Chapter Nine
Four Years Ago
Hawkridge Manor
“Can I takeit off now?” Her voice breathy with nervous anticipation, Brynne tugged at the cloth Lachlan had tied around her eyes.
“Almost,” he said as he continued to guide her closer to the stream and the blanket he’d set out beside it. The sun was heavy at their backs and a warm evening breeze tickled the air, carrying the faintest sounds of raised voices and laughter from the garden party underway at the main house where two dozen guests, Lachlan among them, had been invited to spend a month at Hawkridge Manor.
The Westons’ annual house party was as renowned as the Westons themselves. First held by Brynne’s grandfather, the Duke of Caldwell, and then–briefly–by her father, the Marquess of Dorchester, they had since been delegated to her brother, the Earl of Hawkridge, which was who Lachlan undoubtedly had to thank for his unexpected invitation.
The letter had found him all the way at Campbell Castle, where he had resided for the past two years. Dividing his time between caring for his younger siblings and trying like hell to resurrect his great-great-grandfather’s distillery, he’d skipped the past London Season with no set plan to attend another. Dull and dreary, the barrage of balls and social calls had been as appealing as nails on a chalkboard. The only bright spot was Brynne. Dancing with her, talking to her, just gazing at her…it was like holding sunshine in the palm of his hand. He could have basked in her light for the rest of the evening and every day beyond it, but Lady Crowley had cast a long, ominous shadow.
Wise to the wily ways of foxes and rogues, she’d guarded her precious hen with all of the weapons at her disposal.
Guilt being principle among them.
He’d never forget the words she’d spoken to him when he came to call the next day. As if she was anticipating his arrival, she, not a servant, had greeted him at the door. And kept her foot wedged in the frame the entire time so that even if he wanted to, he couldn’t have entered. As if he were some sort of bloody vampire.
“Lord Campbell,” she’d begun coolly, her blue eyes unblinking. “I had a feeling you would come. I am afraid Lady Brynne is not available.”
“Should I return later, then?” He had tried to look past her into the foyer, but she’d blocked his view.
“No, I do not believe that would be wise.”
He’d rubbed his jaw. “Ye dinna like me, do ye, Lady Crowley? Is it the red hair?”
“My personal opinion of you is irrelevant, Lord Campbell. It is what thetonthinks that matters.”
“And what does thetonthink?”
“That Lady Brynne is destined for a most favorable match. A match that she will not make if you are hovering about.” Here the dowager countess had paused, as if weighing her words with great caution. What she wanted to say, and what she preferred to keep to herself. “Lady Brynne is…inordinately fond of you, Lord Campbell. That much is obvious. Were things different…if she were not the granddaughter of a duke and you were not…whatever it is that you are–”
“The spare son of a Scottish laird who inherited a marquessate by ladder tragedy?” he’d interjected cheerfully.
Lady Crowley’s mouth had puckered. “Precisely. Lady Brynne’s family has high expectations for her and her future husband. As you will never be suitable for that role, Lord Campbell, I wouldn’t want to give Lady Brynne the wrong impression by parading you in front of her.”
“Like chocolate in a window,” he’d said with a sage nod. “Hard tae resist even though ye know it’ll go straight to yer waistline.”
The dowager countess hadn’t bothered to deign such a comment with a response. “I hope I have made myself clear, Lord Campbell.”
“Aye, ye have.” Still, he had hesitated as a question nagged at the corner of his mind. “But what if she doesna?”
“Does not what?” Lady Crowley had snapped, her patience visibly wearing thin.
“Find someone tae marry that ye deem favorable.”
“Oh, she will.”
“Ye sound certain.”
“Because I am. Lady Brynne will do what is expected of her. Now do what is expected ofyou, Lord Campbell, and find someone better suited to your particular…rank. Good day.”
He’d left.
He could have stayed. Could have forced his way through the door. Could have demanded to see Brynne. He was even fairly certain he could have convinced her to run away with him.
But instead he’d left.
