Page 25 of By Any Other Name

Gregory turned onto Rylla’s street, his head lowered in thought. He was unaccustomedly nervous. The timing was wrong. He should probably wait until after the holidays. Moreover, Rylla was distraught over their failure to find her brother. Which brought to mind the fact that Gregory had failed at the only thing he could do for her. Not to mention the fact that he had behaved like an utter bounder last night.

He frowned, his steps slowing. Today was possibly the worst day he could choose. Yet he could not turn back. He had to see her. Lifting his head, he looked down the street at the Campbell house and came to an abrupt halt.

A post chaise sat in front of the house. And his cousin was climbing down from it.

“Andrew?”

Sir Andrew swung round. His face lightened. “Gregory!”

“What are you doing here? Are you headed to Baillannan, after all?”

“No. No.” Andrew shook his head, tugging at his waistcoat and checking his neckcloth, then toying with the gold top of his fashionable cane. “Not Baillannan. No.”

When Andrew said nothing further, Gregory said, “Then . . . why are you in a post chaise?”

“What? Oh.” Sir Andrew glanced over at the yellow conveyance as if surprised to find it there. “Yes, well, fact is . . . I’m escorting Eleanor home. I mean, Miss McIntyre.”

“I didn’t know she was leaving.”

“Mm. Just here for a fortnight, you know. Her father wants her home for Christmas. He’s a clergyman.”

“Yes. I’ve heard.” Gregory frowned. “Andy . . . are you unwell?”

“Yes. I mean, no, I’m perfectly well. Quite, um . . . Devil take it, Greg! I think I may cast up my accounts right here.”

“Are you foxed?”

“No!” Andrew gave him an affronted look. “In front of Eleanor? I mean, Miss McIntyre?”

“Then why are you acting so peculiar?”

“That’s the thing. Have to be normal. Proper. Though I dare swear he’ll still dislike me.”

“Who? What are you talking about?”

“No need to shout. I’m talking about her father. Thing is . . . you see . . . I’m going to ask him . . . for her hand.”

“Miss McIntyre?” Gregory’s eyebrows sailed upward. “You’re proposing to her? Marriage?”

“Yes, of course, marriage,” Andrew replied testily. “Really, Greg, what else have we been talking about?”

“I’m not sure.” He regarded his cousin for a moment. “Andrew, are you certain?”

“Positive. He’s bound to dislike me. He’s a clergyman.”

“I meant, are you certain you want to marry Miss McIntyre? You told me she was rigid and prudish and rule-abiding.”

“Yes, um, perhaps I should not have said prudish.” A faint bit of color tinged his cheeks. “Anyway, one rather wants a wife who abides by the rules, doesn’t one?”

“Not always.” A faint smile touched Gregory’s lips. “I thought you were determined not to marry.”

“I was. But . . .” He shrugged. “Things happen.”

“Yes, they do, don’t they?”

“When she said she was going home today . . . well, I didn’t want her to. She’s—” Andrew screwed up his face, as if thinking were a painful process. “She is very different from me. But, thing is—I don’t want to marry someone like me. And I thought I’d like to see her sitting across from me at the breakfast table each morning. Everything’s . . . flat without her.” He looked at Gregory. “Do you know what I mean?”

“Yes.” Gregory smiled. “I believe I do.”