Chapter Three

"C ousin, I fail to see the urgency in me finding a husband. Canna I just enjoy living for the present being without the added stress of husband-hunting?" Willamina asked Gil the next day after his butler, Domenic, announced several suitors awaiting to meet with them.

She had no interest in speaking with any of them, unless, of course, one of them happened to be Lord Primrose. Inwardly, she hoped he was here, but at the same time, she did not want him to be. Being forced into another marriage was not high on her list of items to achieve.

With the disaster of her first marriage, it was not something that she was eager to repeat.

She plucked at the corners of the toast Cook had prepared, making a crumby mess on her plate.

"Do stop playing with your food, cousin. Ye are a lady for God's sake, not some petulant child. Stop acting like one." Gil said over the rim of his teacup, before turning his attention back to the book he was reading, ignoring her question.

"'Tis easy for ye to say. Ye arena' the one who is being forced into a relationship that ye dinna want. Or need, for that matter."

"Actually," Gil started, setting down his book and crossing his long legs. "If ye want to keep whatever monies and holdings ye inherited from your late husband, ye should want to marry. Lest ye want me to keep it all," he added.

Sputtering, she had the childish urge to throw her toast at him. "Ye shall no' do such a thing. Ye wouldna dare."

He raised a brown brow as his eyes met hers. "Dare I? Och, indeed I would. I was perfectly happy having the manor to myself, ye ken."

"Then ye should have left me in Inverness. I also was perfectly happy there as well." She crossed her arms and shot him a glare.

Sighing, he leaned back in his chair. "Mayhap, but even ye must admit, your welcome in Inverness was wearing thin. Thanks to your little escapades with the undead ." His lips puckered as he said undead, as if he had just bit into something sour.

"None of that was through any fault of mine."

"Really?" he asked with disbelief.

"Truly," she spat. "I will have ye know that I had a verra good reputation with the parties I held. The ladies in attendance were all verra happy with the outcome, each and every time."

He cocked his head to the side as he studied her. "Until they werena."

"Oh, phooey!" She threw her napkin onto her plate and pushed back from the table. "Ye are obnoxious. That was no' my fault."

"Och, but cousin, that is where ye are wrong. 'Twas your fault. Ye were the one who hired the loon."

"I obviously didna know she was a loon when I did so."

Gil shrugged, but said nothing more.

"I am going to my room."

"'Tis fine, but be ready to meet with your visitors in an hour. I dinna mind keeping them waiting. It weeds out those that arena serious. But anything longer than that just seems unnecessarily cruel and spiteful. And at this point, ye dinna need anything else tarnishing your reputation."

Fists balled at her sides, she spun and met his eyes with an icy stare. "Ye truly are insufferable," she ground out.

"Mayhap, but I am right."

He picked up his book, effectively dismissing her.

Darn him and her situation. She was acting like a child, and she hated herself for it. She would not be able to accomplish anything if she kept up this countenance. Nay, she would get further with her cousin if she played nicer. Sweeter.

He always did fall for lasses that, to Willamina, seemed overly sweet and quiet in attitude.

Neither of those traits lived in her being. She was headstrong. Independent. She did not need to rely on anyone, except for what society forced upon her. In those instances, she had no choice.

In the hallway, she heard multiple voices in conversation, and she quickly hurried up the stairs to her room, closing the door softly behind her.

She fell upon the bed with a sigh and stared at the ceiling, studying the design on it. Swirls of paisley had been molded into the plaster and it was quite beautiful. Clearly, it was not something her cousin had commissioned. He did not seem the type to partake in such frivolities. He would probably state the monies it would take to commission such a task would be frivolous and unnecessary. More than likely, it was an aunt or uncle a generation or two back.

Her mind wandered to Lord Primrose once again. Had he called upon her today? Nay, she doubted he would. His interest last night was purely to escape the others at the party. And truth be told, she did not even know if he had a wife. Or a fiancée. The topic never came up in their conversations, of course. Why would it?

She pushed herself off the bed and forced herself to walk over to the vanity. A soft knock at the door alerted her to her maid, Joan, that Gil had most likely summoned to help her prepare to meet their guests.

"Come in," Willamina called and Joan opened the door, quietly closing it behind her, before dropping into a curtsy.

"My lady, I was told ye may need some help getting ready for your suitors."

