“Madam DuBois can modify it.”
“I do not think Papa would approve of red either. That was Mama’s favorite color.”
Mari felt her face turn the color of the dress in question. How stupid of her to pick that gown out. Abigail’s mother had questionable virtues at best, and rumor among thetonhad spread like fire when Wesley Alton had found her dead at Newburn. Most of the gossips let it slip the Earl of Sherrington’s wife had been Wesley’s mistress, and they had had a lover’s quarrel. Still, she had been Abigail’s mother. “It does not have to be red,” Mari said quickly. “I think maybe a pale golden silk would set off the auburn in your hair.”
“Which, of course, you will wear down with lots of curls,” Maddie added.
“Papa prefers I wear it pulled back.”
Mari almost threw up her hands in frustration. She understood—sort of—that based on Abigail’s mother’s behavior, the earl probably did not want his daughter looking like a hoyden, but how did Abigail ever expect to attract a husband if she insisted on looking like a matron? The girl was already two-and-twenty and close to being a spinster. Mari held in that thought, remembering Jillian’s admonishment to temper her tongue and think before she spoke.
Too bad that never worked when Jamie was around. Mari recalled all too vividly telling Jamie yesterday he would not dare to tickle her. Goodness gracious. What if he actually had put her down on the bed… Her body heated, and she quickly turned her thoughts back to the present.
“Does your father not want you to find a husband?” she asked Abigail.
Before Abigail could answer, Givens appeared in the doorway. “I beg your pardon, but Mr. MacLeod requires an audience.”
Mari frowned. “Since when does either Jamie or Ianaskto come in?”
Givens cleared his throat. “This would be Mr.ShaneMacLeod.”
“Lord have mercy. Is there a third MacLeod in London?”
“It would seem so.”
“Very well, show him in then,” Mari said but could have saved her breath. The man was already filling the doorway with his presence.
She heard Abigail draw in a sharp breath and glanced at her, only to find Abigail’s brown eyes round and wide. Well, she couldn’t really blame the girl for being frightened. Shane—she recalled now that he was a cousin—was even bigger than Ian or Jamie, and neither of them was by any means small.
Even though he wore the heavy, cable-knit sweater of a seaman and had a musket strapped to his leg instead of a claymore jutting across his back, there was no mistaking him for anyone but a MacLeod. His hair was black, not as inky as Ian’s, but darker than Jamie’s, and he had it tied back in a queue with a strip of leather. His eyes were grey, the color of a stormy sea, and the look he gave each of them was direct. Mari had a feeling he didn’t miss anything, and if she hadn’t already been accustomed to Ian and Jamie’s formidable countenances she might have been intimidated. No wonder poor Abigail was frightened.
Mari glanced at her again. Strange, though—Abigail did notlookscared. Instead, she looked…fascinated. Her eyes were still wide, but she seemed to be studying Shane as though he were some strange specimen. Which, in a way, he probably was. Mari just hoped Abigail was not visualizing him as part of Greek art.
“Please have a seat,” Mari said. “Was either Ian or Jamie expecting you? They left no word this morning.”
“Nae,” he said and stayed standing, “but do ye ken when they will return?”
“Very soon, I would think.” Mari smiled. “It is almost tea time, and both of them are quite fond of the cook’s special pastries.”
Shane didn’t return the smile. In fact, he looked quite grim. Mari tried to remember what Jillian had told her about this cousin. Something about owning a shipping line. Maybe having to control unruly sailors—or fight pirates–was what made him look so serious.
“You are welcome to wait,” she said. “If you prefer, Givens can take you to the library.”
“Which of ye is Jillian’s sister?”
“I am. Why?”
His stormy gaze settled on her, and for a moment Mari thought she saw something softer flicker in his eyes and then it was gone. “Ye had best pack a bag, lass. Yer sister had a bad fall—”
Mari jumped up, her hand flying to her mouth. “Is the baby all right?”
“I dinnae ken. The bairn had nae come when I left, but Jillian cut herself on something rusted and lies abed with fever and infection. I have come to fetch ye and Ian.”
“Oh, dear God! Dear God! I—”
“It will be all right,” Maddie soothed as she came to put her arm around Mari. “Come on, I will help you pack.” She turned to Abigail. “Could you show Mr. MacLeod to the library, please?”
“Of course,” Abigail replied, but they were already gone.
