Page 90 of Highland Champion
Hell might actually be a preferable place right now, although he suspected Campbell might be right. He hadn’t shaved since Saturday, his diet had consisted mainly of whisky, and he’d slept only an hour or two each night. He simply shrugged.
“I saw theTimes.”
His tone was neutral. Alasdair wasn’t sure if he were fishing for more information—Campbell had never seemed to be interested in gossip—or, God help him, was that a twinge of pity that crossed his face? Bloody hell. He didn’t need anyone feeling sorry for him. He was doing a fine job of that on his own. He shrugged once more. “I imagine everyone has by now.”
“I suppose you are right. The news will probably get to your brothers by the next mail coach.”
Bloodyhell and damnation. That meant Lorelei’s sisters would learn of it, too. Both of them knew when he’d left for London that he’d intended to court Lorelei. What would they think of him now? He hadn’t thought he could feel any worse, but now he felt like he’d taken a blow to the head.
“Although your clan will consider it quite the coup,” Gavin went on when Alasdair said nothing. “Landing an influential duke’s vote to counter my uncle’s, I mean.”
He didn’t have to explain, damn it. For a moment, Alasdair contemplated denying that was his intention. But concocting a story about wanting to marry Melissa would be a bald-faced lie. Besides, Campbell spent a lot of time in London and was well aware of the machinations of theton. “Clan MacGregor is my priority. I suspect ye would have used the same strategy.”
Gavin have him a thoughtful look. “I am not sure that I would.”
It was a rather strange answer, but he didn’t want to discuss his upcoming nuptials any further. “Why are ye here?”
Another pause. “Let’s just say I am the bearer of bad news.”
Bad news? How could news get any worse than it already was? “Just say what ye came to say.”
“All right then.” He leaned forward, bringing the chair upright. “Parliament is delaying the vote on all of your land disputes, including the five hundred hectares.”
“What?”Alasdair straightened in his chair as well. “For how long?”
“Indefinitely. King George just received word from Major General Howe that Britain lost a thousand troops at a battle outside Boston at a place called Bunker Hill,” Gavin said. “He’s diverting all attention to the Colonies.”
“Who told ye this?”
“My uncle. He got a missive this morning to go to Westminster.”
So that’s why Mount Stuart had gone. If the king had called both the Commons and the Lords to convene, war was certain to be declared.
“I thought you should know.” Gavin rose and made his way to the door, turning as he opened it. “Since nothing is going to be settled any time soon, perhaps you can find a way to avoid a second disaster.”
And with those words, he was gone, leaving Alasdair to stare into empty air. He had no doubt Campbell was referring to his betrothal but, if anything, the delay had only tightened the parson’s noose. He’d harbored a hope—born of desperation—that maybe…maybe…if he could postpone setting a wedding date until the vote had been taken, he could persuade Melissa to cry off like she had with Westwood. In his wishful, illusionary thinking, he’d been more than willing to accept the blame—admit he was guilty of anything she wanted to accuse him of—even slink out of town like a mangy cur if it would allow her to keep her pride intact and grant him his freedom.
Now that hope—slight as it had been—was dashed. He could not take the risk of alienating the Duke of Oakley and his allies anytime in the foreseeable future. Not when Clan MacGregor depended on him.
…
The night that Lorelei had tried not to think about was finally here. It was strange, she thought dismally, as their carriage pulled up in front of the Earl of Bentley’s mansion in Belgravia, thatthiswas exactly what she had wanted—had looked forward to—on the trip from Scotland a few months ago and now, she was dreading it. Dreaded going inside to have everyone stare as her name was announced. Dreaded the whispers behind fans that were just loud enough to catch a few scathing words as she walked past. Dreaded how small groups of ladies would slowly close ranks as she approached, perhaps not showing her their backs completely, because Lady Bute was still sponsoring her, but enough of a turnaway to let her know she was not welcome to join them.
She could have made it easy for herself by accepting Randolph’s proposal. It certainly would have made her entrance—and acceptance—easier if she had arrived in his carriage and he’d been by her side as she entered. Instead, she’d written him a letter, thanking him for his offer, but telling him he was under no obligation to marry her simply because they had both moved at the wrong time and ripped her sleeve.
She hadn’t heard back.
She also dreaded facing Alasdair and Melissa for the first time since theTimesannouncement. She had pushed that thought out of her head every time it had filtered through this past week. Now, as they walked up the stairs to where a footman waited, she didn’t have the luxury of doing that anymore. She fought the urge to turn around and run.
“’Twill be all right,” Fiona whispered as if reading her mind, and squeezed her hand.
Louisa glanced at her. “I suspect Lady Melissa will not arrive until late because she will want to make sure everyone is here. So you have an hour or so.”
Lady Bute frowned. “That is a rather rude thing for you to say.”
“But true, Mother.”
There was no more time to converse because they had reached the door and were ushered in, ascending to the second floor ballroom. The butler took their cards as they stepped through.
