Chapter Nine

C ook was not overly thrilled with Finlay's lastminute announcement that they would be having guests join them for dinner.

After apologizing profusely and making amends, she finally gave in and set to work getting everything in order. He had not planned to ask Willamina to join him this night, but he found himself longing for her every moment they were apart.

He was like a lovesick puppy. It was a good thing his friends had not arrived yet. They would jab him relentlessly on his feelings.

Fingal and Yvette walked in shortly after Finlay arrived home. His brother frowned at all the commotion. "Since when are ye hosting dinner parties?" he asked. "Usually, ye just want to sit in your study by yourself being miserable."

"I am engaged now, brother. We need to start planning the wedding."

His brother rolled his eyes and snorted. "Whatever this is," he moved his hands around in circles in front of him. "This whole situation, I am no' believing it for one second. Anyone else, I could. But ye, ye who was so insistent about no' marrying. Now ye are head over heels for the new lass in town? Bollocks."

"Believe what ye will, brother. It matters naught. However, I do expect ye to be respectful to my bride to be and her family when they arrive shortly."

"Och, dinna fash, brother." He snapped his heels together and straightened his shoulders as if falling into formation for his captain. "I will be on my utmost best behavior."

His devilish smile did not set Finlay's mind at ease and as he watched Fingal leave the room, he wondered if his brother had some tricks up his sleeve. He seemed far too excited about their impending company.

Yvette remained behind, wringing her hands together, looking like she wanted to say something.

"What is it, Yvette?" he asked impatiently.

Her gaze drifted to the door Fingal had disappeared through. She opened her mouth to speak, but snapped it shut. Shaking her head, she hurried after her husband.

There was no time to dwell over what Yvette might or might not have said. Willamina would be arriving soon and he needed to make sure everything was perfect.

Looking over the final touches of the table that had been set, Finlay had no idea what he was looking at. Was the setting correct? He would assume so. He had never set the table in his life. And it was not like he could ask Fingal, nor would he. He feared his brother would know even less than he did. Mayhap Yvette would know, but he didn't want to ask her either.

"A carriage approaches, my lord." Archibald stated from his perch at the window. His butler had been like a hawk stalking his prey as he waited for a glimpse of their company. If Finlay didn't know any better he would think that his butler was almost more excited than he was.

"Show them in, Archibald."

Finlay's palms were sweaty and he wiped them on his trousers. His nerves were at high peak, which made no sense to him. He had served in the war for God's sake and had never had this type of reaction.

Time seemed to slow and drag as he waited for Willamina to enter Rosewood Manor. He hoped that she liked the estate. He was anxious to show her every nook and cranny of Rosebery lands.

He was standing near the door when Archibald swung it open and greeted Willamina and Gil.

Finlay's breath hitched. Willamina was dressed in a periwinkle gown with capped shoulders and an empire waist. Her hair was piled on the top of her head in a mountain of curls, with a wavy tendril hanging loose on each side. At her throat, a gold chain adorned with a golden capped silver acorn, hung delicately.

He took her hand and placed a soft kiss on her knuckles. "Ye look beautiful, Willamina."

Her cheeks flushed pink and she dipped into a curtsy.

"Thank ye, Finlay. Ye look quite dashing yourself."

He puffed his chest out at her compliment. He had never much cared for such accolades, but when they came from Willamina, he wanted to hear them all day.

"Buchanan," he greeted, shaking his hand. "Please, let us sit in the parlor for a before dinner drink. Cook has worked hard to provide us a meal fit for a queen and will be serving it shortly."

In the parlor, Finlay poured three glasses of wine and handed Willamina and Gil each one, then held up his own glass. "I think cheers are in order."

Fingal chose that time to burst into the room, Yvette close on his heels. "Dear brother, are ye celebrating without us? Now that is rude, I daresay."

Finlay rolled his eyes.