"By my cousin, I presume."

Joan blushed and nodded.

"'Tis all right. Ye give me someone to talk to instead of that bull-headed oaf of a cousin."

Joan bit her lip to keep from giggling.

"Ye can laugh ye ken. I willna tell a soul."

Joan smiled but held back her laugh. "I shall no', my lady. But I will admit the image was comical."

"Well, let us get me ready to face the wolves. Did ye by chance happen to see how many have arrived?" Willamina asked as she sat at the white vanity table.

Joan picked up a brush, and started to work it through Willamina's tresses.

"I canna say for certain, but I believe Domenic answered the door no less than five times." Her blue eyes were bright with glee.

"Five?" Willamina gasped. "I didna realize I had made such a strong impression during my limited time at the party." It was surprising when she'd only spoken to two men other than Gil.

Joan began pinning Willamina's hair up into a bun, taking care to leave some wisps free to gently frame her face.

"From what I have heard, ye did. Ye are the current talk of Edinburgh."

"Och dear. I dinna want that. Isna there someone else they can focus on?"

The maid pushed the final pin in her hair and patted her shoulder. "Dinna fret. I am certain that this will pass. 'Tis just that ye have recently arrived and all the eligible bachelors have taken a fancy to ye." She wrapped a velvet ribbon around the bun. "An event like that will get all the lassies on the husband hunt talking. Ye are competition that they didna expect."

As her cousin kept reminding her, she did need to marry. Her feelings on the matter played no part. If she wanted to retain the money and holdings from her marriage to Gerard, she had no choice. The only way to do so would be to marry. Her assets would then shift to her new husband.

The trick was finding a husband that would allow her to do what she wanted with said assets and not squander them away for his own endeavors.

She didn't need a love match, but she wanted to be respected. Mayhap she could catch the eye of someone who wanted equal companionship and would just let her be.

She sighed. Men were not looking for a wife on paper only. All her problems would be solved if they were.

Willamina bit her lower lip, deep in thought. What if she caught someone's interest too much? He might then decide to look into her past, and if that happened… Well, then he would learn the truth about her and her past. Did she want that? They would think she was a con artist.

"Now, what gown would ye like to wear, my lady?" Joan asked, pulling her from her thoughts. The maid was standing in front of the wardrobe, its doors thrown open to reveal the contents inside. "'Tis a fair day today. Mayhap this lovely jonquil gown?" She held up the dress and Willamina nodded.

"That one will be fine, Joan." The beautiful shade of yellow would accent her dark chestnut hair.

Joan frowned. "Ye dinna seem happy about the choice. We can choose another."

She stood and approached the maid. "Nay, nay, there is naught wrong with your choice. I just dread going downstairs and having to be on display like a prized pig at the county fair."

"I could only wish that five men would appear on my doorstep for the sole purpose of gaining my hand in marriage."

Willamina felt like she had been punched in the gut. "Och, how insensitive of me. I didna mean to sound ungrateful." She clasped Joan's hands and squeezed. "Ye will one day meet the man of your dreams and it will be the best thing in the world. I just know it."

"I do hope that to be the case." She held up the jonquil gown again. "This one then?"

Willamina nodded. "Aye."

Twenty minutes later, she was properly primmed and ready to meet her potential suitors. Lord, even the thought left a sour taste in her mouth. Mayhap she could talk to her cousin again later in the eve and convince him that she did not need to remarry.

But even as the thought entered her mind, she knew it was foolhardy. He no longer wanted the burden of caring for his widowed cousin, and, at this point, she was quite sure that it did not matter who the groom was.

She would no longer be his responsibility and that was all he cared about.

And in all actuality, whether she wanted it or not, she needed a husband. It would be best if she could find one of her choosing so as not to be married off to someone like Gerard, or heaven forbid, someone even worse.

*

Finlay sat upon the wing backed chair near the fireplace and chatted with Buchanan. Their relationship was not a close one. They knew of each other more in passing than anything else, but of all the men here, Buchanan was the most interesting to talk to, which did not amount to much.

He looked about the parlor at the other four men who had come calling for Lady Watson. He had never seen a sadder lot than those that lounged about the room, some waiting more patiently than others.

Rupert, of course, was here. He kept swiping at his nose after every bite of the cucumber sandwich he had plucked off the tray that was put out for their visit. A most unbecoming trait.

