burdens from his hands before he dropped everything. Further thanks would likely be necessarily tendered first to Cameron who simply stepped in front of him and then to none other than Mairead MacLeod who had smoothly stepped in front of Cameron and moved to his left, effectively blocking Oliver behind them both. He wasn’t quite sure how they managed it, but he soon found himself surrounded by the family he’d acquired as an adult.
Handy, that, given that on the opposing side of some imaginary line was standing in a little cluster his family of birth.
He felt a hand resting lightly on his back. He looked to his right to find Sunshine standing there, watching him with worry plain in her eyes. Madelyn was standing on his left, also with her hand on his back. He managed some species of smile for them both, had reassuring smiles in return, then turned his attention back to the unexpected encounter unfolding in front of him.
It wasn’t that he hadn’t kept up with the doings of Aldous Phillips, the Viscount Felkirk. His father craved a discreet amount of the spotlight, mostly as he was seen either entering or exiting his club in London. Oliver also recognized his mother who did just the right amount of charity work to maintain the same aura of genteel compassion. His brothers were no doubt either off at Uni or doing whatever it was they did to remain in their father’s good graces and within reach of his chequebook.
His youngest sister, however, was standing behind his mother, looking at him as if she’d seen a ghost.
He understood that, actually, and didn’t envy her for it.
His father made very posh noises of disbelief and delight whilst his mother looked at him as if she expected him to blurt out terrible family secrets right there on the bloody pavement.
“Lord Robert of Assynt,” his father said breathlessly. “How fortunate to meet you here in the middle of nowhere!”
Oliver had to concede that tact was not his father’s strong suit. He only knew that from second-hand reports, but it was something to see it for himself.
