Chapter Three

T his time, the Hardwicke butler refused to admit him at all. "You again. My instructions are…"

He got no further, because Ruadh picked him up and walked him backward. He then put the man down and shut the front door.

He handed the open-mouthed and wide-eyed butler another of his visiting cards. Under his name and rank, which was all that was printed on the card, he had written his English and Scots titles. "If his lordship is not available, I shall see Lady Hardwicke."

The butler drew himself up, closing his mouth and recovering his dignity as he did so. "Her ladyship is not available."

Ruadh sat down on one of the upright chairs against the wall. "Then I shall wait until her ladyship is available. Inform Lady Hardwicke that I have been sent by my mother, Lord Hardwicke's daughter. She is concerned about her father and has charged me with seeing him." He didn't try to use the more cultured yet polite tone of the peerage; instead, he used his Major voice, the one that dripped with the warning of stripes and stockades if orders weren't followed.

The butler responded by thinking better of whatever he was about to say. He left the entry hall, presumably to speak to Lady Hardwicke. A moment later, a pair of footmen appeared, sized Ruadh up with their eyes, and took up posts on either side of the front door.

Ruadh set his feet firmly and stared at them till they both looked away. Aye, my lads. Moving me is beyond the pair of you. Ruadh might succumb to four of them, but he could do a lot of damage before they managed to get him out of the house. Mind you, it wouldn't come to that. If Lady Hardwicke insisted he leave, he would go and put Lady Rosalind's backup plan into operation. It appeared his ministering angel wasn't wrong in her estimation that something was happening here, for why else would the lady of the house be making such strenuous attempts to keep him from visiting with his grandfather?

He might need the magistrate to visit even if he was admitted to see the man.

The butler did not return within a few minutes to deny him an audience. Ruadh took that as a good sign. The mistress of the house was going to make him wait, which probably meant she was going to see him. He took his pencil and the notes he had made at the meeting with Stancroft and his ladyfolk. Might as well use the time productively by reviewing what they'd discussed and marking any points that warranted further investigation.

He had been through all his notes and begun a list of next steps before the butler returned. "Lady Hardwicke will see you now," he said.

Ruadh put his notebook and pencil away. "Lead on," he told the butler.

The butler announced him in full form. "Major Douglas, Viscount Merrick, Master of Glencowan."

The lady who awaited him was a surprise. Lord Hardwicke had written to Mama that he had married his housekeeper. Ruadh had formed an image of an English version of the housekeeper in his father's house—on the far side of middle- aged, comfortably padded, cheerful, quietly competent, always ready with a bandage or snack for an adventurous boy.

Lady Hardwicke was a pretty brunette in, if Ruadh were to make a guess, her mid-thirties, much the same age as he was. She was attractively dressed in silk, her hair elaborately curled and pinned. Hard brown eyes examined Ruadh and warmed with feminine appreciation.

"You are Hector's grandson, Ruadh," she said, mangling the Scot's name as the English often did. Except for that, the hum in her low voice and something about her expression made it sound like an invitation to bed.

Ruadh ignored the tone and replied, "Yes, Lady Hardwicke, I am."

"You have been a persistent caller," she observed, her tone hardening as she realized she'd been rebuffed. "You have refused to accept my husband's disinterest in a visit from you."

"That is true, ma'am," Ruadh agreed. "My mother instructed me to see her father. She is understandably disturbed because he has ceased writing to her. You will sympathize, I am sure, with the feelings of a worried daughter. I am determined to see my grandfather and put my mother's concerns to rest."

Lady Hardwicke shook her head. "On your last visit, Lord Hardwicke tells me, you argued. My husband has been ill, Lord Merrick. I cannot have him upset. I refuse to allow you to visit."

"Then we are at an impasse, my lady, for I refuse to give up. I give you my word that I will not argue with my grandfather, no matter the provocation."

A flash of annoyance on the lady's face before she smoothed her expression again. "You must give this idea up, Lord Merrick. Tell your mother from me that her father has been ill but is now recovering and will undoubtedly write again when he is well. Better, give me your direction, and I shall write to her myself."