Finlay kept to the tea that was offered, and took a sip every once in a while. Each time, he studied his competition from above the rim of the cup. He wasn't ashamed to say that he believed he had a high chance of being Lady Watson's choice. A surge of pride swelled in his chest at the thought.

After all, there was Lord Graham, who had lost his wife, and was on the prowl for a younger version. But the old sod was pushing sixty, if not over, and Finlay hoped that Gil had more sense than to marry Willamina off to such a dreadful union.

And then there was Baron Battersby, who in the opposite vein of Lord Graham, was much too young. Was he even twenty? What the hell was he doing here? He was not even established yet, other than the title.

Lord Kelly was Finlay's age, and they had gone to Eton together, but their friend group was not the same. The poor man had gravity weighing him down and was just a midge over five foot when he stood at full attention. Finlay doubted he even came up to Lady Watson's shoulders.

He clapped his hands and rubbed his palms together, eager to get this visit underway. Buchanan was being a twit by making them all wait. Finlay was proud to say he was the first one to knock upon Buckwood Manor's door this morn, but since he had been allowed entry and shown to the parlor, it had been naught but a waiting game.

When Buchanan entered the room, he thought Lady Watson would surely be close behind, but here they were thirty minutes later and still no sign of the beauty.

"Are ye purposely making us wait to see if one of us will give up and leave?" he asked casually, while studying his nails, putting on a front of nonchalance.

"Is it working?" Buchanan laughed.

"Obviously no'," he said dryly. "Considering we all remain."

"Determined ye all are. 'Tis impressive, considering."

That piqued Finlay's attention. "Meaning?"

Buchanan shook his head. "It doesna matter. Willamina can make her own decisions when it comes to whoever she finds suits her. I will allow her that one liberty. But she must marry. So take note, Primrose. I would advise ye to take your leave now if ye are no' serious about such a relationship."

"I am no' sure why ye think I would be here otherwise, but your warning is noted."

Finlay's mind wandered to what Buchanan meant by his ‘considering' remark. He acted as though there was something wrong with the lass. Who, in his eyes, looked absolutely perfect.

He wondered if it had anything to do with why she didn't introduce herself as a lady upon their first meet.

The sound of a commotion drew his attention to the parlor's doors. Finlay stood, waiting for what he hoped was finally Lady Watson's entrance.

His prayers were answered when the lass swept into the room, capturing all the air in the room, including from his lungs. Yesterday, he had found her beauty beyond compare. Today, whether it be due to not being outside in the heat, or just because she truly was an angel dropped down from heaven to grace the earth, Finlay had never seen such an exquisite woman.

He wanted to approach her. To push and punch his way through the men that crowded around her as soon as she entered, but he held back. From their brief talks, he had noted a streak of independence. The last thing she would want was him fawning over her. So, he held back, his irritation at its near limit watching the other men making fools of themselves.

He supposed that should make him happy. It would disqualify them more than anything else, but he hated the way they descended upon her as if she were prey. Like an antelope being attacked by a lion.

Feeling eyes upon him, he drew his glare away from the men, and his eyes connected with hers and all rational thought left his body.

Lord Graham was trying to get her attention, but she waved him off. And finally, Buchanan stepped in and told the men to give her space.

The smile she blessed him with made his knees want to buckle. He cleared his throat, trying to break the spell she put him under. But he could not. His gaze followed her as the men parted and she moved to sit upon the settee.

A comely young woman who had accompanied Willamina's entry stood off to the side. Lady Watson's maid he presumed. Seeing the lass, Baron Battersby broke from the crowd and wandered off to the girl, his cheeks flushed as they began a conversation. Someone's parents were going to be quite upset with their son when they found out he was visiting Buckwood Manor to hopefully court Lady Watson and instead took a liking to the maid.

But as Finlay watched them, he thought a match between them would suit them both. But who was he to say?

Smartly, Buchanan sat down beside his cousin, preventing the others from doing so.

"Lady Watson," Graham approached. "Thank ye for seeing me today. Might I offer ye this?" He fished around in his jacket pocket and produced a small box. Willamina watched curiously and her eyes widened when she saw the box.

Surely, the chap would not be so forward as to ask for her hand already? And in front of so many other possible suitors. Well, only one possible suitor in Finlay's eyes, but that was his opinion.

