Page 10 of Wouldn’t it Be Scottish?

“You are deep in thought,” Archie said, with a fond smile. “What are you thinking about?”

In that moment she wanted to tell him. Everything. The impulse was almost unbearable, but thankfully it was quickly smothered. “Shall we dance?” she asked him.

He paused and then agreed. “You will have to forgive me,” he said. “I have not danced in years.”

“I will be patient,” she whispered, her breath against his ear.

His eyes glittered, and she knew he was thinking of her in his bed, but he was too much of a gentleman to whisper coarse suggestions to her as Bernard would have done.

They took their place among the other dancers, moving to the music, and Miriam was happy. Archie made her happy. That night at the gardens had turned into something warm and delightful. But her secrets were beginning to weigh on her in a way that made her anxious, because if he found out about her lies, then he would turn away from her, and Miriam knew if he did . . . when he did, she would miss him terribly.

Chapter Six

Agatha really did enjoy dancing with Donal MacKenzie. For two people who barely knew each other, their steps and movements were surprisingly perfect. She had never had this experience before. Richard was always stepping on her toes and turning her the wrong way. She had forgiven him, of course she had, but now those memories came back to her. Why was partnering with Donal so perfect while partnering with Richard wasn’t? When it was Richard whom she had loved?

After their night at the Belvoirs’ ball, they had attended another ball and had danced again. Once more, they had been seamlessly in tune. And then there was another ball with more dancing. Agatha began to look forward to dancing with Donal and discussing what they had learned in the interim about their lost loves, although she did not enjoy that quite so much. Because the news wasn’t good. Richard was still completely besotted with his fair-haired Charlotte, and Mary had been seen out with Belvoir on several occasions, so there was no reason to believe Mrs. Robinson’s attempted warning had borne fruit.

Agatha suspected Mary knew very well what she was doing and had set her sights on Belvoir with every intention of marrying him. She felt sorry for Donal but irritated too. Why had a man with so much to offer allowed himself to fall for a person so far beneath him? Not in rank, although there was that, Mary being the daughter of a factor and Donal the son of a duke. But the real difference was in Mary’s character and conduct and lack of generosity of spirit, while Donal was kind and thoughtful and loyal. Too loyal, unfortunately.

She had told her father so, and Kilsyth had nodded and agreed. “He could do so much better,” he had said, looking at his daughter with a speculative gaze which she chose to ignore.

Tonight’s ball was a crowded affair. Too many guests meant there was a lack of fresh air, which was not helped by the warm evening. A sudden summer shower had required the windows and doors to be closed, and after fanning herself vigorously, Agatha decided she had had enough.

“I think the rain has stopped,” she said, peering out of the window and into the garden. “We could go for a walk. There are lights strung through the trees.”

Donal agreed—he was always very agreeable when it came to her wishes—and they opened the door and slipped out.

So far, there had not been much gossip about the two of them. Mrs. Robinson, who kept up with the latest gossip, had said that although society had noticed how close they had become, no one seemed to think it worthy of comment. Most of the ton’s interest circled around Mary and Belvoir, and there were rumored to be bets in the clubs on whether or not she would ensnare the man who was known as a perpetual bachelor. It would be big news if she did.

Outside, the air was humid after the rain, and the garden was dripping. Light shone out from the ballroom, while the noise was muted. Agatha took a deep breath, taking in the scent of flowers and greenery.

Donal slipped her arm through his and they set off down a winding path. He lifted aside a wet branch that hung down in front of them, and she smiled her thanks. After a time, she said pleasantly, “My father appears to enjoy Mrs. Robinson’s company.”

“Yes.” Then, with a sideways glance he added, “Are you no’ happy about that?”

It was surprising that he read her so well, because it was true, she wasn’t happy about it. She knew she was being selfish, but she couldn’t help it.

“My mother has been gone for five years now, so I suppose it is understandable that my father is looking for companionship. It is just . . . My parents were so deeply in love. I never believed anyone would replace her in his heart.”

They walked on a little farther, and the music and chatter from the ball receded into the silence of the garden.

“That must be hard for you,” Donal said sympathetically. “But I dinna think your mother is being replaced. I canna imagine my father ever replacing my mother if she were to die, which I hope she will not. No’ for a long time. He would be heartbroken and lonely, and mabbe that is why he would look for some company with someone else.”

Agatha suspected he was right, but it still hurt to see her father moving on. Especially now when Richard had abandoned her for someone else. She knew she was being self-centered wanting her father to remain alone and miserable too. If she could not win Richard back, would she stay single and pine for him for the rest of her life? No, that sounded awful. She would want to find somebody else, or at least fill her time with pleasing distractions. She glanced at Donal who seemed lost in his own thoughts.

He was good company when he wasn’t moping about his Mary, but then she was hardly one to talk when it came to moping. And he was handsome, with those sparkling blue eyes and dark hair and his tall, athletic body. She felt guilty for noticing how much better looking than Richard he was, but she couldn’t seem to help her gaze lingering on his broad shoulders and long legs. Richard was shorter and thinner than Donal, and he had often made a joke of saying he could eat anything he liked and never became fat.

Unlike Agatha, who had to watch what she ate and was not at all athletic. And yet Richard had not seemed to mind her curves, and had often commented on how pleasant it was to share meals with a woman who did not pick at her food. Did Charlotte Elliot pick at her food, or was she one of those naturally slim women who did not have to watch every mouthful?

“You are very gloomy tonight.” Donal interrupted her thoughts.

“Am I?” Agatha turned to him. “I am wondering what will happen to me, which seems selfish I know, but until now I have been my father’s sole companion. I am in charge of our home in Setholm. I have grown used to it. If he were to marry again, I would no longer be needed.”

It hurt to say it, and she swallowed sudden emotion. She would miss her childhood home, and the charity her mother had started for abandoned donkeys. Her father did his best, but who would know all their names and give them the love they deserved if Agatha were not there? And she could not stay in London forever—their house was only leased until the end of the Season.

“You would always be needed,” Donal scoffed. “I can see how fond of you your father is. Mrs. Robinson too. Even if they were to marry, you would still be a valued member of your family.”

How did he know that? Was he just being kind? Agatha wanted to argue with him, but just as she opened her mouth to do so, a drop of cold water fell onto her nape and began to roll down inside the back of her dress. She gave a soft shriek and began to squirm, trying to reach it.