Page 66 of Too Scot to Handle
“Tell me about Winthrop Montague, sir.”
Colin took some consolation from Anwen’s smile, which assured him that she’d be happy to discuss wrist-kissing later.
“The objective of the mis-charging exercise,” Colin said, “was to shame me. I was to go hat in hand to the various tradesmen, and explain that I needed time to address the situation. To ask for forbearance from the clubs within weeks of being admitted would have been galling, to say nothing of my new tailor, my bootmaker, Tatts, and so forth.”
Not galling, but rather, impossible. Colin would have sold his horses, borrowed from his sisters, and taken work with MacHugh the fishmonger rather than let those bills linger.
“This lark grows complicated,” Anwen said. “I like it less as time goes on, and I hated it to begin with.”
“If I’d asked Win what to do about the money, begged him for a loan he couldn’t make, complained to him about being in dun territory, then I would still have his friendship.”
“Such as it was.”
Anwen was very clear that Winthrop Montague had behaved badly.
“Are you angry with him on my behalf, or because he’s shirking here at the orphanage? He warned me I’d be replacing him eventually.”
“That was before Lord Derwent dodged off for the race meets. I understand that these men don’t take the orphanage seriously, Colin. The directors have never shivered through the month of January fighting for a place to sleep in a church doorway. Win has stopped even pretending to care.”
Hitchings came out of the building, a sheaf of papers in his hand rather than his birch rod.
Colin lowered his voice. “Win’s unlucky in love, and apparently getting unluckier. The ladybird he longs to call his own is considering the protection of a duke’s heir, and Win’s nigh mad with frustration.”
Colin could tell Anwen such things. She wasn’t easily shocked, and Colin, being very lucky in love himself, felt an awkward pity for Win.
“Mrs. Bellingham again,” Anwen said. “Perhaps Winthrop should hold a card party to sponsor his aims where she’s concerned. Surely half the club members in Mayfair would turn out to support that worthy goal.”
She was furious with Win, and Colin couldn’t blame her.
“Win will be at your card party, and so will his friends.”
Hitchings was gazing about, as if he expected four boys to pop out from the hedges. In bright sunlight, the headmaster looked pale and tired, and yet, he was clearly intent on some goal other than allowing Colin more privacy with Anwen.
“Winthrop Montague is chairman of the orphanage’s board,” she said, untangling the mint from the rose’s stem. “If he fails to attend the card party, my aunt will skewer his social aspirations for the next five years.”
“I hadn’t thought of that. That explains why all of his friends accepted their invitations. I asked the duchess to extend her hospitality to each of the men responsible for trespassing on my good nature and my exchequer. Your dear aunt agreed that such graciousness was appropriate under the circumstances.”
Before Colin could draw his next breath, Anwen was off the bench, her arms locked around his neck. “Oh, that was diabolical, Colin! No wonder they hate you, and it’s so…It’s brilliant.”
The scents of mint and rose blended with Colin’s delight at gathering his lady close. He’d expected the joy of being affectionate with her to wane, to mute into something more dignified, but every time he wrapped his arms around Anwen—every time he saw her, or even thought of her—his heart leapt.
As did another part of his anatomy.
“You approve?” he asked, taking a half step back, but keeping hold of her hand. “It’s not quite revenge, but it’s a statement. Rosecroft pronounced it a gentlemanly rebuke.”
As had Edana and Rhona, who’d found torn hems, pressing thirst, or sudden fatigue cropping up whenever Win’s friends had asked them to dance. Rosecroft had had a word with his countess and his regiment of lady sisters and sisters by marriage.
Win’s friends were sitting out quite a few dances, and they weren’t exactly flooded with invitations either.
Such a pity.
Anwen’s smile would have lit up a Highland sky on a January night. “Your gentlemanly rebuke is perfect. The orphanage will be the better for their attendance at the card party, and their pride will be the worse. I love it.”
A throat cleared in the direction of the terrace.
Colin released Anwen’s hand as boots scraped on the stone steps.
“Hitchings, good day.” Hitchings had been notably quiet at the board meeting earlier in the day. He looked positively glum now.
