Page 14 of The MacGregor's Lady
“But you’ll need a wardrobe.” He rose from the hearth to pace. “You’ll need mounts for riding in the park and driving at the fashionable hour. You’ll need calling cards printed up, and stationery for accepting or declining invitations. You’ll need to hire ladies’ maids for you and your aunt.”
And every one of those needs, Asher would have to see to.
He stopped and speared her with a look. “You plan on fighting me every step of the way, don’t you? You won’t like the clothing made to order for you. You won’t choose a maid until the very last minute. Your schedule won’t allow you to try out the horses I select for you, and it will all be in aid of thwarting a stepfather who has tried hard to see you well situated.”
And while Asher might commend the lady’s fighting spirit—hedidcommend her fighting spirit—he did not at all appreciate that she’d be making a hash of his efforts to endure a Season of Polite Society at the same time.
His brothers Ian, Connor, and Gilgallon, and his sister Mary Fran had all acquired English connections, and to the extent that Asher owed his family, good impressions in London were devoutly to be wished.
Miss Cooper rose as well, shedding her blankets to face him as he glared down at her.
“Were I to engage in such antics, sir, it would be in aid of maintaining my freedom. My stepfather didn’t try hard to seemesituated, he tried hard to seemyfortunesituated under his fat, greedy thumb. I read the proposed settlements, and my prospective husbands were not to have control of my money. He controlsmenow, and he wants to control my money when I marry. He went to great lengths in the attempt. I’m prepared to go to greater lengths to see him thwarted.”
She believed what she was saying; Asher concluded that much from the fire in her eyes. “Is he wasting your fortune?”
“He can’t.” She turned away and went to the window, her limp barely noticeable. “Papa, my real papa, set it up so there are trustees, but they lose authority when I marry or turn six-and-twenty. Papa intended my husband to take over management of my funds, but the marriage settlements simply turn the husband’s authority over to Step-papa. He’s greedy, not stupid.”
“Or he’s prudent.”
“If he’s so prudent, why doesn’t he find me a fellow who isn’t beholden to anyone? A man who’s made his own fortune and will understand how to make the best use of mine? A man who will put that money in trust for our children, for our daughters especially?”
They were good questions, questions the lady’s mother should have been asking the stepfather at least. One of Asher’s first tasks upon returning to Scotland had been to read Mary Fran’s settlement with her English baron. Fortunately, Ian, who’d held the earldom at the time, was a canny negotiator, and Mary Fran and little Fiona were well set up.
“Your stepfather is an ocean away,” Asher said. “Nobody can make you marry a man against your will.”
“No, they can’t. It has already been attempted.” Her spine was ramrod straight at this disclosure.
“Did you cry off?”
She nodded once, back still turned.
Oh, Miss Cooper.“You left him literally at the altar?”
“Not alone.” She turned to face Asher, arms crossed over her chest. “When the minister asked if I took that man, I answered as loudly as I could in the negative, before the entire congregation. I said he was my stepfather’s choice, not mine, and if Step-papa was so in love with the man, then Step-papa could marry him, for I wanted no part of him. None.”
She was in utter, jaw-clenched earnest, and she’d humiliated both her stepfather and her intended as publicly as she possibly could.
“I see.” Hesawshe was expecting him to lecture or rebuke or perhaps—worse than either—to laugh. How he wished Mary Fran had exercised the same determination where her late first husband had been concerned. “Then you realize you can enjoy spring in Town, enjoy leading the callow swains around by their noses, enjoy all the female fripperies of fashionable Society, and leave a trail of broken hearts when you return to the wilds of Boston.”
“Boston hasn’t any wilds, though Massachusetts does.”
Half the Irish who’d survived the famine had ended up in Boston, and more than a few stray Highlanders too, making the place wild enough. Asher chose not to share that opinion.
“Boston has you,” he said, a reluctant smile blossoming. “That should suffice to introduce a complement of savagery to the place.”
“Yes.” Her chin came up, and she presented him a dazzling, toothy smile. “It most certainly should.”
***
Aunt Enid entertained herself with a number of games, one of which Hannah had dubbed “if only.” The object of “if only” was to remind Hannah obliquely, and with the very best intentions, of course, of what lay in wait at home should Hannah fail to snabble an English husband. Aunt had started the present round as the coach had pulled out of the mews in Edinburgh to take them to the Waverly station. Snow made the going difficult, and as the morning became colder and more grim, the game wore on.
“If only you hadn’t made such a public scene with young Mr. Widmore. He was in expectation of a barony, you know.”
“He was a third son sent to America to escape some scandal with a female, and he was entirely Step-papa’s creature. He deserved what befell him.” Hannah turned her face to the window, where the bleak expanse of the North Sea lay visible in the distance.
“No man deserves to be treated that way by a woman he has offered for.”
“He’s not a man,” Hannah said. “He’s an errand boy seeking to be richly rewarded for doing Step-papa’s bidding. I think it’s going to snow again.”
