He took a deep breath and rubbed his hands together nervously. Here goes naught.
Chapter Twelve
Whitney wrung herhands together incessantly as she waited for the man that would soon be her husband to join her and her mother in the salon.
They’d been made aware of his arrival a short time ago, and since then, her heart had been stuck in her throat.
Her mother patted her hand. “All will be well, dearest. You have nothing to worry yourself with.”
“What if he finds me harsh on the eyes? What if he sees me as an ogre? A troll?” She asked quickly.
Her mother rolled her eyes. “You are being ridiculous. You are none of those things and you know it well. Always, you have been the envy of the other girls your age. Why do you think they were so cruel?”
She thought about that for a moment. It was actually something she had not considered before. Was that really the reason? Or were the words just her mother’s way of trying to calm her nerves and her over-active mind?
More than likely, the latter.
The men entered the room, and all the air rushed out of her lungs.
Dressed in a dark coat and a white shirt with a ruffled collar, the man she would marry stood before her, his massive height making her feel small. He was even taller than her father, who wasn’t short in stature himself. His tan trews hugged his thighs and his knee-high black boots were polished to a shine. He looked devastatingly handsome, and she noticed that he looked upon her with trepidation.
It made her stomach do a flip flop and instinctively, she stood. Apparently, he was as nervous as she was. That awareness made her feel a little better.
“Whitney,” her father addressed her. “May I introduce you to Lord Christopher Campbell. Christopher, please meet my daughter, Whitney.”
He bowed gallantly and she immediately dropped into a curtsy.
“’Tis lovely to meet ye, lass,” he said, stepping forward and capturing her hand for a kiss.
Oh my. He certainly was chivalrous. Charming.
And Scottish.
That was something she hadn’t anticipated. She just automatically assumed he would be English.
He let go of her hand and stood straight, but the warmth from his lips lingered on her skin.
“Lady Watkins.” He greeted her mother.
The woman smiled as if he was there to meet her. Whitney was certain that if her mother had been holding her fan, she would be waving it in front of herself. She might even have feigned a fainting spell. Whitney had to refrain from rolling her eyes.
They all sat. Papa in his favorite chair by the fireplace. She and mama on the sofa and Christopher in a chair facing them. His manners were on point as he waited for her to sit before taking to his own seat.
A servant entered, pushing a wheeled cart that contained teacups, a pot of tea, and finger sandwiches made of cucumbers with a dill dressing.
Christopher remained silent as he watched the servant leave then focused his gaze on her again.
Her mother nudged her with an elbow to her side. “Mayhap Lord Campbell would like some tea or food,” she urged gently.
“Oh,” Whitney exclaimed, embarrassed that she in turn had lost all semblance of her manners. “Of course. Lord Campbell, can I offer you some tea? A cucumber sandwich as well?”
“Please, call me Christopher, and I would enjoy some, thank ye.”
He flashed her a smile that nearly had her knees buckling as she walked over to the cart. “How do you like your tea?” She managed to eke out, her voice cracking. God above. It was as if she were in the presence of a man for the first time in her life. What was wrong with her?
“A splash of milk would be perfect.”
Preparing the tea as he stated, she also filled a small plate with a few of the sandwiches. He was a large man, certainly, one small sandwich would not satisfy his hunger.