Ruadh inclined his head in partial acceptance. "Letters to my mother might be addressed to the Countess of Glencowan, Lannock Castle, Stranluce, Galloway. My mother's address has changed since her husband's elevation. But a letter to the address your husband has been using would be forwarded to the castle, my lady."

She was discomposed for a moment but recovered quickly. "Yes, of course." She stood. "If that is all, Lord Merrick?"

Ruadh stood too, and said, "No, my lady. I must insist on seeing my grandfather. If not today, then tomorrow."

"No, my lord. How clear do I need to be? I will not permit you to upset my husband."

Time to introduce another of Rose's suggestions. "I would be loath to air our family's disputes in public, Lady Hardwicke. However, if we cannot reach agreement without intervention, then I will need to involve a magistrate."

Again, her eyes betrayed her, with a flicker of alarm quickly suppressed. "With what complaint?" she scoffed. "That I have refused to allow the son of my husband's disowned daughter to disturb him in his sickbed?"

"That the Countess of Glencowan suspects malfeasance towards her father by his much younger wife," Ruadh improvised.

This time, the alarm he heard in her voice and saw in her eyes was accompanied by fear and then anger. "Get out," Lady Hardwicke hissed. "Get out before I have my footmen remove you."

"I will," Ruadh agreed, "to avoid damage to your furniture and your footmen. But I will return tomorrow at the same time as today, and if I am refused again, I will know you are attempting to hide something, and will return with the legal power to compel your compliance."

"Out!" Lady Hardwicke screeched. The butler opened the door and rushed into the room with such alacrity, that Ruadh was sure the man had been hovering there.

"My lady? Do you need help?"

"I was just leaving," Ruadh told him.

Another man pushed his way into the room—a young man with closely-cropped hair so white that at first glance Ruadh thought the man was bald. He glared at Ruadh from ice-blue eyes but spoke to the countess. "Do you want this man removed, my lady?"

Ruadh, out of habit, had already sized the young man up. Tall and strongly-built, he didn't move like a fighter. Still, he and the two footmen working together could probably remove Ruadh if they really tried. Almost without thinking about it, he changed his stance and tensed, ready for a fight.

"Lord Merrick was just leaving, Wolfendale," Lady Hardwicke said.

Wolfendale stepped out of Ruadh's way but scowled at him as he passed. Ruadh looked back into the room to see the man cross to Lady Hardwicke's side, the pair of them leaning slightly toward one another as they continued to glare in Ruadh's direction. The butler scurried around Ruadh to open the front door, and Ruadh tossed one last word at Lady Hardwicke. "Tomorrow," he said and left the house.

*

"I wish you would stop introducing me as Lady Rosalind," said Rose to her brother Peter. "I am not entitled to the courtesy title."

"You are the daughter of an earl," Peter replied, mildly. "You and Viv are sisters. If she is Lady Vivienne and you are not Lady Rosalind, it draws attention to you."

"The earl was not married to my mother," Rose argued.

Viv intervened. "The earl was not my father," she pointed out, "and my mother was not married to the man who was."

"Yes, but your mother was married to my father when you were born," Rose insisted. "You have a legal right to be called by the courtesy title. I do not."

"You are both our sisters," Arial decreed. "The sins of your parents are not your fault and are the business of nobody outside the family. Rose, I know your stepmother made you feel as if you did not belong in the family, but you do, and we love you. However, you need to realize that, if you insist on being called ‘Miss Ransome', the questions raised affect us all, and particularly Vivienne."

"If you are worried about misleading suitors, Rose, it is an unnecessary concern," said Peter. "You have the Ransome bloodlines through our father, and anyone who wants an alliance with the Stancroft earldom through my sisters will have one if he marries either of you."

"I do not wish to marry anyone who cares about my blood lines or what my family can do for him," Rose objected.

"Then do not." Peter, who was the most indulgent of brothers, was impossible to shift once he had made up his mind. "But Rose, for Viv's sake, you will accept being called Lady Rosalind during your joint Seasons." That was clearly Peter's final word, and there was no point in continuing to argue.

