Scotsmen Prefer Blondes (Muses of Mayfair) Read online

  Madeleine trailed off. Ellie steered Amelia into the drawing room. Lady Carnach was there, spooning tea into the teapot near the fire, while she and Augusta continued what sounded like a heated discussion of the merits of Brussels lace over domestic handicrafts. Ellie’s half-sisters, Lady Maria and Lady Catherine, stood on the other side of the room, their identical profiles framing a window as they murmured to each other about the view.

  Amelia didn’t know the twins well, nor was she fully comfortable with Lady Carnach despite the woman’s enthusiasm for welcoming Amelia into her family. But she loved Madeleine and Ellie — and she was sure she didn’t want to hear their opinions on her marriage.

  They would definitely have opinions. Madeleine had been friends with Prudence just as long as Amelia had, and the three had dubbed themselves the Muses of Mayfair years earlier. It was a nod to their artistic passions — Amelia wrote novels, Prudence studied history and art, and Madeleine longed to be an actress. Ellie was a painter and had joined more recently, but her personality meshed perfectly with the other women.

  The Muses had supported each other through everything. But which side would Madeleine and Ellie come down on now that Amelia had caused a rift with Prudence?

  As Lady Carnach passed around cups and cakes, the talk stayed inconsequential. It was like any number of at-homes in London, light and meaningless, words dissolving like meringues as they sipped their tea. Amelia watched the clock, but when the usual quarter hour had passed, Madeleine, Ellie, and the twins made no move to leave.

  It was foolish to hope they would. The house Madeleine was now mistress of was nearly two hours away by carriage, too far for a short call. And while they weren’t well acquainted with Lady Carnach, their claim on Amelia made a longer call acceptable.

  Amelia tried to head it off. As soon as she finished her tea, she set aside her cup and stood, abandoning her position between Madeleine and Ellie on a settee. “I really must return to my letters. If you are still here at dinner, I shall see you then.”

  They wouldn’t stay for dinner. It was too dangerous to drive home through the hills after dark. But Madeleine caught her hand before Amelia could escape. “Who are you writing to so urgently? Everyone you care for is here.”

  Amelia glared at her. Madeleine knew Amelia wasn’t writing letters. But her jest trapped Amelia more efficiently than any plea for her company, since Amelia couldn’t explain herself in front of her mother.

  So she sat, ungrateful for the diversion she had previously wanted, and answered in monosyllables when the conversation turned to her. She wasn’t proud of her behavior. Given the choice, though, she would rather forestall the inevitable conversation about her engagement, and what she had done to Prudence, than be accommodating to her friends.

  But inevitable was the right word. When Augusta and Louisa stood, Madeleine and Ellie stayed seated.

  “I am sure you have much to reminisce about,” Lady Carnach said cheerfully, “and little use for two old birds flitting about you. Lady Salford and I shall walk through my garden while the weather is fine, but I do hope you’ll stay as long as you like. Perhaps you will take luncheon with us?”

  Madeleine nodded. “We would be delighted, unless Ferguson wishes to leave as soon as he and Carnach finish their discussion.”

  “They will be at it for some time, I’ve no doubt,” Louisa said. “Carnach has missed Ferguson — or Rothwell, I suppose I should say. I wish you both much happiness, your grace.”

  Madeleine had only recently become a duchess, but even though the title still startled Amelia, the role suited her. She was as gracious with Lady Carnach as if she had been born to the role. “Thank you, Lady Carnach. You must return the visit if the wedding arrangements permit us to beg your time.”

  Louisa beamed as she accepted the invitation. “Of course, Duchess. And if you want more refreshments, please don’t hesitate to ring.”

  “Do you have a music room?” Ellie interjected. “Lady Catherine and Lady Maria would appreciate the practice, as the instruments at Ferguson’s house are sorely out of tune.”

  “We wouldn’t want to be so rude as to leave you alone,” Kate said quickly.

  “Nonsense,” Ellie said, with a smile that bared her teeth. “We shan’t miss you, I’m sure.”

