Chapter 2

2

D ougal Mackay was very aware of the two inches of space between his massive knee and the knee of the lady who sat opposite him in a dark gray wool coat with blue-and-white plaid cuffs and collar. A jeweled feather was pinned to the lapel, muted in the dull afternoon sky but likely sparkling in the sunlight. And really, did it matter? The blue in the stones matched the blue in her eyes, a detail he shouldn't have noticed but couldn't help focusing on.

And then he realized he was staring at her lapel, his gaze lingering in the general area of her ample bosom. If he were caught, it would result in a slap he well deserved.

Miss Poppy Featherstone.

She was as beautiful today as she was when he'd first met her a few years ago and as stunning as she'd been in London—when he'd been compelled to press his mouth to hers in a kiss that haunted him to this day.

A kiss that should never have happened. A step over lines he shouldn't have crossed. He'd known it before he'd done it and been incapable of stopping himself. The sweetest, most exquisite feeling. And he'd waited for the stinging slap after, but it hadn't been there. She'd stared at him in a way he'd never thought to see in a woman's gaze, never thought he'd deserve. Desire. Acceptance. Possessiveness. And it scared the hell out of him.

Scared him so much that he'd jumped at the news that he was needed back in Scotland. Not that he was pleased with the reason for his attendance either.

And now, here she was, sitting across from him. Every bone in his body wanted to lean forward and pull her into his embrace.

But there was something different about her now. A marked change he couldn't describe except to say the brilliant light he'd seen in her eyes when they'd danced in London last year was dimmed. Poppy had been witty, jovial, and charming. She was still charming, the wittiness still evidently there, but her jovial nature, the carefreeness of her disposition seemed…fragmented. The wind had been knocked out of her lively sails, and he wished more than anything to bring it back. There were fissures in the melancholy she'd wrapped herself in, and he continued to needle the cracks in hopes of opening her up while mending the merriness of her countenance.

Why he was so invested in her happiness was a mystery he didn't care to solve.

But he did think his sister's treatment of the three Featherstone women to be unkind. When he'd learned of Lord Cullen's passing and the entail not being passed to his daughters, Dougal had been surprised and then dismayed to learn they were having to rely on his sister's charity. Their half-brother Edward was a crack at billiards and a good man to hunt with, but when it came to his family, he bowed to Mary as if all the backbone he held at the club turned to ash as soon as he crossed his own threshold.

Dougal had always held hope that a good man would soften his sister. Edward was a good man—but he did nothing to soothe Mary's natural ire. Hell, even becoming a mother hadn't mollified her. If anything, it had only made her more annoyed at life. Dougal had come to the conclusion recently that there was literally nothing that could make Mary smile. She didn't even appear pleased when she hurt other people's feelings as most bullies did, having a sense of power and pleasure. Mary was just sour.

It wasn't charitable of Dougal to ponder his sister and her countenance in this way, but she'd been the same since they were children. She was bossy, selfish and prone to only caring about what other people might think in any given situation, then manipulating that situation to be in her favor and somehow still being mad about it.

Mary was forever a victim in all situations. Even if said situation was of her own making.

Of course, she'd agreed that the Featherstone lasses could live with her and Edward because not agreeing would make her out to be a bad person. Society would have looked down on her for being inhospitable and cold. Uncharitable. She couldn't have that. But that didn't mean she was going to make their time in her house pleasant. The opposite, Dougal guessed, so that they would leave on their own, and she could then prattle on about how she'd offered up her home and charity, and they'd not been grateful.

Which was quite sad, given that the Featherstone women were at their lowest. The loss of a parent had devasted his friends; even his own parents had been torn when they lost their mothers and fathers. He was lucky still to have his kicking up their heels, but that didn't mean he couldn't empathize. What the Featherstones needed was kindness and distraction. And he aimed to provide that if he could.

Dougal had felt the need to make up for his sister's behavior throughout their lives. This situation was no different.

As soon as he'd heard that the mourning women had moved in, he'd come down from his country estate in the Highlands to see if he might bring some cheer. Or, at the very least, act as a buffer between his sister and the Featherstones. Lord knew they were going to need it.

"We appreciate it. How long will you be in Edinburgh?" Miss Featherstone asked.

"A week or two," he drawled out, "Depending on the business I have to attend to."

"And what business is that?" She shifted, tucking the wool blanket closer to her waist. Her gaze was curious but hedging on unobtrusive from the way she explored the sidewalks next to their moving curricle.

"Family business." He didn't expect her to be interested in his business of horse flesh. Most women weren't. But he also didn't want to get into the fact that he wasn't actually in town on business.

"I see." She pursed her lips, and he sensed she was mildly offended by his lack of explanation.

Damn it. But it wasn't as if he could say he'd come there deliberately to see her.

"Well, I hope you're able to find success in your short time here, my lord. I used to help my father with his business, and it was satisfying. I know it's not really acceptable, but I've always had a good mind for maths, and Papa challenged me often with his ledgers."

Dougal chuckled. "If I ever find myself in a bind on the ledgers, I know who to ask for advice."

She glanced at him, a small smile on her lips. "You seem successful. I doubt you'll ever need my help."

"One never knows."

"That is true. One never does." At that, her face fell, and she quickly looked out the window again, and he realized he'd stepped in it, the conversation inadvertently touching on the quickness of her father's illness and death.

As they entered the park, a lone rider trotted beside them, a welcome distraction. "Ah, my good friend, Colonel Austen. Might I introduce you to Miss Poppy Featherstone and Miss Anise, the late Baron Cullen's daughters?"