Willamina's eyes rounded in surprise. Och, in all the times they had talked, he had never brought up his brother, nor the fact that they were twins. Identical at that. Fingal was always at the back of his mind, especially when he was with Willamina. Why waste thoughts and energy on such a louse?

"Fingal, let me pour ye and Yvette a glass and ye can celebrate alongside us."

"Aye. I wouldna miss this celebration for anything." He sneered and accepted the wine Finlay offered.

"Willamina, this is Fingal, my brother, and Yvette, his wife."

She stood and gave him a quick curtsy. "'Tis nice to make your acquaintance, sir. I had naught idea Finlay had a brother, ne'er mind a twin." She smiled at Yvette. "Nor did I ken he had a sister-in-law. 'Tis verra nice to meet ye."

Fingal laughed. "I am no' surprised. When one is the black sheep of the family, he tends to no' be mentioned in polite company."

"I am certain that is no' the case, Fingal," Willamina said kindly.

"Well, mayhap no'. However, I do agree that a celebration is in order." He held up his glass and the others followed suit. "To my dear brother, congratulations on the win. To his lovely bride to be, Willamina, ye may be a prize, but I do hope he makes ye happy."

Her brows furrowed in confusion, but she held up her glass in salute before taking a sip. Her eyes darted between them. "I am uncertain what ye are referring to, sir, but I thank ye for the salute."

"My lord," Archibald called from the doorway. "Dinner is served in the dining hall."

"Thank ye, Archibald. We will be there momentarily."

Really what he wanted to do was go over to his brother and swat him in the head. Or box his ears. Or beat his arse. He should have known that his brother would spend the night making jabs at him. And by the look on Fingal's face, he knew exactly what he was doing and how annoyed Finlay was.

"Shall we?" Finlay asked Willamina, offering his arm, so he could escort her to the dining hall.

She accepted his arm and let him lead the way out the room. She leaned in close. "I did no' ken ye had a brother."

"Aye," his voice was clipped. "I apologize that he did no' come up in conversation whilst we were talking. I tend to try to push him out of my mind." He pulled out her chair to allow her to sit before dropping in his own chair at the head of the table.

"I have ne'er had any siblings, myself. I would expect that it would be difficult to try to purposely forget them."

A small wave of guilt rushed over him. Her statement made sense—if one did not know his brother. But knowing his brother as he did, her statement was entirely incorrect. She would realize that if she ever got to know Fingal the same way Finlay did. And since his brother was apparently hell-bent on making his feelings of being shorted for the family fortune and title known to all in attendance, he was thinking that she would realize the will of his ways sooner rather than later.

*

Willamina sighed, running her hand along the wooden banister of the curved staircase as she descended the stairs. She was on her way to meet with Joan in the salon to discuss what needed to be ordered. Honestly, she was fine with a simple ceremony. Low budget and not over the top, but Finlay insisted it be extravagant and that he spare no expense.

Guilt ate her stomach. She felt bad spending any money on what was in essence a farce. He should save his money so that when, in the future, he married for true, he could spend all he wanted. Wringing her hands, she paced the length of the salon, waiting for Joan to arrive.

Willamina missed Inverness. Planning a wedding, fake or not, should be shared with friends. Joan was a sweet lass, and Willamina enjoyed her company, but Joan was here because she had to be, not because she wanted to be.

But even if she were still in Inverness, would her friends really want to help her plan? Nay, she had no more friends. How easily one could turn on another on rumors spread to inflict pain and dissidence. It just proved to her that they were not her friends at all.

"My lady, good morn. Have ye broken your fast?"

"Good morn, Joan. I havena, but I am no' hungry right at this moment." She had met Gil in the dining hall this morn as he broke his fast, but she had no appetite. Anything Cook offered she graciously turned away, assuring the sweet woman that it was only because she wasn't hungry. She patted the seat beside her, inviting Joan to sit next to her.

"This afternoon, I have an appointment with the modiste to discuss gown designs."

"How exciting, my lady," Joan clapped her hands together, a wide smile on her face. "Until then, what shall we do?"