  It was very nearly an order, but Louisa was too polite to comment on it and the twins too well bred to cause a scene. “Of course, Lady Folkestone,” Louisa said. “And may I say it is lovely to welcome you to Scotland again after all this time? I remember your mother and miss her greatly.”

  Ellie’s eyes flickered. “Thank you, Lady Carnach. Perhaps I shall visit the area more regularly in the future.”

  Louisa smiled, then ushered the twins toward the music room. Augusta followed, closing the door behind them.

  “Now, Amelia,” Madeleine said, moving off the settee to stand by the fire, “what the devil have you done?”

  “I am shocked at your language, your grace,” Ellie said, laughing as she took up the spot by the teacart and poured herself another cup.

  “You and your brother share the blame for my language,” Madeleine retorted. But her gaze had never left Amelia’s face. “Why did you fix your attentions on Carnach? You knew what the match would mean for Prudence.”

  Amelia was glad she’d abandoned her cup, or she might have shattered it against the floor. “I didn’t fix my attention on Carnach. When have I ever done that?”

  Madeleine tapped her fingers on the mantel. “That is the same question I had when Prudence told her story. And yet you are engaged and she is returning to London with nothing.”

  “I was trying to help her,” Amelia said through gritted teeth.

  “The same way you tried to help me?” Madeleine asked.

  During Madeleine’s involvement with Ferguson last spring, Amelia’s efforts to help her had resulted in a horrible conversation with Alex — and the same threat of marriage that Amelia now faced. “I was sorry for betraying your confidence then, and I still am.”

  Madeleine’s green eyes were sharp. “And yet you interfered with Prudence as though you still feel better suited than any of us to manage our affairs.”

  Amelia spread out her hands. “Do you think she’ll forgive me?”

  The pause was ugly.

  Madeleine finally sighed. “Prudence did say she didn’t care at all for Carnach. If anything, she seemed relieved not to be marrying him.”

  “As well she should be,” Amelia muttered.

  Madeleine scowled, but she continued without haranguing Amelia again for her meddling. “Lady Harcastle is something else entirely,” she warned. “She was utterly venomous about you — so venomous that I would have asked her to leave if there were any inns within an hour of our house. Perhaps Prudence will forgive you, but as long as she lives with her mother, she likely won’t be allowed to see you.”

  Amelia moved to the teacart to freshen her cup, letting the silence lengthen as she poured. When her cup was full, she tried to lighten the mood. “I am trying not to be dramatic, but doesn’t this seem like a story I would write? A heroine in a remote castle, friendless and alone, about to be forced into marriage?”

  Madeleine laughed. “You should add a ghost. And possibly a ruined abbey.”

  “I wish that was all it took,” Amelia said, taking her tea back to her seat. “At least if I were writing this, I could give myself a happy ending.”

  Ellie cleared her throat, so daintily it almost went unnoticed, and yet so demanding that Madeleine and Amelia both turned to her. “While the idea of writing a novel about this is diverting, you are missing the most important questions,” she said.

  “And what are those?”

  Ellie sipped her tea, pausing as though her throat still bothered her. But her charisma was such that no one spoke until she set her cup in its saucer. “Question one: what drew you to Carnach when so many other suitors have failed? And question two: when you marry him, what will come of your writing?”
r />   Amelia snorted. “Can I add a question?”

  Ellie nodded graciously.

  “Question two is invalid, as I shan’t marry Malcolm. I would replace it with how I can make things right with Prudence.”

  “You may add Prudence as question three,” Ellie said. “But I predict you shall marry Carnach. You already call the man by his Christian name — surely an indicator of passion.”

  Amelia blushed. Ellie sat in the very chair where her last encounter with Malcolm had occurred — the one that lodged his name on her lips and burned his touch on her skin. “Passion and marriage are very different,” she said weakly.

  “Are you blushing, Mellie?” Madeleine demanded.

  “Of course she’s blushing,” Ellie said. “She knows I’m right.”

  Amelia stood abruptly, setting her tea on the table beside her and balling her hands at her sides. “No more questions. If you won’t help me, my time would be better spent alone.”

