Page 76 of Too Scot to Handle
“I may not be able to see him transported, but I can at least send him packing back to Scotland with his tail between his legs. He’s quite possibly toying with a lady’s affections, and taking advantage of her soft heart, but I can show her the error of her ways.”
“We should always be looking out for the ladies,” Pointy said.
“When we’re not looking up their skirts.” Twillinger lifted his almost-empty tankard. “Are they pouring the pints short these days?”
“You simply hold your liquor well,” Win said. “I’m off to look in on the orphanage.”
Win sketched a bow and left, though he wasn’t about to set foot on the premises of the orphanage. Mrs. Bellingham’s establishment was open, and a gentleman could drink ale there as well as anywhere else.
* * *
“You made Jonathan Tresham smile,” Charlotte said beneath the soft lilt of a string quartet. “Anwen Windham, you’ve been working on your flirtation skills. Perhaps Lord Colin has assisted you in this regard.”
Mr. Tresham had not only smiled at Anwen before the entire ballroom full of card players, he’d waxed congenial about donating a watchdog to the orphanage out of a mastiff litter much anticipated by his ducal relations.
Jonathan Tresham, congenial. The whole gathering was congenial, as if a chance to do something for the less fortunate was a relief rather than imposition.
“Lord Colin isn’t half the flirt he’s made out to be,” Anwen said.
Charlotte leaned near and whispered, “Your evening is a success already, Wennie. You should be proud of yourself.”
“I’m proud of us, Charlotte. You and Elizabeth pitched in, Her Grace lent her considerable expertise, Lord Colin has helped, and the cousins are here in force.”
Charlotte took a sip of her lemonade, and waggled her fingers at Rosecroft who walked past in company with Baron Twillinger. If the two were discussing horses, Rosecroft probably hadn’t seen Charlotte’s greeting.
“We need family projects,” Charlotte said. “Activities we can all support, and the brilliance of your card party is that we’re doing something useful. If Her Grace doesn’t turn this into an annual event, we sisters should. Lady Rhona and Lady Edana would help, and—his lordship does cut a dash in that kilt, doesn’t he?”
Anwen had asked Colin to trot out his Highland finery. In full dress regalia he was formidably attractive, which might explain why Lady Rosalyn had been hanging on his arm rather a lot.
Poor dear—and poor Colin too.
A whiff of spiked fruit punch presaged Winthrop Montague joining them at the edge of the ballroom.
“My sister and Lord Colin make an interesting couple, don’t they?” he said. “Not Rosalyn’s usual style, but she is ever kind and Lord Colin knows better than to get ideas where her ladyship is concerned.”
Win was in typical evening attire, and he looked like every other gentleman in the ballroom, with the exception of Cousin Valentine, who had the panache to wear more lace than most men favored.
“You think Lord Colin might entertain aspirations where Lady Rosalyn is concerned?” Charlotte asked.
“He’d best not, for it can’t come to anything. Rosalyn is very discerning about the company she keeps, and while she can admire initiative in a man, a Scottish distiller whose family stumbled into a title is hardly likely to hold her interest in the matrimonial sense. I mean no insult to MacHugh—he’s a friend, after all—but standards must be maintained.”
Given her brother’s example, Lady Rosalyn was unlikely to recognize initiative in a man, much less admire it.
“I esteem Lord Colin greatly,” Anwen said. “He’s taken the orphanage’s situation to heart, and tonight is the result of ideas he sowed in discussions with me. If he’s an example of the men you consider a friend, Mr. Montague, then your taste is to be sincerely commended.”
Charlotte became fascinated with her lemonade.
“You have such a good heart,” Mr. Montague said. “I’ve always admired that about you, Miss Anwen.”
His compliment was accompanied by a peculiar contortion of his features. He lowered his lashes, pooched out his lips, peeked over at her, then lowered his lashes again. A moment later, Anwen realized she’d been the recipient of a melting glance.
“You two will excuse me,” Charlotte said, holding up her glass. “Time to make sure the punch bowls are all refilled.”
She shot Anwen a you-can’t-kill-me-unless-you-catch-me look and bustled away.
“Such a shame,” Mr. Montague said, “when a woman of excellent breeding and decent looks can’t find a man who appreciates her, don’t you agree?”
“Of course, just as when a man of excellent breeding and decent looks endures a similar fate. Loneliness is a heavy burden, regardless of gender.”
