Page 100 of Too Scot to Handle
Anwen longed to detain him by doing him a severe injury. “It’s about that situation that we must speak. I’ve had a chance to consider my choices and will want certain assurances written into the settlements.”
Montague tipped his hat to the Duchess of Quimbey, who did not appear to recognize him.
“You are planning to be difficult,” he said when the duchess was out of earshot. “I stated my position clearly yesterday. You do not dictate terms, you do not bargain, you do not think to manipulate me with conditions and concessions. Time is of the essence.”
The church was emptying, congregants filling the walkway, and Anwen refused to lower her voice.
“The welfare of twelve innocent boys must come before our selfish priorities, Mr. Montague, I’m sure you’ll agree.”
“Them again. If you want urchins to dote on, I will see you well supplied. London has a surfeit of wretched children on offer and always will, though I should hope you’d be more interested in doting on our offspring.”
Flora Stanbridge, one of the biggest gossips ever to stumble into her partner’s arms on the dance floor, stopped not two yards away.
Anwen patted Montague’s cravat—let dear Flora report that public familiarity. “Surely you intend to have a word with my uncle before the topic of offspring becomes appropriate to discuss, Mr. Montague?”
Montague removed a speck of lint from his sleeve and flicked it in Flora Stanbridge’s direction. “Where is Moreland? I do need to have a word with him. You’re quite correct about that.”
Oh, Colin. “If you intend to raise the matter of a courtship with Moreland, you’d best not do it on a public street.”
Montague smiled at that riposte, his expression so doting it made Anwen queasy. “Excellent point, my dear. Let me take Rosalyn home, and I’ll drop around directly.”
Colin’s note hadn’t said anything about detaining Lady Rosalyn, and Anwen hadn’t the patience to deal with her ladyship in any case.
“Don’t tarry at home,” Anwen said. “Set her ladyship down, and pay your call straight away, for Uncle has commitments this afternoon.”
“Don’t worry,” Montague said, patting Anwen’s cheek with his gloved hand. “My business with Moreland is urgent, and I’m glad you’ve made the wiser choice.”
He bowed and took himself off, while Anwen muttered every curse she knew in Welsh.
Chapter Nineteen
“One feels such pity for those not to the manor born,” Winthrop Montague said, steering his phaeton out of Hanover Square. “They’re bound to encounter difficulties that might have been avoided if they’d kept to their places.”
Delightfully serious difficulties in the case of Colin MacHugh.
“You’re trying to sound deep again,” Rosalyn replied. “I like you better when you’re being witty. Do you refer to Lord Colin?”
“The very one. He’s about to land in a deal of trouble over the missing money.”
Rosalyn shot Win a peevish look, as if he were being simple rather than philosophical. “You should let it drop, Win. Money is vulgar. Orphans are tiresome. Close the place down and get back to making stupid wagers with your stupid friends.”
The day was fine, though Rosalyn had always disliked sunny weather. God help the poor dear, she might become afflicted with a freckle.
“How much did you lose?” Win asked. “You can tell me.”
“Too much, but I’ll come right. I always do.”
True enough, and Win never inquired too closely about how she managed it, though Rosalyn’s maid was ever busy altering this dress or pawning that one.
“I shall offer for Anwen Windham,” he said, “and she’ll accept me. Let that brighten your mood, sister dear. First thing tomorrow, I’ll have the Scottish bumpkin arrested, though you mustn’t mention that to anybody. If Anwen is willing to see reason about a special license, I will ask Papa to plead for Lord Colin to be transported rather than hanged. I think that’s being very gracious.”
Rosalyn twitched her skirts away from Win’s boots. “This isn’t a game, Winthrop. A man’s life is at stake, and you haven’t even proved Lord Colin took the money. Why can’t you just let it blow over? You said the orphanage still has the jewels, so the children are better off. Nobody needs to know about a few coins going missing.”
Rosalyn wasn’t prone to argument when charm would suffice, but she was in a mood about something. But then, her idea of a few coins was most people’s idea of a small fortune.
“Do you fancy the Scottish brute? A little longing for the mud, as the French say? I honestly don’t think he took the money. Hitchings might have, or that MacDeever fellow. Maybe the brats, or the cook, for all I know. Lord Colin probably won’t be convicted, now that I think on the matter.”
Rosalyn remained silent, while Win turned the horse onto their street, but her sigh bore the impatience of every sister with every brother, which was a lot of impatience for such a lovely Sabbath.