Rose privately resolved, however, that any suitor—and she did not have one yet—would learn about her less-than-reputable origins before she agreed to marry him. She was annoyed that her mind went immediately to Lord Merrick when she thought of suitors. That he was the most fascinating man she had so far met in London was probably a reflection of the circumstances. He had saved her life—if he was, in fact, the Wolf. They had spent time discussing matters close to her heart, rather than the inanities that passed for conversation in polite circles.

Lord Merrick was not in London looking for a wife, and he was not interested in her, except as a source of information about herbalism, hospitals, and his grandfather. She needed to put him out of her mind. Perhaps tonight she might meet someone who preferred her rather ordinary looks to Viv's much more obvious beauty.

The sisters both had fair hair of a similar shade, but Viv's was just a touch more gold. Also, Viv's had a natural curl that was easily shaped into the ornate styles currently fashionable. Rose's hair hated pins and was prone to escape no matter how tightly it was confined. Viv's eyes were a blue that shaded into an unusual violet, whereas Ruth's were a rather ordinary blue, with nothing more to say about them.

Beyond that, Viv had the tall slender figure that was currently fashionable and that looked graceful in the current styles, whereas Rose was altogether more dumpy, with curves that, to her eyes at least, were out of proportion to her height.

Viv was also more sociable and outgoing. When gentlemen called or thronged around at a ball or a dinner, they were attracted by Viv's smile, her laugh, her amusing conversation. Rose had difficulty knowing what to say in response to a flirtatious sally, and preferred solitude or a quiet gathering with one or two close acquaintances as opposed to the large assemblies in which Viv flourished.

They were opposites in every way but had been the best of friends since they were babies, Rose being less than a year older than Viv, and the pair of them younger by more than a decade than Pauline, the next youngest child of the house.

Rose had managed to delay her own first Season for a year by claiming she wanted to wait and make her presentation with Viv. In truth, she would have happily done without a presentation or a Season altogether, but Peter had made that impossible by facing down a court official who raised the old rumors about her birth and Viv's, convincing him they were the work of a disappointed old besom with a poisonous tongue, and not to be regarded.

After that, Rose had had to go through with it for Viv's sake. Now, except for her work in the hospital, she was not enjoying the Season.

At least waiting for Viv meant she had her friend by her side for all the interminable social events that Arial and Pauline considered necessary. Putting up with being called ‘Lady Rosalind' was not the first nor greatest compromise Rose had made for Viv.

Viv was excited about tonight's ball, and Rose allowed herself to be drawn into a discussion of which of their acquaintances might attend as they decided on the gowns to wear and the accessories. Ball preparation took up most of the rest of the evening, and it seemed no time at all before they were descending from their carriage and entering the house of Lord and Lady Snowden, the host and hostess of tonight's entertainment.

As close friends of Peter and Ariel, the Snowdens' party was warmly greeted. Margaret, Lady Snowden—also a countess in her own right—was a herbalist and Rose's mentor, but Rose could expect no cozy discussions about tisanes and tonics, pills, potions, and poultices, tonight. Margaret was very aware of what she owed to her position in Society. Tonight was about the ball and her guests.

The Stancroft party moved swiftly from the reception line into the ballroom. Peter and Ariel were their chaperones tonight, Pauline having asked to spend the night at home. They were soon besieged by gentlemen seeking a dance with Lady Vivienne. Enough of the losers also asked Rose for a dance that she did not need to fear sitting out all evening. Not that it would worry her . The best conversations were often those on the sidelines among those the fashionable thought of as the Season's rejects. But Peter would worry, and Viv would be upset.

Perhaps dancing would be more acceptable if there was someone special; someone with whom dancing was an element in the wider dance of courtship, as it was practiced among their class. But not only had Rose not caught the eye of potential suitors, no one had caught her eye.

Except for the Wolf and Ruadh Douglas, Viscount Merrick. The thought came unbidden, and she did her best to reject it. Was that why her senses kept telling her the two were the same man? Because she was attracted to them both?

Her attraction to the Wolf was an aberration. She had been frightened and in danger. He had saved her. Probably, if she saw him again, she would see that he was not nearly as tall and as broad as she had thought at the time.

As tall and as broad as Major Douglas, in fact. Lord Merrick, she meant. Still, he was not a suitor, and so, being attracted to him was pointless. He had not sought an introduction when they saw one another at the hospital. He had not called on her, but on her brother, and then only for the sake of his veterans. The son and heir of an earl had no place in his life for such as her.