  “Do you really not wish to marry him?” Madeleine asked, her tone softening.

  “Why would I?” Amelia asked, pacing as she usually did. “I can’t write if I marry him.”

  “I redirect you to questions one and two,” Ellie said.

  They had sounded like a jest, but Ellie’s tone was utterly serious. “I don’t understand,” Amelia said, still pacing.

  “Why are you attracted to him? And how can you write while married? Solve those questions, and I vow the rest will work itself out.”

  “That’s easy for you to say,” Amelia scoffed as she halted by Ellie’s chair. “No one is forcing you to marry.”

  Ellie’s voice turned cold. “Not anymore, but I have been in your shoes, and with far less attraction between us. Better to make your marriage on your own terms than run from the man if you genuinely want him. Don’t let your fear confuse you.”

  “I’m sorry, Ellie,” Amelia said, dropping back into her seat on the settee. Ellie’s marriage had been arranged a decade earlier, and if the marquess hadn’t died, she’d still be trapped. “I spoke without thinking.”

  Madeleine stepped forward to sit at Amelia’s side. “The damage is done, Mellie. You might even find you like marriage if you let yourself enjoy it.”

  Madeleine still had a newlywed’s glow — but then, she had loved her husband well before their wedding. Amelia didn’t care for Ferguson, but he and Madeleine were perfectly suited.

  “I won’t find what you and Ferguson have,” Amelia said.

  Madeleine patted her knee. “Try. If you kissed him in spite of Prudence’s situation, I’m convinced there’s something there.”

  Ellie made her throat-clearing noise again.

  “Do you need more tea?” Amelia asked acerbically.

  Ellie grinned. “That obvious, was I?”

  All three laughed. For a moment, Amelia felt that with their support, she could get through anything — either marrying Malcolm, or leaving him.

  But the mood was lost when Ellie stopped laughing. “Amelia, even if you don’t love him, you should know something else. There have been rumors in London.”

  “Rumors of what?” Amelia asked. “Lady Harcastle couldn’t have possibly spread word of my indiscretions yet, and you journeyed north with us. What could you have heard that we did not?”

  “It isn’t Malcolm. It’s your writing.”

  Amelia’s optimism collapsed. “What are they saying?”

  Ellie’s voice was soothing, but serious enough that Amelia didn’t relax. “No one has said anything about you. But your last book was so pointed in its satire that only a member of the ton could have written it.”

  “They’ve said that for months,” Amelia said. “No one has suspected me.”

  “But this time — you do remember that you skewered Lord Kessel?”

  “I had to have a villain, and he’s a good one. He deserved it after his horrid attempts to marry me last year.”

  “Well, Kessel was in his cups at a soiree I attended the night before we left London, and someone called him Lord Grandison after the name you gave him in the novel.”

  Amelia laughed. “I never thought the men would read it.”

  Madeleine snorted. “You wanted the whole ton to read it so they’d stop speculating about Ferguson’s sanity. You shouldn’t have risked it.”

  “I had to, if only to make amends to you,” Amelia said. It had been her attempt at an apology, and Madeleine had appreciated it at the time despite the risk.

  “You succeeded, but it has a life of its own now,” Ellie interjected. “Kessel vowed to find the author and horsewhip him, then transport him for slander and libel. Apparently the definition of those terms and the usual sentence escaped him,” she observed drily. “But the threat remains. He’s offered three hundred pounds for information leading to the author.”

  The sum wasn’t a fortune. It wouldn’t tempt Ellie, for instance. But if anyone who needed funds knew her secret, she would face the choice of buying them off — and likely having to pay them forever — or letting them tell Kessel and hoping he wouldn’t believe them.

  “Did anyone come forward that night?” Amelia asked.

  “The usual round of people trying to collect, but none mentioned you. If you are lucky, he will find some other person to hang for it before anyone suspects you.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me before?”

  “I didn’t see a serious threat. Only the four of us and Madeleine’s coachman knew of your writing, so there was no one to betray you, and no need to worry you. But now that Prudence has, if you’ll allow me to judge, a somewhat legitimate complaint against you...”

