Page 16 of Entrancing the Earl
Iona entertained herself watching her new friends practice long-abandoned flirting skills with the marquess and cadre of young gentlemen. Like the earl, Rainford had assumed a courtesy title from his father and had little actual power beyond that of his wealth and connections. But society gravitated toward titles, wealth, and beauty. With his icy blond good-looks, the marquess possessed all three.
With twice as many women as men attending, there could be no formal pairing off into the dining room. When dinner was called, all precedence was abandoned under Malcolm insistence on equality. Iona drifted into the dining hall alone.
Winifred had obviously set the name cards, Iona decided, finding her name at the earl’s right hand at the head of the table. She cursed herself for not slipping in here earlier and rearranging the cards. She’d become accustomed to taking a seat in the middle and had simply assumed her anonymity would be honored. She glanced longingly at the epergne she preferred to hide behind.
“I have never understood how ladies arrange to have so much hair, but yours looks lovely tonight, Miss Malcolm.” Using formal address, the earl skeptically eyed her fake coiffure. He’d seen her without bonnet or chignon.
“When we cut our hair, we stuff it in netting,” Simone explained matter-of-factly from his left side. “I suppose it’s less expensive than buying hats and lace and tiaras.”
Iona’s lips twitched. She wouldn’t have to say a word all evening with Simone sitting across from her. Winifred was an evil planner.
As if summoned from Iona’s thoughts, Winifred clinked her silverware against her crystal wine glass and called, “Quiet everyone.”
While the soup was served, Iona glanced down the table to find the older lady had elected to sit at the right hand of the marquess on the opposite end.
“Rainford is about to tell us of the missing children,” Winifred announced.
Missing children? Iona waited for explanation.
“The description did not give age,” Rainford corrected. “I have telegraphed friends in Edinburgh for more details.Young heiressesis all I know, and that they’re Malcolms. So we thought you should know.”
Iona chilled but pretended interest in her soup.
“Surely there is more, my lord,” Winifred demanded. “HeiressandMalcolmare often synonymous.”
“My informant only mentions blond and blue-eyed daughters of the Earl of Craigmore.”
Iona’s stomach rebelled against the little soup she’d imbibed. Still, even in her fear, she noticed the error. Her stepfather—or Arthur—didn’t even know what color their eyes were.
The marquess continued. “I thought Ives might be interested in the reward of ten thousand pounds.”
Ten thousand pounds? The entire house, land, and contents of Craigmore weren’t worth ten thousand pounds. She was an heiress in title only.
Iona longed to sink lower in her chair as every head turned in the earl’s direction. Instead, she sipped her water and watched the Earl of Ives and Wystan like everyone else.
Her host merely shrugged. “Blond, blue-eyed, and female describes almost every Malcolm in existence.”
Which was why, when they first set out, Isobel had dyed her hair black and Iona had trimmed hers short enough to cover with a cap and pretend she was a boy. It had grown out a little since then, but no sun touched it under her old-fashioned bonnets, leaving it mostly light brown.
She and Isobel didn’t have to change eye colors. They had their father’s golden-brown instead of their mother’s blue. So, maybe the old goat had remembered his wife had blue eyes and assumed her daughters did also.
“Were they abducted? Is there a ransom note?” the earl asked. “Are they old enough to run off with suitors? Is Craigmore a drunkard to lose his daughters?”
“Oh, the famed Ives cynicism,” one of the gentlemen at mid-table said. “If they’re Malcolms, won’t the Malcolm genealogy tell us more?”
“Not ours,” Mrs. Merriweather, the loyal librarian, said serenely. “Craigmore is a Highland estate. They’ve established their own library, although I can write Lady Abbott and inquire.”
How long would it take for all the pieces of the puzzle to fall in place? Worse yet, where could she run when they did?
And areward? That had to be the American’s doing. She should have killed him when she had the chance, but she’d not thought him much of a threat then.
“If you would write, Mrs. Merriweather, that would be appreciated,” Ives said with his usual indifference. “I do not like the thought of two innocents in the hands of scoundrels. But if they’ve merely run off with suitors, I want no part in it.”
Iona sensed a whiff of interest, but the earl truly was cynical and not particularly worried.
“Your own mother ran off, did she not?” Rainford inquired. “Malcolm women are known to be headstrong.”
Iona had known the earl had a Malcolm mother but had not considered the ramifications. No wonder he wasn’t too concerned about the missing heiresses. She almost smiled at his confidence that they could take care of themselves.