When she saw him coming toward her through the crowds, she wondered if her thoughts had conjured him up, but it was the flesh and blood man, glorious in his full regimental uniform. The red of his kilt, the matching plaid he wore pinned to his shoulder and flowing down his back, and his checkered socks stood out against the background of the black and white worn by most of the other gentlemen. So did the gold frogging on his jacket, and the bright beacon of his hair.

More than one pair of female eyes tracked his progress across the floor.

*

Ruadh had asked Lady Stancroft about their plans for the evening. He told himself that a social connection with the earl and his wife would be advantageous, but it was with the alluring sister that he imagined dancing. Indeed, with dancing in mind, he had asked his friend Nate, who had changed his bandages today, to add extra padding and bind his arm tightly so that bumping during vigorous exercise wasn't likely to bother the stitches.

And there she was, standing with the earl, his countess, and a girl who might be a friend, or perhaps another sister. That girl doesn't look like my Rose . He caught the mental slip. Not his Rose. He didn't mean it in the sense of a deep connection. After all, he scarcely knew the lady. Lady Rosalind, he should have said.

His internal argument left him off-balance as he reached the family group, greeting Lady Stancroft first, then her lord, and lastly Lady Rosalind.

"Vivienne, may I present Lord Merrick, the Master of Glencowan?" said Stancroft. "Douglas, another of my sisters, Lady Vivienne Ransome. My sister Pauline Turner is not here this evening."

Lady Vivienne was a pretty girl in an ordinary sort of way. The sort of girl he'd seen at every fashionable event in London to which he'd been inveigled by friends. Fair curls, pale skin, and a figure like a stick with only the smallest of bumps to indicate she was female. He bowed politely. "I am delighted to meet you, Lady Vivienne. Lord Stancroft must be the envy of the gentlemen here to be the escort of three such lovely ladies."

Lady Stancroft wore yet another mask, this one ornamented with jewels that complemented those she wore at her wrist, her ears, and on her neck. Did she always wear the mask? He wondered how badly she was scarred.

But even as he answered Stancroft's question about his reception at his grandfather's house, his eyes kept sliding back to Lady Rosalind who was, in his opinion, the finest jewel in Stancroft's collection. "I shall return tomorrow, and we shall see what happens," he finished explaining.

Should he ask Lady Rosalind for a dance? He was certain she must have already given all of them away, and indeed, a man had just asked Lady Vivienne and been turned away with a charming disclaimer that she had no dances left.

When the man walked away without speaking to Lady Rosalind, his assumption was confirmed. Then the orchestra began to play, another man whisked Lady Vivienne off to the dance floor, and Lady Rosalind remained, chatting quietly with her sister-in-law.

"Lady Rosalind," Ruadh said, hurriedly, before he could talk himself out of it, "would you honor me with this dance?" Now she would tell him that she did not dance tonight or some such claptrap.

But she didn't. She smiled and said, "I would like that, Major Douglas."

It was a quadrille, a dance performed by four couples, and they quickly found a group of three pairs lacking a fourth. She danced with grace and enthusiasm, her bountiful breasts performing an interesting jig of their own that made him grateful to be in a kilt so that his body's response was concealed.

He mostly managed to keep his eyes on hers, rather than letting them slip below her neck and was rewarded by her lovely eyes, which in the light of the candles danced with golden flames as she smiled at him.

The dance was vigorous, so they were unable to talk. The arm protested some of the movements, but not enough to inhibit him. As he walked the lady back to her brother's side, he had just enough time to beg her for the supper dance. He was surprised when it was available. What was wrong with the gentlemen of London? He couldn't understand why her every dance was not taken, as her sister said hers was.

Some remnants of his mother's teaching remained with him enough that he did his duty by other young ladies while waiting for his next dance with Lady Rosalind. To come to the ball and dance with only one lady was to call attention to her, and to raise expectations with her, her family, and the onlookers.

