Page 87 of Highland Champion
She didn’t really want tea, but she didn’t want to sound like a recalcitrant child, either. “Thank you.”
She hadn’t taken more than a few sips when the butler appeared, silver salver in hand. He lowered the tray to her. “This just came for you.”
She took the embossed envelope and turned it over to see the seal of the Marquess of Westwood. Had Randolph seen theTimesand was sending condolences? How embarrassing if he suspected she had feelings for Alasdair. Or maybe he was apologizing for last night’s fiasco, even though it wasn’t his fault.
She broke the seal and took out the note on expensively monogrammed paper and scanned the contents. Then she let it fall from hands that had suddenly gone numb.
“What is it?” Lady Bute asked. “What is wrong?”
“It…is…from…Randolph.”
“What does he say?” Louisa asked.
“He…” Lorelei didn’t think she could get the words out. This was the last thing she expected. “He…is… ” She drew a shaky breath. “He is proposing marriage.”
“Ah,” Lady Bute said, not sounding at all surprised. “I thought he might.”
“But… Nothing happened!”
Louisa and her mother exchanged glances and Louisa sighed.
“I think you might be in the same predicament as Mr. MacGregor.”
Lorelei stared at her. “What? Why? We were simply standing on the path.”
“But your gown was torn,” Lady Bute said quietly.
“I told you how that happened.”
“Yes, but that is not how it was most likely perceived by those who saw you,” she answered, “and no one knows who screamed.”
“I do not scream.”
“But no one knows that.” Louisa looked at her mother again and then back to Lorelei. “You told us that the duke said you and Lord Westwood were supposed to be acting as chaperones and implied that the marquess got carried away because your dress was torn.”
Lorelei fell back against the settee, suddenly realizing how the whole thing had appeared to everyone else and how cleverly the blasted duke had used it to his advantage. Or, more precisely, to Medusa’s advantage. If she had been playing a game of chess, this would be the time the duke would declare a check. The king—or in this case, Alasdair—was in jeopardy if he could not move. She didn’t know if Alasdair even had an opportunity to move right now.
She glanced at the note again. Of course, Randolph being Randolph, would feel he needed to do the honorable thing.
“Lord Westwood is just doing this because he thinks it is the right thing to do.”
Lady Bute studied her for a moment. “It probably is the right thing.”
Lorelei blinked. “What? I cannot marry him!”
“Hmmm.”Louisa’s mother set her teacup down. “You might want to think on that.”
“Why? I do not love him. He does not love me.” When there was silence, she grimaced. “I know that many marriages are not love matches, but I always thought…” She let the sentence fade. It was Alasdair she wanted. She knew that now. “Well, I would rather be a spinster.”
“Hmmm,” she said again. “Think about that, too. If you do not accept the marquess’s offer, I doubt there will be others. The bitter truth is that you are considered ruined as of now.”
“I do not care.” She knew she sounded petulant, but at the moment shedidn’tcare.
“I understand you are upset, but do me the small favor of not turning the marquess down immediately,” Lady Bute said.
“Mother is right,” Louisa said. “Even if you do not want to marry Lord Westwood—or anyone else—if you delay a bit, the gossip will die down as soon as another scandal arises. We can maybe salvage your reputation that way.”
All she wanted to salvage was a relationship with Alasdair. She wished Fiona would return so she could find out what Alasdair’s plans were. Where was she? What was taking so long?
