Page 55 of What a Highlander’s Got to Do

It was the only one that mattered. And damn. Tully had been right. She was upset.

Damnation.

It would take some time to soothe her ruffled feathers. Minutes at least. And in this crowd—he glanced around the crowded room—there would be no privacy.

None at all.

His gaze fell on one maven, one with a particular brand of shock on her elegant face.

“Edward?”

Ye gods. His mother was here.

“Edward!”

And Sorcha. Lovely.

“I say. Penny. Nick. Nice of you to make it.”

Nick’s head whipped ’round and to his horror, he saw that Tully had arrived before them both. His friend smirked as he strolled to Isobel and handed her a glass.

“Your lemonade, my lady.” And then he had the audacity to sit next to her on the divan.

To sit next to her on the divan.

Nick wanted to pummel him.

But there was no time to obsess on this.

Not with the predators moving in.

“Do sit down,” an elderly lady, who was holding court by the fireplace, snapped. “You’re looming.”

“Do sit, Edward,” Sorcha said, patting the seat beside her. It seemed a safe enough place, considering there was another maven, a beautiful woman with red hair, like his mother’s, on his other side.

“What lovely flowers,” she said to him.

“They’re daisies,” he responded, though given her expression, she probably had divined this for herself. “For Isobel.”

The woman’s eyes widened. “Indeed?”

“I brought roses,” Penny announced, apropos of nothing.

“Henley,” one of the women called. “More vases please.”

“It’s been a busy morning,” the woman at his side said with a twinkle in her eye.

“I can only imagine,” he muttered, looking around at all the evidence of other men’s ardor. It made him grind his teeth.

“Shall we make introductions?” the elderly woman asked, though it was not a question. “Lord Edward, Viscount Stirling. Mister Edward Pennington. I am Lady Esmeralda Van Cleve, relation to the Duchess of Caithness.” She nodded to a lovely woman with blond hair and a peaceful demeanor. “Her Grace. Lady Lana.”

Lady Lana nodded at him. “It is an honor to meet you both.”

“And,” Lady Esmeralda continued as though Her Grace had not spoken, “Her Grace’s sister, the Baroness of Dunnet.” She waved toward a dark-haired woman across the way. When she smiled at him, a shiver danced up his spine. There was something so familiar in her expression. He couldn’t put his finger on it. Not until Lady Esmeralda pointed his attention to the woman by his side . . . who had very familiar features as well. “And of course, their sister, Susana Lochlannach.”

Of course. Bloody hell.

This was Isobel’s mother.