The idea didn't panic him. He poked at it as if it was a tooth that had once been sore, waiting for the wince and the recoil. Was he seriously considering Lady Rosalind as a possible wife? No. Of course not. He was too old and too broken. He didn't know her well enough. She was too young for him—not young enough to be his daughter, but still much younger. Furthermore, she was English, and close to her family, but his wife would have to live in Galloway.

He was only here for a dance or two. That was all there could be.

*

Viv insisted that those who sought her favor must treat Rose with respect. Indeed, she had frozen one gentleman from her court when he asked Rose for a dance and spent it leering at her breasts and had dismissed another who had made an insulting reference to Rose's irregular parentage.

Peter might think Rose's parentage was a secret, but it had only been a few years since Pauline's mother, their father's second wife, had attacked Peter by making Rose's base-born status the talk of the ton. Some of the men courting Viv were old enough to remember, and those who were not on the Town back then had relatives who were.

Still, Viv's followers got the hint, and the cleverest of them did their best to charm Rose, so she would speak well of them to her sister.

That, surely, was Lord Merrick's scheme. She gave him credit for his tact. Not once during the supper waltz did he mention Viv or stare at Rose's breasts, so Rose felt he deserved a reward when they went into supper. She suggested they join the table where Viv was already seated with one of her admirers, Lord Clough. Lord Clough was heir to an earl, and currently front runner in the pack vying for Viv's attention.

He looked up as Rose and Lord Merrick arrived at the table, lifting a quizzing glass to stare at Lord Merrick. "Begad!" he declared. "Are the Scots invading?"

Lord Merrick, bless him, was amused. "Of course. It is our turn."

The implication that the Scots had been invaded by the English went right over Lord Clough's head. He was still frowning when Viv made the introductions. "Viscount Merrick, meet Viscount Clough. Lord Merrick is a major with the 175th Scots Foot, Lord Clough, and is in London studying hospitals for injured veterans. Lord Clough is a notable whip, Lord Merrick, and a member of the Four Horse Club."

It was a good effort on Viv's part, but what a mismatched pair! Lord Clough must have noticed that the two descriptions made him sound like a fribble next to the major, for his lip curled and he commented, "A highland regiment, I take it since you are wearing a skirt."

Viv pressed her lips together and glared at Lord Clough. "Sir, if you would prefer not to sit with my sister and her escort, I give you leave to go."

Good for Viv. Of course, the young viscount realized he had put his foot in his mouth and stumbled through an apology, first to Viv and then, at her prompting, to Rose and Lord Merrick. By this time Lord Merrick had pulled out a chair for Rose and seen her seated. He returned a clever answer to Lord Clough's seemingly sincere, "I beg your pardon, Merrick. I spoke out of turn."

"You did, Lord Clough, but I can see why." He cast an amused glance towards Viv, and then said to Lord Clough, "Let us make common cause in service to the ladies. Ladies, shall Clough and I bring you a selection of whatever we can find at the buffet?"

Rose and Viv agreed, and the two men strolled off. "What do you think of Lord Merrick?" Rose asked her sister.

"He is nice, I suppose," Viv conceded. "I like that he did not let Lord Clough make him angry. I suppose, though, it would not do for a soldier of his rank to be too easily annoyed. And he is old, of course. A young man would lose his temper more easily."

"He is not old," Rose protested.

"He is much older than us," Viv pointed out.

"Not more than fifteen years," Rose said. She had looked him up in Arial's copy of Debrett's. He wasn't there, but his father was recorded as the second son of the 5th Earl of Glencowan, together with the date of his marriage, which was in seventeen ninety-two, so even if Lord Merrick had been born just nine months after the wedding, he could not be more than thirty-four years of age now.

"Fifteen years!" Viv commented, with a shudder. "Too old for me. Mind you, it is not me he is interested in."

Rose said no more, certain that Viv was wrong and that she would change her mind once Lord Merrick turned those compelling eyes on her, but when he and Lord Clough returned with four glasses of champagne, and a willing footman carrying a tray of full plates, he continued to pay most of his attention to her and not her sister.

He and Lord Clough must have reached an understanding while negotiating the buffet, for the younger man's hostility was gone, and he even asked a couple of questions about the uniform that Lord Merrick wore.