"I need your help planning the guest list. As ye know, with me being new to the city, I do no' ken most of the people here. Mayhap ye can tell me who should be invited?"

"Let me fetch a quill, ink, and paper and we can get started. How exciting!" The maid jumped to her feet and hurried out of the room and returned a few moments later, her cheeks flushed from hurrying to and fro.

Three hours later, Willamina had the list of attendees in hand. Hopefully, Finlay would be happy with them. She really had no idea of the suggestions Joan made. They seemed to make sense when she explained why a particular person should be invited, so Willamina accepted the suggestions and would discuss them with Finlay the next time they were together. Of course, she couldn't speak to who he wanted to have in attendance. She would get his request and give it to Joan to add to the list.

They were less than two weeks away from their wedding now. Her nerves were making her anxious, which made no sense whatsoever. The marriage was not real. They had no feelings for each other.

Even as the thought entered her mind, it left just as quickly.

She bit her lip and thought about the way she felt about Finlay. While she did not have feelings for him as far as love went, he did seem to elicit a certain reaction from her every time he was near. She felt the flush of her cheeks as the images flooded her mind. What would it be like to kiss Finlay Primrose? Certainly he was a better kisser than Gerard. That was hardly a feat.

Gerard's kisses were sloppy and entirely unromantic. How the louse had a constant stream of women parading through their house, she had naught idea.

Mayhap kisses were supposed to be sloppy. She did not know. Mayhap she would never find out.

"My lady, the carriage awaits to bring ye to the modiste," Joan said excitedly.

"Well, then. I suppose we shouldna leave the coachman waiting, should we?"

"I have ne'er been to the modiste before, my lady. I have always wanted to. Just…" she let the sentence hang in the air unfinished.

"Sweet Joan. I am happy to remedy that for ye today." Joan had been so kind to her. She made a note to talk to the modiste in private and request that she make a gown for Joan. It was unorthodox, she knew. But mayhap one day her maid would find use for it.

The modiste shop was in the center of the city. The tan brick building was three stories high and narrow, with a huge white awning and accents decorating the front. The thick door was made of oak and creaked when Madame Boulet swung it open and welcomed them inside.

The short woman was bright-eyed with plump cheeks and a kind smile. Barely reaching Willamina's shoulders, what the woman lacked in height she made up for with her huge personality.

"Welcome, my lady. I hear that ye are planning a wedding and are in need of a gown." Madame Boulet stood back and assessed Willamina from head to toe.

She blushed from the scrutiny.

"Lord Primrose is a lucky man. Now, would ye care for a cup of tea before we get started?"

Willamina shook her head. "Nay, thank ye." She didn't think her stomach could handle it.

"All right, then." Madame Boulet clapped her hands together and looked about the room. "Where would we start first?"

Willamina shrugged. She really had no idea.

"Do ye have a design in mind?"

Willamina worried her lower lip as she wrung her hands in her lap. She did not, but was she supposed to have? She supposed when women arrived at a modiste for a wedding gown that they had some sort of inkling as to what said dress should look like.

She did not have a clue. Even with her marriage to Gerard she had no say in her wedding gown. It was an abomination that her mother had chosen and it did not fit Willamina's style at all. Not that she was even sure what her style was, but she at least knew that monstrosity was not it.

Seeing her distress, Madame Boulet smiled warmly. "No need to fret, my lady. I have many designs here that ye can review, and if there is something ye dinna see, just let me know. I can customize anything ye want."

"That is verra kind of ye. However, I dinna have a lot of time for such customization."

The modiste dismissed her statement with a wave of her plump hand. "Nonsense. I am aware of your timeline. My schedule has been cleared, thanks to your dear husband to be, so let us get started."

She walked to a wardrobe taller than the one Willamina had in her room at Buckwood Manor and pulled the doors open. She extracted several gowns and brought them over to hang on a high rail set into the wall. "Do any of these catch your eye, my lady? Ye are welcome to come touch them. Dinna be scared."