Colonel Austen tipped his hat. "Ladies, you are the sun on this gloomy morning. And may I offer you my condolences on the loss of your father?"

"Thank you," Anise said, with a bat of her lashes and a subtle blush to her cheeks.

"We appreciate your thoughts," Poppy added, though she seemed far more subdued than her sister.

"Allow me to be of service should you need it," Colonel offered.

The two women nodded and practically whispered their thanks; their voices were so low. Dougal felt like his chest might split open.

Colonel Austen's gaze lingered on the down-turned face of Anise, an interest in his eyes that Dougal hadn't seen in years. Abruptly, he shook his head and turned his attention to Dougal. "How long are you in town?"

"A couple of weeks. Come by for dinner. I'll see that Mary adds a place for you at the table. Your company would be much appreciated."

Colonel Austen, who'd known Mary for as long as he'd known Dougal, given they were boyhood friends, chuckled. "I'd be delighted. How is tonight? I leave for the Highlands tomorrow morning."

Austen and Dougal had fought together in the military and, prior to that, gone to Oxford together and Eton as lads. The only two Highlanders in their class, they'd had each other's backs during many a schoolyard fight. English aristocrats, having grown up believing the Scots were rubbish, had no problem pouncing on the two of them when their tutors weren't looking. And Dougal, as tough and well-built as he was, would have come away with a lot more bruises had it not been for his good friend helping him live to see another day.

"Then we'll be glad to have you with us before you head out of town." Dougal certainly would be, and he thought the Featherstones would be too. It meant that Mary would most likely be on her best behavior for the meal, which he wasn't certain had happened before his arrival.

"And you think that your sister will allow it?" Austen hedged. "There was that time last year that she practically dragged me out by my ear."

The two sisters looked up sharply, a smile on Poppy's lips.

"Of course, how could she deny a good friend a place at her table? And besides, we will no' be drunk before dinner this time."

Colonel Austen laughed. "We've been friends a long time, Mackay, and I've heard your sister deny many a name a place at her table—even when they were no' drunk."

Poppy bit back a laugh, and Dougal grinned. "My sister is a saint. I'll not hear another word of it." His tone dripped with sarcasm. "If anyone has been tossed out, it is certain that they deserved it."

"A saint, aye. I think ye refer to her husband," Austen drawled, which drew out a laugh from Anise.

"I assure you, our brother and his wife are well suited," Poppy said, surprising both himself and her sister, whose eyes widened.

But Colonel Austen only laughed. "Touché. Then I shall come by early enough that she might invite me to stay for dinner herself, and we shall all swear to secrecy that this little plan was never hatched."

"And I will pray she does no' see through our schemes, for ye know how clever Mary is."

"And suspicious," Austen said.

"Always." Dougal nodded. "I was never able to get away with anything as a lad."

"Nor I."

"But ye were always so good to try and take the blame, though she never believed ye."

"Nay, Mary always believed punishments should be tilted in my direction."

"Indeed, she did."

"And still does. When I was here a few months ago, she made certain to give the servants the night off and lock up the house when I told her I was going to the club, and she asked me no' to."

"Locked out then?"

"Aye. And the sad thing is, I'd agreed to stay because she asked me to, even though I've got a house in town."

"Ye're a saintly brother. Perhaps tonight, we shall make a toast to the saints in our lives."

"I think it a good idea."

Poppy and Anise had perked up mightily now with the banter going back and forth. He hoped it would extend through the evening but had a feeling that when he returned to dinner, their joy might have been obliterated during tea, extinguished for life.

"It was a pleasure to meet the two of ye," Austen said, tipping his hat. "And I look forward to the delight of your company this evening."

"I don't know, Colonel Austen," Anise said, her voice a touch cheeky. "I think I most look forward to the two of you riling up our sister-in-law."

"It's true. We will be happy to have her eagle gaze turned away from us for a moment." Poppy pressed her hands over her heart and let out an exaggerated sigh.

"A gift, to be sure," Anise added.

"We shall make it grand fun," Colonel Austen said.

"And perhaps we'll find all four of us turned out on our ears." Dougal imagined Mary dragging them all out and slamming the door in their faces. Sadly, it was an occurrence he'd witnessed before.

Poppy shrugged as if it were a foregone conclusion. "If that's the case, I've developed a good hand at cards, and Anise here has a talent for fortune-telling."

"Is that so?" Colonel Austen turned his interested gaze back on Anise.

She shrugged daintily. "Well, really, it's more like lucky guesses. But a number of things have come true. For example, our friend Rebecca did indeed get engaged last season and is expecting her first child."

"Don't forget the fortune you made about our cousin's wife."

"Oh, yes, I guessed that she would have to take care of her own wicked children, and seeing as how we left before she could hire anyone, that was also a fortune correctly told for at least a day or two."

"Indeed, it seems ye do have a talent for fortune-telling. Do tell me mine?" Colonel Austen said, leaning forward over his horse.

"I foresee a brandy before dinner and that you make it through dessert before Mary snaps that it's time for you to leave."

Colonel Austen chuckled. "I look forward to seeing your fortune come to fruition, Miss Anise. Should we all get turned out, it sounds as if the two of ye might be able to survive out in the wild."

"Only time will tell," Poppy teased.

Dougal couldn't help but smile. With his friend's help, he had indeed accomplished his aim to distract the ladies from their grief and make them smile.