  “You think she would sell my secret?” Amelia asked, disbelieving.

  “She wouldn’t,” Madeleine declared.

  Ellie sipped her tea. “I’ve seen more betrayal than either of you. Nothing surprises me.”

  Amelia shook her head. “I agree with Madeleine. Prudence hates Kessel almost as much as I do. I think I’m safe. Madeleine, you haven’t told Ferguson, have you?”

  Her cousin took offense. “You could trust Ferguson if I told him, you know.”

  “Have you?” she demanded.

  Madeleine scowled. “Yes. He was saying again that you’re a harpy, and I thought he might be nicer if he realized he had you to thank for urging the gossips on to a topic other than us.”

  “You didn’t,” Amelia said.

  “I’m sorry, but I cannot keep secrets from him. He won’t tell Carnach, though — you can be sure of it.”

  Amelia sighed. “We do have a way of giving up each other’s secrets to try to save each other, don’t we?”

  Madeleine looked into her teacup. “Let’s hope Prudence doesn’t take a leaf out of our book.”

  They were silent for a moment. Amelia wouldn’t dwell on Prudence, though. Her friend would nearly be to Edinburgh by now, and no apology she could write would catch her before she reached London — particularly if she didn’t want to read it.

  Amelia smoothed away the frown on her face. “I do hope Ferguson keeps his vow. Malcolm must never know about my writing. If I marry him, I won’t let him put an end to my endeavors.”

  “You won’t be able to write if you lose your link to your publisher,” Ellie warned. “Now that Kessel has an incentive to learn your identity, you cannot be as straightforward as using Madeleine’s coachman to deliver your manuscripts and pick up your payments.”

  She wouldn’t have anything to publish for a few months if she maintained her recently glacial pace. “By the time I choose to publish again, I’m sure the furor will have died.”

  None of them looked convinced, but Amelia was grateful when they let the topic drop. Madeleine changed the subject to Ferguson’s Scottish estate. Amelia made all the right noises, but her thoughts kept slipping back to her writing — and to Malcolm. If he married her just before her secret was discovered, he would be a laughingstock.

  She wanted acclaim and recognition — but with Kessel hoping to destroy
her if he could learn her name, acclaim was a dream she might never realize. She had always hoped, perhaps vainly, that someday the climate would change, that a gentlewoman could take credit for her writing without fear of scandal.

  But if her plan to avoid marriage failed, she wasn’t the only one who would be touched by any scandal her writing created. If Malcolm didn’t cry off, she would have to bury her writing identity so deeply that no one could ever unearth it.

  And she would have to hope that, despite everything, Prudence let it stay buried.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Malcolm had retreated to his study with his breakfast that morning, in no mood for Amelia’s patently obvious attempts to avoid the inevitable. He hadn’t slept well, even after taking himself in hand to relieve the arousal Amelia had caused. That she was the only woman in his fantasy as he came annoyed him as much as it spurred him on.

  He wouldn’t be the one to leave. And if she stayed, he wanted more than bits of forced obedience between periods of open war.

  But even though he wanted to put her avoidance to an end, there was no use in chasing after her — she would reconcile herself to their marriage eventually, and he had other duties to attend to. So he spent the morning behind his desk, rereading weeks-old copies of The Gazette and The Times, making notations of which lords held which positions on the issues of the day. The news was light in September, with Parliament not yet in session. But he owed it to his clan to know the battlefield before he approached it.

  The battle wouldn’t be easy. There were only sixteen Scottish peers in the House of Lords, voted in every session from the far larger Scottish peerage. Their limited influence had been forced on them with the Act of Union, when England had dictated terms to make sure Scotland would always be under her heel.

  Malcolm could take a seat in the House of Lords despite the restrictions, due to his subsidiary English title, Viscount Leybourne. But most aristocrats, even those whose lands were in Scotland, held no love for the Highlands. Despite the war against America, few cared whether the entire population of Scotland left for those shores. All that mattered was profit — and most landlords could make more money from sheep than they’d ever earned in rent from their tenants.