“Miranda can’t or won’t go to her parents regarding this trouble.”
“Aye.” That was interesting; Francesca kept flirting about the correct path, but couldn’t quite find it in the forest—likely because she was an only child and couldn’t fathom a brother or a sister causing such upset.
“Matthew has been gambling again.”
Or mayhap shecouldimagine it. “Aye.”
At that, the countess scowled. “You’re giving him the money so Elizabeth and Albert won’t know that he’s strayed again. Aden, I will not h—”
“Six hundred fifty.”
She closed her mouth. “You are helping him repay his debt.”
It would have been closer to say that Matthew was helping him repay the lad’s debt. “Seven hundred.”
“I’m close, then. Is… what you’re doing illegal?”
“That’s nae a statement.”
His mother blew out her breath. “What you’re doing is illegal.”
Not yet, it wasn’t. Gambling wasn’t illegal, and even Vale likely hadn’t cheated as much as he’d chosen the perfect bird to pluck. Eventually, well, he’d cross that bridge when he rode up on it. “Eight hundred.”
“Thank God for that. Your brothers are assisting you, at least.”
“Nine hundred.”
She stood up. “I will give you the last hundred if you will make certain you’re not in this alone, whatever it is. Tell Niall. Tell Coll. I know you trust them, at least.”
He contemplated that. Generally, he slipped out of his messes alone; three MacTaggerts caused a stir, where one of them—him, at least—by himself could be more subtle. But fifty damned thousand pounds wasn’t subtle. They knew the most important part of this already—that he was after Miranda Harris. “Ye’ve a deal. A thousand pounds. I’ll need it by this evening.”
“You’ll have it.”
Aden pulled open her door. “Da always said I reminded him of ye. I reckon I can see why, now.”
Francesca collapsed into the chair again as the door clicked shut behind her middle son. Aden Domnhall MacTaggert, twenty-seven years old and more mysterious than the Sphinx. After all that, she’d discovered almost nothing, with one very important exception: He meant to marry Miranda Harris.
That should have been enough. A second son had plans to wed an English bride, and before the deadline she’d set of their sister’s own wedding. That was what she’d asked, and when they’d first arrived, she’d had serious doubts that any of them would bend that far.
But she’d learned tantalizing bits of other things. He hadn’t asked her yet, and something about the thousand pounds stood between them. She was in some sort of trouble, and while Aden hadn’t directly admitted that this was something that had been kept from the Harris parents, she thought it had been. Or rather, the trouble with Matthew’s wagering wasn’t the main issue.
Drat. She was generally much more proficient at deciphering the comings and goings—and needs and wants—of the people around her. Aden was clever, and tricky. Even his brothers, on the rare occasions she managed a chat of any length with them, adored him but kept to generalities such as “likes wagering” and “always has some lass or other after him.”
His admission that he’d found a lass therefore seemed especially significant, and that increased her frustration. She knew almost nothing of the how or why or where of it all, and even less about the circumstances surrounding the trouble in which Miranda seemed to be embroiled. Had Aden caused the trouble? That actually seemed likely, given that Miranda Harris was highly admired for her grace and poise and her cool, calm demeanor.
Francesca stood to collect one of the hats Hannah had set aside for her approval. She couldn’t inquire of Miranda’s mother without overturning the apple cart, or so Aden had hinted—unless that had been done precisely for the purpose of keeping her at bay. Oh, this, he, was maddening. And he’d said that Angus sawherin their middle son. Had Angus found her maddening, then?
That thought made her pause in the doorway. She wasn’t like Aden. Certainly she didn’t go about screaming her feelings and emotions and thoughts for all the world, but that was just common sense. It did no good to complain unless she could also find a remedy. Half the thingsshehadattempted to discuss with the great nodcock of a man had flown straight past him, unnoticed, anyway.
Perhaps she could concede that not everyone was as observant and… intuitive as she was. As Aden was, rather. But everyoneshouldbe, which would make every interaction much less complicated, and would also entail many fewer explanations, apologies, and excuses. The—
Hannah appeared in front of her. “My lady, the barouche is being brought around, and Lady Eloise awaits you in the foyer.”
Francesca opened her mouth to point out that the barouche had only been a ploy to give her a few moments to think before she began fencing with her son, but she abruptly decided against it. She’d asked for a task to be completed, and Hannah had seen to it. Her underlying thoughts were hers alone. How could they be otherwise? And now she had several new things to contemplate later. The next two hours were reserved for dining with her daughter and Elizabeth and Miranda Harris, and figuring out how she could help when no one would tell her what in the world was going on.
“Don’t be a spendthrift, George,” Captain Robert Vale said, lifting a hand to acknowledge young Matthew Harris approaching from across the main paddock. “I’ve an idea that fox hunting might be a splendid hobby for me to take up.”
“Then borrow a hunter and go fox hunting,” Lord George Humphries grunted, making notes on his Tattersall’s auction sheet.
