Page 59 of Too Scot to Handle
Colin knew that Rosecroft cared greatly for Anwen, that he admired her and wanted to protect her. When Colin had asked to court her, he hadn’t quite bargained on her bringing such a lot of family to the undertaking.
Hamish had married into the Windham family less than a month ago, and Colin was still not entirely sure where his brother had found the courage.
“Rosecroft, why would I give a pig’s fart about what Moreland got up to more than thirty years ago? You’re here, you’re part of Anwen’s family, and I need four good ponies.”
The earl unfasted the crossties on both sides of the horse’s headstall, and still the animal stood as if rooted.
“Glad to know Anwen is being courted by a man of sensible—though unconventional—priorities. If I catch you frequenting dark balconies with merry widows, though, you will learn the pleasure of flying headfirst into a bed of roses.”
“That must be the Irish half of you threatening violence, because I have it on good authority English gentlemen never stoop to acknowledging bad behavior.”
Rosecroft fed the horse another lump of carrot. “Good boy, Malcolm. Come along.”
Without Rosecroft touching the headstall, the horse followed as meekly as an elderly pug, straight into a stall at the end of the row. Rosecroft said a few more words to the horse, then slid the half door closed.
“You named your horse Malcolm?”
“My daughter names all the horses,” Rosecroft said. “Who told you English gentlemen don’t acknowledge bad behavior?”
“No less personage than Winthrop Montague assured me that if I remark ill usage by some of his associates, I’ll be considered ungentlemanly. The repercussions will be endless and severe.”
“What in the hell are you going on about?”
Hamish had said that of the three male cousins—Westhaven, Lord Valentine, and Rosecroft—Rosecroft was the one most sympathetic to an outsider. He was also the oldest of the ducal siblings, and Anwen liked him.
“I’ve been made the butt of a joke,” Colin said. “An expensive joke.”
He explained, and the retelling left him angry all over again. He’d arranged to borrow from Hamish’s brewery while funds were being transferred between Edinburgh and London because he wanted the debts paid in full immediately.
“I’m not to even the score,” he said, “but I can’t abide the notion that twenty years from now, these prancing ninnies will snicker into their port because Colin MacHugh was an easy mark. Then I tell myself, twenty years from now, I’ll have much better ways to occupy myself than with what a lot of overgrown English schoolboys think of me.”
He offered that bit of manly philosophizing while the barn cat stropped itself against his boots.
“Winthrop Montague is a philandering sot who can barely afford his tailor’s bills,” Rosecroft said. “Pay the trades, MacHugh. Not because you need Montague’s approval, but because he’s not worth your aggravation. You will join my brothers and me for cards on Tuesday, and let that be known among Montague’s little friends.”
Colin picked up the cat, a sleek tabby that had likely been the doom of many a mouse. “Montague fancies himself quite the arbiter of gentlemanly deportment, the heir apparent to Brummel.”
“The Beau is kicking his heels in Calais because he has no funds to go elsewhere. He’s a charity case. If Montague doesn’t marry very well and soon, he’ll end up likewise.”
Colin scratched the cat behind the ears. Hearing Rosecroft’s assessment of Win’s situation should have been unsettling rather than reassuring.
“You forgot to pick out the gelding’s hooves.” Even if a horse was put up without being groomed, a conscientious owner picked out the feet, lest a stone lodge against the sole and cause an abscess.
Rosecroft subsided onto a tack trunk. “I leave that to the lads, because nobody cares if they get dirt on their breeches. Montague is not your friend, MacHugh.”
Colin took the place beside him and let the cat go free. “I should tell you that Win Montague isn’t responsible for the behavior of a lot of drunken fools, and he means only to preserve me from more mischief.”
Except, Montague had been in on it, very likely an instigator, and he’d done nothing to monitor the situation or stop it, until Colin had been on the verge of calling somebody out.
Anwen had certainly been angry.
“A friend should have told you immediately what was afoot if he couldn’t prevent it,” Rosecroft countered. “I take it you will be in attendance at Anwen’s card party?”
The Windham family was like a Highland village. News traveled faster than pigeons, and in all directions at once.
And that was more unexpected reassurance.
“I am on the board of directors at the orphanage now, so yes. I’ll be in attendance at the card party, prepared to gracefully lose a decent sum. You?”