It was not that Willamina was scared. She was overwhelmed by everything she was being presented with. For her first marriage, she did not have a say in what her gown looked like. It was purchased without her insight and she was told that she would wear it and smile, no matter what.

But, here, she had multiple dresses at her fingertips, and more if she did not find any of these satisfactory. Several shades of white stared back at her. Different materials of satin, silk, lace, everything Willamina could dream of was on display.

One of the gowns seemed to call her name. It was ivory with a satin bodice. A violet lace overlay ran down the middle front all the way through the bodice and skirt to the floor.

"Ah ha. I know that look." Madame Boulet said, pointing a knowing finger at Willamina. "I see your eyes are drawn to this beauty. 'Tis lovely, I admit. Shall we try it on?"

"Now?"

The modiste laughed. "Of course, my lady. How else will ye know if this is your gown or no'? Or how it fits."

A few long moments later, Willamina stood in front of the mirror, the gown accentuating her body in all the right places. The violet played off her skin tone perfectly. Madame Boulet appeared with a lace veil, with violet highlights that matched the design of the lace overlay, and pinned it into her hair.

Willamina could only stare. And for a moment, she wondered if Finlay would like it.

If his breath would catch when he saw her walking down the aisle? Would his pupils darken with desire?

And then she remembered, it was not real.

Even so, she found herself hoping that he would like it. She only wanted to see his expression when she appeared in this dress on their wedding day.

"Ye look beautiful, my lady," Joan whispered. "Lord Primrose will no' be able to take his eyes off ye."

Madame Boulet snapped her fingers. "And that is how ye know 'tis the perfect dress. Ye are the first person I showed this one to. 'Twill be a surprise to e'eryone. Here, let me make some slight adjustments." The modiste set about pinching and pinning. Measuring and marking. "I will have this for ye in a few days. Shall I have it delivered to ye when 'tis ready?"

"That would be verra kind of ye, Madame. If ye could send it to Buckwood Manor, I would be most appreciative."

"Of course, my lady. Before ye go, I have some special pieces to show ye that I think ye may enjoy." She peered around Willamina to look at Joan, and they shared a conspiratorial smile. "This way."

Willamina followed the woman to another room and her eyes widened. "Oh my," she squeaked. The items here were definitely not for the wedding ceremony, but were fit for the wedding night. Assuming, if the couple was to consummate their marriage, that is.

Madame Boulet laughed. "I have a friend in France that makes the most beautiful negligees you will e'er find. E'ery bride must have at least a few—to keep their honeymoon exciting."

She supposed that must be true of some brides. Mayhap most brides really. Not surprisingly, she did not have any for her first marriage. And for this marriage such extravagances would be a waste. But she could not confess that she would never wear them. Are these truly things that a bride would wear for her husband? Her fingers floated over the soft lace and satin pieces, some looking like it would appear she was barely wearing anything at all.

They were lovely, she had to admit. It would be such a waste of a beautiful piece. But, nonetheless, she picked out four of the seductive outfits and before she could forget, she mentioned her idea from earlier.

"Madame Boulet, do ye think 'tis possible to make a gown for Joan?"

"Your attendant?"

Willamina nodded.

"A most unusual request from a lady, but aye, I could do that if ye wish."

"I do. She has done so much for me, I want to return the favor to her in some way."

Madame Boulet smiled and patted her hand. "'Tis verra kind of ye and I am sure she will be most appreciative. "I will have it delivered to Buckwood Manor with your gown if that pleases ye?"

"That would be wonderful, thank ye."

"I will box these items up for ye. Would ye like to take them with ye today or shall I have them delivered as well?"

Anxious to return home, she opted for the delivery and said her farewell.

On the ride home, the only thing she could think about was wearing one of those negligees and seeing Finlay's eyes flare in appreciation.

Och, she was daft.

Finlay Primrose had no interest in her outside of using her as a way to ward off meddling mothers trying to shove their daughters upon him.