She glanced up from the evening’s dinner menu. “Miranda? I thought she’d begged off going shopping this morning. Did you tell her where Eloise and Amy went?”
“She actually inquired after Master Aden. I directed her to the billiards room. Should I not have done so?”
“No, that’s fine. Is she still here?”
“She left just a moment ago.”
Well. A young lady calling on her second, exceedingly elusive, son. Francesca handed over the menu and made her way upstairs, conjuring an excuse as she went. Aden was tricky; he smiled and spoke with a degree of amused sarcasm, but it all seemed like a mask. He frequently disappeared after dark and didn’t reappear until after dawn, and she didn’t think he was in pursuit of some woman or other. She wished he had been; he and Coll still needed to fulfill their part of the agreement she’d made with their muleheaded father.
“Am I interrupting?” Francesca asked as she strolled into the billiards room.
Aden balled up another playing card and tossed it, watching as his dog scampered after it. “Nae. What is it? Or should I guess? Ye want to know what Miss Harris was doing here, aye?”
So much for inventing an excuse. “I am somewhat curious, yes. Is her family well?”
“I’ve nae idea.”
He threw another wadded-up card for the spaniel. Brògan was a pretty thing now that he’d washed and trimmed her, but Francesca had to wonder what it was that had prompted Aden to rescue the little thing. It seemed a great deal of trouble to go to if the only goal was to antagonize poor Smythe. “Is Miranda well?”
“Ye could likely catch her if ye want to find out. She only just left.”
So he could match her in vague questions and responses. How would he respond to directness, then? “Miranda Harris is a lovely, accomplished young lady. Are you pursuing her?”
Another card crumbled. “Do ye recall when I wagered dinner against Coll one night and I won, and ye told me that my brothers would always be my best allies and that if I took his dinner he’d be less likely to trust me the next time I needed him for someaught?”
Francesca hid her frown. Good heavens. He’d been what, seven years old? And Coll, ten? “I recall. The wager was over who would catch more fish, I believe.”
“Aye. I gave Coll back his dinner. I didnae break his trust.” Another card went flying. “Ye broke mine, though, and I reckon that I dunnae need ye for anything, and I dunnae trust ye. So ye’ll know if I’ve found a woman when I tell ye I’m marrying one.”
He stood, walking over to crouch down and pick up the scattered, ruined cards and ruffle the fur on Brògan’s head, then straightened and strolled out of the room with the dog at his heels. Francesca stood where she was for a moment.
She’d tried to explain her reasons for leaving Scotland to her sons, back when she’d first fled back to London. Faced with boys aged seven, ten, and twelve, she’d talked about what she thought they would understand—arguments and being far away from where she’d grown up and wanting Eloise to have the best life possible. She hadn’t attempted to explain what happened when an overwhelming passion driving two people together began tearing them to pieces, and she hadn’t told them that she’d tried to bring them back to England with her. Angus had had the final word, and when he’d refused to relinquish them, she’d granted him the favor of not making himanother villain. Her boys needed a parent, and she’d let them keep one.
Stirring, she walked over to close the open windows, shutting the chill out of the room. Niall had forgiven her, in large part because she’d turned half of Mayfair upside down to enable him to give Amelia-Rose—Amy—the life she wanted. When she’d asked him for insight into his brothers, though, he’d been less forthcoming. A suggestion that she figure them out for herself answered the question over whether the MacTaggert boys were still the closest of allies, but it didn’t help her understand the men they were now.
“Smythe?” she called, heading back toward the main staircase. “I will need a footman to deliver a note for me.” If Aden wouldn’t talk, perhaps Miranda’s mother would. Knowing one way or the other if the two of them had a connection would tell her whether to focus her attentions or turn them elsewhere.
“Of course, my lady.”
She would figure the MacTaggert brothers out, though, with or without their cooperation. Her sons were in London, beneath her roof. Relinquishing them again, without knowing they would return willingly and without her making more threats to their future, would destroy her. Aden might not trust her, but she hoped he realized that she would do anything for him. For any of them. Even if she had to resort to underhanded means to do so.
Chapter Five
“Who is this Captain Vale?” Mrs. Elizabeth Harris asked, looking up from the dinner menu she’d been plotting for the past twenty minutes. “He seems to have made an impression, because you haven’t been able to sit still since yesterday morning.”
Miranda looked away from the front window, even though she remained half convinced that Vale would appear the moment she did so. “I told you, Mother. He’s Lord George Humphries’s cousin. He’s been serving in India.”
“He doesn’t mean to drag you across the ocean, I hope,” her mother returned. “I won’t have it.”
“We’ve just met, Mama, for goodness’ sake, and Matthew says he’s retired from service. If I care to join him for more than a single luncheon, though, I will certainly make a point of asking where he means to settle.” She knew that already, actually, but if this was going to be a love match, she meant for it to proceed as slowly as possible. The longer it took, the greater her chance of finding something—anything—to help her escape it.
Oh, she hated lying to her mother about this. Playing along seemed the wiser choice, though, at least until shefound a way to escape. So as far as her parents were concerned, she and Vale were barely acquainted. Nor did she intend to pretend to be easily smitten. Every one of her acquaintance knew she was not some doe-eyed debutante wearing her heart on her sleeve.
She’d been foolish yesterday to place her hopes in the hands of horrid Aden MacTaggert. He might claim to be a gambler, but Captain Vale’s play seemed to be completely beyond his ability to comprehend, much less to contribute anything useful toward countering.Ruin herself.That was laughable and selfish. She couldn’t imagine him simply giving in if someone presented him with an untenable choice. She couldn’t imagine him falling into that sort of trap in the first place, actually, though of course she had very little idea of his level of skill in anything but clever card tricks and evasive conversation. Even so, she would eat her bonnet if he would ever even consider handing over his sister to settle a debt.
Or maybe that was just all fanciful thought, a wish that she had found herself in different circumstances. Miranda shook out her hands, trying to warm her cold fingers. She might have stayed upstairs and fretted more openly, she supposed, but at the moment she preferred to have Millie sitting quietly and hemming her riding outfit rather than loudly lamenting the death of chivalry and decency in the world.
The front door opened. Miranda jumped, every nerve already stretched nearly to breaking point, and shot a glance at the mantel clock. Blast it all, he was twenty minutes early. She hadn’t managed to circle her thoughts back around from self-pity to useful plotting yet.
