Chapter Thirty
“I hope I am doing the right thing,” Mari said to Abigail the next afternoon as they sat in the townhouse’s library where Mari had wadded nearly a basketful of paper. She had ink on her fingertips from trying to find the right words to write to Jamie.
Abigail sipped her mulled cider and curled up in the wingchair by the fire, looking strangely relaxed and comfortable. But then, this was a library and Abigail loved books. She was truly in her element.
“Letting Jamie MacLeod know how you feel is something you should have done long ago.”
Mari was surprised at the candor, but then Abigail was not known for light-hearted chatter or subtle innuendos. It was Abigail who had noticed Mari leaving the ballroom last night and followed her out to the veranda, asking bluntly if she needed a ride home after Nicholas strode past them without a second glance. Abigail had ordered her father’s carriage brought around, simply telling the earl Mari was ill and Abigail was accompanying her home. Neither of her parents had questioned the situation although they looked somewhat confused. Abigail had just shrugged when Mari mentioned it, saying her parents probably thought she was escaping since she hated the balls. Mari had just been grateful Nicholas did not see her home.
“Maddie will be angry with me.” Mari forced the next words out. “I know she fancies Jamie, and he has been paying attention to her.”
“Jamie did not escort her to the ball,” Abigail said. “I saw him arrive alone.”
“You did?”
Abigail smiled. “It is hard to miss a MacLeod.”
In spite of her worry, Mari smiled back. She would be able to pick Jamie out of any crowd, not just because he was taller than most men or had broad shoulders. It wasn’t his silky, dark-auburn hair or his unusual golden eyes or even the soothing sound of his deep voice. Mari could sense Jamie’s presence to her very core.
“You do not think it too forward of me to do this?” Mari asked.
Abigail adjusted her spectacles. “How is Jamie to know if you do not tell him?”
“Yes, but… Oh, dear. If Aunt Agnes finds out… She told me I should be grateful Nicholas offered for me after that scandalous afternoon. This is just going to create another scandal if the gossips find out. Theon-ditswill fly—”
“Gossip is just pettiness from people who like to stir the pot.” Abigail gave a very unladylike snort. “Would you really prefer a Frenchman to aMacLeod? All three of the MacLeods are fine specimens of men—I certainly would have made my intentions known if Shane had stayed longer.”
Mari nearly dropped the pen she’d been diddling with. Abigail was revealing a side of herself hitherto unknown. Everyone thought her to be quiet, unassuming, more interested in scholarly learning than people. Although, those books on Greek art were not exactly full of words. Still. “You surprise me.”
Abigail blinked. “Well, one has to know what one wants and set goals.”
“But we are talking about men, not…things.”
“Is there truly such a difference?”
“Of course there is. I cannot just go after Jamie like he is some kind of prize. He is a person with thoughts and feelings.” Mari felt shame creep over her. She should have considered these things much, much sooner.
“I agree. What I am talking about is happiness.” Abigail set her cup down and leaned forward. “If you care for Jamie, will you be happy with anyone else?”
Mari knew she would not. Selecting a piece of the good stationary, she began to write, this time knowing exactly what she wanted to say.
Seated by the wall of a public house but close to a window, Nicholas watched the front door of the boarding house across the street. He had taken advice from his father to visit a costume shop in the theatre district and currently sported a grey wig along with a glued-on mustache that itched and a monocle. The chesterfield coat, top hat and walking stick made him appear to be a well-off elderly gentleman. He just had to remember to walk slowly.
Nicholas glanced at his fob. Eleven o’clock. He knew MacLeod had not left the property because one of the ruffians his father had hired had watched the place all night. Ncholas could see the man standing in the shadows near the side of the building. If the Highlander left, he would be followed. If he headed toward the Barclay townhouse, the henchman would be waiting. However, for all intents and purposes, MacLeod did not know Nicholas and the chit had not left Almack’s together, so he would have no reason to visit the townhouse.
What Nicholas waited for was the messenger he was sure the little bitch would send. Intercepting that missive was crucial to his plans.
Nicholas took more tea, even though he did not like the taste, ordered a plum pudding to avoid drawing suspicion for sitting so long and pretended to studyThe London Times. Time seemed to crawl, but at long last, a boy Nicholas recognized from the Barclay townhouse came up the street. Nicholas placed a gold guinea on the table, more than twice what his tea and pudding had cost, smiled pleasantly at the barkeep and forced himself not to rush to the door.
Stepping outside, he put on his hat, nodding to signal his accomplice across the street. He couldn’t see the man’s face, but he noticed a shadow moving past the shrubbery. The messenger—actually, he was just a lad, and Nicholas wondered why the chit would not have sent someone older—gave a slight yelp as the ruffian grabbed him from behind, cutting off his air, and then he went limp.
Appearing not to hurry, Nicholas sauntered across the street to where the man had dragged the boy behind the hedge.
“Do ya want me to kill him, gov’r?” he asked.
“Not here.” Nicholas bent down and retrieved the embossed ivory envelope. “Go dump him in the river and then meet me at the public stables on Oxford Street in an hour’s time. I will need your help in persuading a certain lady to come with me.”
“Yes, gov’r.”