The pattern of the cloth that made up both the major's kilt and the fall of color from his shoulder was the regimental tartan, Lord Merrick explained. As for the silver brooch in the form of a wolf's head that pinned the plaid in place on his shoulder, he said, "It is the Glencowan wolf. My grandfather gave it to me when I went to war. Oddly enough, it is traditionally worn by the Master of Glencowan."

"What does that mean," Viv asked. "Master of Glencowan?"

"In Scotland, my lady," Lord Merrick replied, "the heir to a title is called Master of whatever the title is. My father is now Earl of Glencowan, so I am Master of Glencowan."

"I could happily adopt that tradition," Lord Clough said cheerfully. "Master of Rule has a ring to it."

At that point, Lord Merrick noticed that Rose had finished her champagne. He offered her another, but she asked for a lemonade, and he went off to find it. He was not gone for long, but in that time, Viv and Lord Clough had moved on to discussing a garden party they had all been to the previous weekend.

Rose, as usual when it came to social events, had little to say. Lord Merrick returned with four glasses. "I did not ask your preference, Lady Vivienne, or yours, Clough, but the drinks are here if you want them. Lady Rosalind?" He passed her one of the tall cool glasses, in which the cloudy lemonade had been served over chunks of ice.

After thanking him for the lemonade, which Viv accepted but Lord Clough ignored, the other two picked up their previous conversation. Rose thought it a little rude, because Lord Merrick had not been present and probably knew none of the people mentioned.

Lord Merrick showed no sign of annoyance. Indeed, he turned to Rose with every evidence of pleasure. "How did you become interested in herb craft, my lady?"

Rose gave a brief answer which led to another question, and before she realized, she was telling him all about how their hostess, Lady Snowden, had learned her craft from her mother, who had treated Ariel during her long convalescence after she was horribly burned in a house fire.

"Pauline learned about growing herbs from Lady Snowden," Rose explained. "She is more interested in her work with roses, though, whereas I was fascinated by what herbs could do for us in the still room and the kitchen. So, I pestered Lady Snowden until she taught me, and when I am in London, I go with her on her rounds."

Viv broke into their conversation at that point. "Lady Snowden was delighted to have you as a pupil, Rose, as you well know. She is very proud of you, as am I. I am nothing but a butterfly, Lord Merrick, decorative but not good for much else. My sister is not only pretty, but useful as well."

"Viv!" Rose protested. "You are far more than that." At the same time, Lord Clough exclaimed that he liked butterflies. Rose caught the look her sister sent her and held her tongue. Viv, for some reason, enjoyed having her courtiers underestimate her.

"Many butterflies are very decorative," Lord Merrick acknowledged, "but a man looking for a bride, a mother to his children, and a life companion wants more substance than that. Unless he is a gommy."

Rose was intrigued. "What is a gommy?"

"A fool. An idiot," Lord Merrick explained. He glanced around the busy supper room. "I've known a few."

He noticed Rose's plate was empty and offered her the still half-full platter.

"No, thank you, my lord. I have had sufficient, and if I eat any more, I shall be unable to enjoy the rest of the evening."

"I would like to ask you to dance again, Lady Rosalind," he confided, "but I am told it would break a rule and set in train the destruction of the entire social order."

His hyperbole, delivered in a mournful tone, set Rose giggling. Now he would ask her to persuade Viv to dance with him, but he would not succeed, for she had given all her dances elsewhere, this evening. Still, he had been so attentive and such good company, that she would ask Viv to be kind to him on the next occasion. Even if it did give Rose a pang.

"Rose, are you ready?" said Viv. "The dancing is about to start again, and Lord Clough is going to escort me back to Arial so my partners can find me. And you, if you are coming with me."

"May I have the privilege of escorting you, my lady?" Lord Merrick asked.

Rose waited for Viv to reject him and then realized he was looking at her. Her heart fluttered. "Yes. Yes, thank you."

As she walked with her hand on his arm, he leaned towards her, bringing his mouth closer to her ear so that she could hear him over the tuning of instruments and the buzz of conversation. Here it came. The request to intercede with Viv on his behalf .

"Lady Rosalind," he said, "I very much enjoyed our waltz. Would it be presumptuous to ask what entertainment you are attending tomorrow night? And if there is dancing, may I beg a waltz?"