Waving a waiting footman aside when he rushed forward to help her, she carried her heavy rattan golf bag herself, if only to prove a point to the trio of men she knew were still watching her.
Her brothers might think that they could get medieval with her, but Fiona had never been one to take a challenge lying down, and she had no intention of getting bullied into changing her plans.She would go to London and play their little game.In the end, she would still have her way.
She always had.
And it wasn’t something she wasn’t going to let London, and whomever she might inconveniently happen upon there, change that.
Leaving the soft grass behind, her steel spikes ground roughly into the gravel of the drive.And with each step, so did her anger ebb away, leaving only consternation behind.
How had Francis done that?Somehow, he’d used her own intractability against her, maneuvered her into an impossible situation.She couldn’t go to London!Couldn’t face...
The painful banging of her precious clubs as she flung them unceremoniously into the boot of the larger carriage was no more agonizing than the apprehension that twisted her heart.Behind the carriage and out of sight from them all, Fiona finally buried her face in her hands, pressing her fingers against her eyes to stem the tears that threatened to fall.
Whomever she might inconveniently happen upon...
Such impersonal words for something so potentially devastating.
No, she couldn’t do it.No matter the sting to her pride, she should go back now and tell Francis that she accepted his original bargain.That she would wait and hope for Ramsay’s patience.Could waiting another year really be so bad?Surely anything would be better than going to London.
Because whatever her brothers hoped she would find in waiting for the right man to come along, she already knew she would find him in London.In fact, there was only a minute, dismal chance that Fiona wouldnothappen upon him.
How could she not?
Helived there.
Chapter 2
Francis has promised to take me to London!
Well, he hasn’t actually promised but I do think that perhaps he might be on the verge of agreeing if Granny might be convinced to take me on for the Season.While I understand that a single gentleman—even if he is an earl—cannot be expected to properly launch a debutante properly into Society, I might have liked to have had someone more...well, young and energetic to sponsor me.
Still, beggars cannot be choosers.
I’ve never understood why that is.
~From the diary of Lady Fiona MacKintosh—March 1892
