Page 82 of What a Highlander’s Got to Do

“I most certainly dinna.”

They glanced at each other; both paled.

“I . . . What do we do?” What did one do when someone interloped, uninvited, on a house party? He simply didn’t have the training for this.

“I’m afraid there’s nothing we can do, short of telling them to leave. And that would be socially disastrous. For everyone.” A fact that Lady Swofford must know well.

Nick blew out a breath. “What kind of people come to a party they were not invited to?”

His mother glanced at the encroaching Swoffords. Her expression spoke for itself.

“Hurry and go tell Mrs. Billings to prepare two more suites.”

“Me?” he croaked.

Mother lifted an elegant brow. “Unless you’d prefer to stay here and welcome them.”

He was off in a flash.

* * *

After punting, which had been delightful because Declan made her laugh, he strolled with her over to the archery butts, where the men were engaged in a competition of sorts, though it seemed to consist of them knocking into each other, just as they released their arrows, and then bellowing at each other for doing so.

Isobel watched for a while, because it was entertaining, but then started looking around for Nick because she hadn’t seen him lately. She saw Sorcha, though, and waved her over. As her friend came to her side, Isobel’s gaze landed on someone else standing with the duchess beneath an elm.

A vein pinged in her temple.

“Is that Celia Swofford?” she asked.

Sorcha sucked in a deep breath. “Aye.” That was all she said, but her tone left Isobel wondering. Though subtle, it was clear she wasn’t pleased at Celia’s presence, but if she hadn’t invited her . . . who had?

Had the duchess? Or . . . Nick.

What a pity she couldn’t ask.

“I dinna realize she was coming.”

Sorcha snorted. “Neither did we.”

Ah.

How . . . awkward.

More awkward still, Celia and her mother started for the archery butts. Most probably because that was where all the men were gathered.

“Well, hallo, all,” Lady Swofford crowed, causing Malcolm’s arrow to go awry, with no nudging whatsoever.

“Lady Swofford. Lady Celia,” they all chorused. It was not lost on Isobel that they cringed as well.

“Oh, I do love seeing big strong men shooting arrows,” Celia cooed.

“Isobel shoots quite well, I’ve heard,” Sorcha offered.

All the men turned to gape at her, as though she were an exotic animal at a menagerie.

“Oh, I’m not so good,” she said bashfully, which of course resulted in all of them encouraging her to give it a try, like the gentlemen they were. Malcolm handed her his bow and she managed to drop it. “Oh, my,” she said, fumbling with it a bit. Then she dazzled them all with a broad smile. “All right. Who wants to shoot against me?”

Malcolm paled. “I couldn’t do that. It would hardly be fair.”