They walked into the house through the servants’ quarters and the kitchen. Aden paused to request some food be brought up to his bedchamber. Generally, he ate out; at the least he was rarely home while the oven was still warm.
“Coll, have any of the lords here offered to sponsor ye at a club?” he asked, trying to sound just on the near side of bored, as if he were only trying to make conversation.
“Aye, one or two. Matthew’s da, Albert, said it would be his pleasure to sponsor me at Boodle’s club, or even White’s. I turned him down. I reckon I’ll be gone from London once and for all by the end of summer, one way or the other. I’m nae keen to make a fool of myself so I can pay to be a member of a place I’m likely nae to see ever again.” He paused as the two of them reachedthe main staircase at the front of the house. “Why do ye ask?”
Aden shrugged. “The play at most of the hells I’ve found isnae much of a challenge. I just wondered if there were better players in the clubs, and better games to be had.”
“Deeper games, ye mean. That’s it, aye? Ye’re nae happy unless ye’re risking yer hide?”
“I like it better when there’s half a chance I could lose, and when the prize for winning is more than a copper. I can admit to that.”
“Well, I hear the play at some of these clubs is deep enough to drown ye. Thousands of pounds changing hands. Firstly, ye dunnae have thousands of pounds to lose, and secondly, I’m nae sure what would happen if ye discovered there were people better at someaught than ye are out in the world. Ye might have an apoplexy or faint like a Sassenach.”
“Ye keep roaring, giant. Me winning a few rolls of the die at hazard might be the only thing keeping Aldriss from falling to pieces, if ye cannae find a wife and the countess cuts us off.”
“I could find a damned wife tomorrow. Just nae one I can tolerate. Ye look to yer own impending nuptials, Aden.”
I am.“Aye.”
Coll was both more clever and less barbaric than what he’d shown so far in London, but he’d begun on the worst foot possible. The Sassenach saw him as a ham-fisted suitor, a great bear amid the delicate flowers of Mayfair. It wasn’t entirely his fault, but the big man had a stubborn streak a mile wide. Rather than admit that he’d felt angry and trapped by the fact that after seventeen years of being as far away from Lady Aldriss as Britain could manage his mother had decided she knew him well enoughto select a bride for him, he’d chosen to accept the consequences for his behavior that night at the theater.
His brother headed down the hallway toward the library, but Aden continued up toward the front of the house. Reading, billiards, cards—none of it held much attraction for him tonight. He needed to think, and he needed to stop imagining Miranda Harris beside him for long enough to figure out how to save her.
On the main staircase’s landing Rory stood there in his usual regal pose, a new yellow bonnet replacing the green one the deer had boasted this morning. He knew Eloise had taken to decorating the stag, as well, but unless he was mistaken that bonnet had belonged to Jane Bansil, Amy’s cousin and former companion who’d been living with them at Oswell House since she’d aided Niall and Amy’s elopement to Scotland.
“That’s Jane’s, isn’t it?” a female voice said smoothly from the top of the stairs.
Cursing silently, he faced his mother as the countess descended the steps to join him on the landing. “That’s what I reckon.”
“If the girl wasn’t so shy, I imagine I could find her a husband by the end of the week.” His mother sighed. “At least she’s taken with Rory. That’s a first step, I suppose. And speaking of marrying, how is your hunt proceeding?”
“If Coll manages to make it down the aisle, I’ll throw a flower and marry whichever lass catches it,” he said, starting past her.
“No one has caught your heart, then?” she countered. “Miranda Harris, for example?”
As Brògan trotted down the stairs to meet him, he crouched and scratched the spaniel behind the ears. “I reckon there are two lasses in England who’ve caught my heart. That’s enough for any man.”
“Ah. I assume you’re referring to your sister and yourdog, there. But then you’ve declared that Brògan is a male, so perhaps you’re referring to Jane Bansil? My, that would be something.”
“Dunnae ye try matching me with that lass. She’s got courage, aye, but if I look at her the wrong way it’ll likely kill her.”
“I would have to agree with that. You might have included me in your list, though. I am your mother.”
Straightening again, Aden faced the diminutive countess. “Ye helped Niall, so ye’ve won him over. I’m nae as bighearted. Or peace-minded. I recall the fights ye had with Da, and I definitely remember ye nae sending any letters in seventeen years.”
“I di…” She trailed off. “As you will then, my wild son. The agreement stands. Find yourself an English bride. I will help you if I can. You need only ask.”
With a nod Aden turned up the stairs, Brògan on his heels. As he reached the second floor, though, he turned around. He didn’t want her damned assistance, but he had a partner out there, and finding excuses to see her and speak to her was complicated at best. “Have ye considered having the Harris family over here for dinner? We’ve all met by now, I reckon, but nae officially. Especially with Mrs. Harris and Miranda being gone from London until last week.”
Francesca tilted Rory’s bonnet forward a little. “That is a splendid idea. Tomorrow might do; it’s very short notice, but there are no soirees of which I’m aware. You will attend, then?”
“I’ll attend. For Eloise’s sake.” That sounded brotherly, even if it wasn’t his sister’s face refusing to leave his thoughts.
It wasn’t just Miranda he wanted—needed—to see. He needed to speak to one of the Harris men. Miranda could teach him about being a gentleman, little as he caredabout that, but she couldn’t get him into Boodle’s club. This Season in London, which he’d imagined would be torture ending in a disastrous union made only to keep Aldriss Park funded, had become something else entirely. Something enticing and hopeful and centered on a young lady with a great deal of sense and a very large problem not of her own making.
For a moment he paused before his bedchamber door. If he’d been a young, poetry-minded whelp he likely would be contemplating riding over to Harris House, climbing through a window, and finding Miranda’s room so he could satisfy this annoying, arousing need to be with her.
Even practical, and at seven-and-twenty not so very young, it tempted him mightily. Squaring his shoulders, he opened his door and went inside, the dog rushing in between his legs to jump on his bed. He and Miranda had a partnership, an agreement. And when he saw her tomorrow, he wanted to be able to give her more than a tale about how Vale followed his victims to the bank to collect his earnings.
