Lachlan rolled his eyes, not takingthatsuggestion seriously. But Gilleonan sat forward to say excitedly, “Aye, that’s it, Ranald. And time enough the MacGregor gave us an heir tae coddle.”
“And where would I be findin’ a rich wife around here?” Lachlan demanded, not liking this solution at all.
“Around here, ye wouldna find one that isna spoken for already. But south…”
Lachlan cut in, “The Lowlands dinna have an abundance of heiresses either.”
“Nay, but England does, and England is but a few days ride away, no’ across a blasted big ocean.”
Lachlan groaned inwardly that they weren’t dropping the idea as quickly as he’d like it dropped. “A Sassenach wife?” he snorted.
“Yer Great-uncle Angus didna see a problem wi’ that,” Ranald was quick to remind him.
“Uncle Angus, God rest him, was in love,” Lachlan replied. “Exceptions can be allowed for circumstances such as that.”
“Och, now, isna that what ye would o’ done, had the bonny Megan taken a likin’ tae ye?” Gilleonan pointed out. “As I recall, she was as English as they come.”
Lachlan actually blushed, because that was perfectly true. He’d asked Megan to wed him within minutes of meeting her, had ridden off with her to give her more time to reconsider when she refused him out of hand. And he might have swayed her to his proposal if her fiancé hadn’t given chase to retrieve her from him so quickly. But she was a true exception. He wasn’t likely to find another lass as bonny as she was.
Faith, they were talking about awifehere, a female he’d be stuck with for the rest of his days. Granted, a laird was expected to makesomesacrifices for the benefit of his kin, if sacrifices were needed, but this one seemed a bit too much in his opinion. Especially since he’d always imagined that he’d be marrying someone tohisliking, not just to the clan’s liking.
He said as much in a very clear grumble. “You’d expect me to wed just any ol’ heiress?”
“Nay, no’ a’tall,” Gilleonan assured him. “Ye’re thinkin’ o’ Scottish lasses and how few rich ones there be. Set your mind tae thinkin’ English and the abundance they have. Wi’ so many tae choose from, why couldna ye find yerself one tae love?”
That wordlovemade Lachlan think of Megan again. Had she married her Sassenach fiancé? Not all elopers to Gretna Green, as she’d been, actually tied the knot. Some came to their senses in time. But a year had come and gone. If she hadn’t married that one she came to Scotland to marry, she’d likely married another by now. Then again, what if she hadn’t? What if she were still available? That alone was worth going to England to find out.
But still, he had to point out, “You’re overlooking the fact that I’m no’ a prime catch.”
Ranald snorted at that. “Ye’re as bonny a lad as they come. There be more lassies moonin’ o’er ye than ye ken.”
It was true Lachlan was fair to look upon. His hair was darkest auburn, with only mere hints of red appearing in certain light. His eyes were pale green and more often than not, filled with laughter. And his features were put together rather uniquely—at least they’d caused many a lass a heartfelt sigh.
“I think he was referrin’ to his great size, Ranald,” Gilleonan added hesitantly. “’Tis a bit frightenin’ tae a wee lassie.”
The extremely tall, brawny size of his body that he’d inherited from his father was and always would be a sore subject with Lachlan. “’Twas the fact that I havena a penny tae my name that I was referring tae,” he growled.
Both his friends snorted at that, with Gilleonan expressing both their thoughts in a thoroughly indignant tone, “Ye’re Laird of Clan MacGregor, mon. That’s all ye need be tae be a prime catch for any lass.”
Lachlan sighed at that point. He had turned to reaving at the advice of his kinsmen and had gotten nowhere fast. He wasn’t going to jump into marriage just because it sounded like a good idea—to them. Yet it was worth considering and even putting some effort into seeing if it were possible, because he was bone tired of worrying about it all.
“Verra well, but I’m no’ going to England wi’out some aid tae get this thing done right and done quickly, if it can be done a’tall. I’ll write tae my aunt there and see if she’d be willing tae assist and recommend. But as long as I’ll be having tae put up wi’ being surrounded by the Sassenach on every front, you two can blasted well come along tae suffer wi’ me. And that’s the MacGregor telling you that.”
In other words, it was an order they couldn’t refuse.
2
“You will leave within the week, m’girl,” Cecil Richards, the present Earl of Amburough, said to his only child in a tone that would brook no argument. “Their Graces are expecting you at Sherring Cross, and will put you forth in a grand style. Mark my words, you won’t have any trouble a’tall finding a husband in that top-lofty crowd.”
Kimberly Richards stared blankly up at her father, who had come into the parlor where she was sewing to make his startling announcement. Cecil was in his mid-fifties, a bit portly, quite florid cheeked, with nondescript brown hair and grey eyes. Kimberly had inherited nothing from him in looks or temperament, a fact for which she was grateful.
She shouldn’t have been surprised by his announcement, even though she had only ended her period of mourning a mere few days before. For one full year she had veiled herself in sorrow, her grief over her mother’s death genuine. She had shunned all entertainments, and her social congress had been restricted to going to church on Sundays. She had also lost her lifelong fiancé because of her year of mourning, for he had been unable, or unwilling, to wait a mere six months more for them to wed.
Yet she had known something like this would be forthcoming, since she had been aware for some time now that her father wanted her out of his house. He certainly made no secret of it, nor of his desire to wed the Widow Marston, who had moved to their small town in Northumberland several years before. She was well aware the widow refused to share a household with another woman.
So the sooner Kimberly was married and gone, the sooner Cecil could remarry. He certainly hadn’t mourned for a year over the loss of his wife, Kimberly’s mother. Her death had merely been an inconvenience for him.
Kimberly continued to give her father no visible reaction to his announcement, said merely in reference to his mention of the Duke and Duchess of Wrothston, “How did you manage to enlist their aid?”
