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And on and on and on went the list of strictures and expectations. How could anyone possibly be themselves?

No wonder Keane hadn’t been enthusiastic about toting them to Edinburgh and enduring the social scene. A constant, unnerving undercurrent hummed beneath the outward facades of geniality, and Bethea had already learned not to take anyone at their word.

Pulse high and breathing erratic from the discomfiture the Earl of Montieth always roused, Bethea tried not to draw undue attention as she slowed her steps to a sedate pace and approached Marjorie.

Attired in a stunning sea-green gown that set off her bronze hair to perfection, she chatted with a trio of attractive ladies. Marjorie spied her, and producing a welcoming smile, she extended her hand and drew Bethea near. Her treacle-brown gaze gravitated past Bethea, and flexing the merest bit, comprehension dawned in the depths of her eyes.

Perfect. Just as Bethea had hoped.

Aye, Keane had made a brilliant choice in selecting this exceptional woman for his duchess. Not only was she warm and loving, but her two adorable daughters had brought much laughter to the keep.

“Your sister is dancing at the moment,” Marjorie said, in her lilting English accent, one eye trained on Montieth’s laborious progress. “And Keane excused himself a few minutes ago and left the ballroom with Mr. Frederick Rickerson and the Marquis of Pennsworth.” Jollity shone in her eyes. “They claimed they had important business to discuss.”

One of the other women, a petite brunette with a shy smile, chuckled and arched an eyebrow. Lady Abagail Fitzpatrick, if Bethea recalled correctly. “Which means, they stole off to have a stiff drink. No doubt to congratulate Roxdale for having the good sense to marry you, Your Grace.”

Before Marjorie had a chance to introduce Bethea to the other pair, Montieth was upon them. Except for Marjorie, the ladies dipped into perfunctory curtsies, though she angled her head. She outranked him, but nonetheless curved her mouth into a gracious smile. Her nose only twitched the merest bit as his overpowering stench wafted near.

Bethea wouldn’t even permit her imagination to conjure up an image of what bedding him would entail. You needn’t fear on that account, she reminded herself. Keane would never consent to such a match.

Would he?

She bit her lower lip, traitorous uncertainty pricking her.

He was most determined to improve the duchy’s standing a reputation, and if one of his wards were to marry a powerful earl…

Nae. I shallna think of it.

Lady Fitzpatrick promptly snapped her fan open and went about creating a vigorous breeze as the other two women surreptitiously stepped backward a few paces. It said much about Montieth’s sphere of influence that so many guests graced his ballroom, despite his hygiene issue.

Did Montieth truly have no knowledge of how offensive his body odor was?

Perhaps he had an unfortunate condition that caused the malodorousness.

Why else would he not address the embarrassing matter?

“Yer Grace, might I call upon ye and his grace tomorrow afternoon?” Montieth half-wheezed, sending Bethea a sly look from beneath his heavily hooded gaze. His smile crinkled the fleshy, wrinkled pouches, drooping beneath his eyes. “I have a matter of some import I wish to discuss with him. A matter I’m confident he’ll be amenable to.”

Good God! Nae.

Bethea’s heart stopped beating before plummeting straight to her lavender silk shoes. Her throat went dry as hot sand, and an icy chill swamped her.

It was just as she’d feared.

He intended to ask Keane for her hand in marriage.

Marjorie still held her hand, and Bethea squeezed hard, sending a silent, panicked message.

Montieth had some nerve, cornering Marjorie when others were present, thereby making the refusal of his request more awkward. The boor should’ve sent a card around requesting an audience. However, Bethea had learned another thing about Montieth: no one’s opinion of him exceeded his own.

Please say nae. Please say nae,she mentally chanted, hoping her eyes didn’t reveal her absolute desperation. The fact that every ounce of blood in her body had drained to her toes wouldn’t give her away either.

“I regret we shan’t be home tomorrow,” Marjorie said coolly with the perfect combination of solicitousness and inflexibility. And praise the saints, she didn’t offer an explanation as to where they would be, for the earl was brazen enough to put in an appearance.

Thank God.

Marjorie serenely scanned the ballroom before returning her attention to him. “I see this set has ended, my lord, and my husband’s other ward is searching for us. I take my role as chaperone very seriously and must make my way to her, your lordship. Please excuse us.”

A tinge of steel threaded her last words.