Opening the box, Willamina smiled. "'Tis lovely Lord Graham."

He bowed stiffly. "Thank ye. My family owns a typesetting company and I found it fitting to offer ye a custom key from our finest designer. I hope ye enjoy it."

She nodded and handed the box to her cousin. "Thank ye."

He dipped his head in welcome as he stepped aside to allow Kelly to approach while he shot a look of triumph to Finlay.

Finlay gave him a smirk. The man was old enough to be her grandfather for God's sake. Typesetting business or not, he would need a lot more than that to win over Lady Watson. Of that, Finlay was sure.

Still standing back, he watched the exchange between her and Kelly. She was sitting down and she hardly had to crane her neck to look the man in the eye. However, he too dug around in his pocket and offered her a gift.

What was it with the arriving with gifts? Had he truly missed that was proper etiquette now when trying to woo a lady?

If that were the case, he was undeniably empty-handed.

What was wrong with plain charm and rugged handsomeness?

Once again, polite as can be, Lady Watson accepted the gift with grace. It was almost as if she had been through the process before.

Her eyes settled on his, a dark brown brow lifting in invitation. He took that as his cue and moved forward.

"My lady," he bowed low, his eyes never leaving hers. "I thank ye for seeing me, but I must confess, I have no gift to offer."

Kelly scoffed. Willamina shot him a stern look and the man practically wilted into the corner.

"My lord. I dinna require any gifts. Though the thought is nice," she added. "'Tis no' necessary."

He gave her a warm smile. "Well, since I canna make such an offering, I was hoping that ye would join me for a stroll through the gardens?" He vaguely remembered visiting the gardens at Buckwood at some point in his distant past.

Graham's and Kelly's heads snapped up at the invite, their brows drawn together in irritation. It was not Finlay's fault that they came with gifts and no other plan.

"See, my lord, ye do have something to offer."

He raised a brow in question. "Pardon?"

"Ye offer me your arm for a walk. What better offer than the gift of companionship?"

Well, if that did not have him straightening his cravat.

"Cousin," she turned to Buchanan. "Will ye join us as chaperone or shall I take Joan?"

He looked at Joan, who was still in deep conversation with Battersby. And then looked at Graham and Kelly. After assessing their angered faces, he decided to let Joan accompany her whilst he dealt with the two men.

Finlay almost felt bad breaking the blossoming couple apart, but not enough to not do so. Battersby shot him a look, but then glanced at Lady Watson and it looked like a sense of dawning washed over the poor lad and he finally realized his mistake.

"Shall we?" Finlay asked, offering his arm.

Lady Watson nodded, and her hand slipped into the crook of his elbow. He could feel the warmth of her hand through the material of his shirt and jacket. A feeling he did not realize he needed, but would long for forevermore.

Once outside, he leaned in close. "I felt like I should perform a duty and save ye from those monsters inside."

She laughed, a soft melodic sound that was pleasing to his ears. He could listen to her laughter all day long.

"My lord, I am certain that I could have handled any situation they may have thrown my way. But I thank ye, nonetheless. Neither of them are very interesting when it comes to Lords Wingot, Graham and Kelly. And Battersby? What was my cousin thinking? He is practically a child."

"I believe he was thinking that ye need to marry, and from my understanding, time is of the essence from what I could gather."

"My cousin said that?"

"Aye. Is there a reason for the…" he let the sentence trail off. How could he delicately ask what sprang to mind without insulting the woman?

She sighed, keeping her eyes straightforward as they continued along the gravel path, tall hedges enveloping them on each side. "I dinna ken why he said such a thing. I am in no rush to marry."

He tilted his head to the side. "Really? That was no' the impression I was given."

She pressed her lips together and he felt her hand ball into a small fist in the crook of his arm. "Contrary to what my cousin has said, I am no' in search of a husband. So, if that is your intention, we can end this now, and both of us may continue on with our days as if this ne'er happened."

He stiffened. She was upset. The prospect of marrying was off-putting to her. It was apparent by the clouds darkening her eyes. The slightest pull of her shoulders.

"I apologize, my lady. I really would like to continue our walk if ye dinna mind?"

She looked back at Joan and then met his eyes and blew out an exasperated breath. "I do need to marry. However, I do no' want to."