Chapter Three

Two weeks after they arrived in London, Cam and Bridget attended a dinner party at Lord and Lady Benson’s house. This was to be their first appearance with her as his ward.

With Bridget firmly ensconced in his sister Constance’s house, he’d seen very little of the chit. He’d left her much to herself while he met with his solicitor—unable to protest the will, he’d discovered—his man of business, Mr. Dunston, and the committees working on the veterans’ issues.

He had received a scathing note from his sister chastising him for ignoring Lady Bridget, which he’d ignored. However, with his most pressing issues finally taken care of, he could now spend some time escorting her to events.

He’d sent around the guest list to have Bridget review it, and she’d returned a curt note reminding him that, as she’d not had a London Season she did not know anyone on the list. At one and twenty she should have had a couple of Seasons already, but he’d not questioned her after she’d told him she’d managed to avoid that torture.

He left his house and climbed into his carriage to travel the short distance to Constance’s house. Settling back on the comfortable seat, he went over the guest list in his head. At least the guests who mattered to him. Lord Banfield, Lord Hyatt, and Mr. Pemberton were all potential husbands for Lady Bridget.

The men were of good, solid families who did not imbibe too much nor gamble extensively. Banfield and Pemberton were a bit on the older side, but perhaps that was what she needed. She seemed somewhat strong-willed and opinionated.

He strolled up the stairs and dropped the knocker on the front door. As always, he smiled at the whimsical knocker of a red owl. Fenton, Dunmore’s butler, answered the door within seconds. “Good evening, my lord. Lady Dunmore is in the library if you wish to join her. I will advise Lady Bridget of your arrival.”

He nodded and made his way to the library.

“There you are.” Constance stood as he entered the room and came toward him with her arms extended. When she got close enough, she swatted him on the arm. “You could have come for Bridget before now. The poor girl knows no one. She tells me all the women she knew from school are settled in the country with husbands and children.”

Cam bent and placed a kiss on his sister’s cheek. “That is precisely what I want for Lady Bridget. A besotted husband to give her children to care for so she stops planning things that no gently bred young lady should concern herself with.”

They sat facing each other on the settee. “If you are referring to her idea of providing a safe place for women who have reason to fear their husbands, I agree with her. It is a very worthy cause, and I told her after she got it started, I would be more than happy to help.”

Cam groaned. “And what does his lordship say about that?”

“My husband is quite open to new ideas, I’ll have you know.”

“That tells me you haven’t mentioned it to him.” He grinned at the blush that rose to her cheeks.

Before she could respond, the library door opened and Lady Bridget stepped through. At least he thought it was her. His jaw dropped at the very ugly black dress that resembled a sack, not showing any of her curves, the bodice going all the way up to her throat. The sleeves were long enough to touch her fingers, leaving her looking like a sad waif in a poorly fitting, borrowed gown. Her hair was pulled back so severely it almost pained him to look at her.

She wore a knitted shawl over her dress, a white lace mobcap, and spectacles. If he weren’t so angry, he would have laughed, which was precisely what Constance was attempting to keep from doing.

“Did you know about this?” He waved toward Lady Bridget as he turned to glare at his sister.

She covered her mouth with her fingertips and shook her head. Her eyes teared from trying to hold in her laughter.

“This is not funny.” He strode up to Lady Bridget. “Go change.”

The spectacles slipped down her nose, and she stared up at him over the frames. “You forget I am in mourning.”

“There is more acceptable dinner party attire that would be appropriate for a woman in mourning. Go change. I will wait for you.”

She tilted her chin up and smiled. The chit was actually enjoying this. “No.”

He leaned in, almost bringing them nose-to-nose, annoyed when all he could think of was how deuced appealing she was, even dressed in such an outfit, with the defiant look on her face and her snapping blue eyes. “Woman, either you go upstairs and put on something appropriate, or I will do it for you.”

Constance sucked in a breath and drew herself up. “You will certainly not do that in my house.”

He swung around. “We are attending a dinner party. There will be well-known and well-respected members of the ton and Parliament in attendance. I will not permit her to arrive looking like someone’s grandmother.”

“Actually”—Constance tapped her chin—“if I remember correctly, Grandmama was far more fashionable.”

He growled and turned back to Lady Bridget. “I know exactly what you are trying to do, but it will not work. We are going to attend social events where, hopefully, you will meet a man who will take you in hand.”

Lady Bridget pushed the spectacles back up her nose. “I do not need anyone to take me in hand. And I do not need a husband!”

“No, indeed. You need a caretaker.” He ran his fingers through his hair. He would be a laughingstock if he brought Lady Bridget with him dressed this way. Then he had an idea. She hoped he would leave her here. That was most likely her plan from the start. Well, two could play at this game.

“Very well. If you wish to present yourself this way to your peers, then so be it.” He extended his arm and she hesitated, her face a picture of surprise. Then she narrowed her eyes and stiffened her back. She tugged the shawl closer to her body and took his arm.

“Lead the way, my lord.”

She tripped over her own feet three times before they reached the carriage. He had no desire to look at her footwear, but he was sure it was some sort of clunky slipper. Wearing unnecessary spectacles probably made maneuvering worse. He wouldn’t be surprised if she’d borrowed his brother-in-law’s shoes and stuffed rags into them.

He glared at her the entire ride to Lord Benson’s house. Lady Bridget stared out the window, never meeting his eyes. He couldn’t help but wonder if she was regretting her decision to wear the outfit. Lord, she could at least take off the mobcap and spectacles.

It took all his control to not whip those items off her himself, but he was determined to see it through. If she could brave the crowd dressed like that, he could as well.

After the short ride, the carriage drew up to their host’s home. A footman opened the door, and Cam turned to her. “Do you wish to return home and change your attire?” He softened his expression. “I know what you’re trying to do, Bridget, but I doubt very much if you really want to meet new people looking like this.”

She stared at him for a few moments, then her jaw tightened as she whipped the mobcap off her head and removed the spectacles. “I’m ready.”

Afraid if he made a comment, or even breathed a noticeable sigh of relief, that she would put the horrible articles back on again, he merely stepped out and turned to assist her. He glanced down when she lifted her skirt and was greeted with huge, ugly shoes that surely she’d borrowed from someone.

…

Bridget handed her shawl to the man at the door and raised her chin. Without the spectacles, shawl, and mobcap she looked almost normal. Cursed man. She’d been certain he would not allow her to attend dressed as she was and would leave her behind. But he’d called her bluff.

Now that the worst part of her outfit was gone, she wished for better shoes. She’d swiped the ones she wore from Mrs. Dressel and stuffed the tips with handkerchiefs. It did make her walk strangely, but the effect was not as great as the rest of her outfit had been.

She grinned, thinking how the group would have reacted had she indeed shown up with cap, spectacles, and shawl. Well, she must think of other ways to prevent Lord Campbell from dragging her to these events, or do something to keep away the men to whom he wanted her to marry. Thankfully, the days of a man forcing a woman to marry had ended, but he could certainly make her life miserable until she conceded. Which she would not do.

A few of the guests gave her questioning looks, but Lord Campbell smoothly passed it off as her still being in mourning. They made their way around the room, with her guardian making introductions.

How she hated these events, which was precisely why she’d convinced Papa that he needed her at the estate in Scotland, not waltzing through the ballrooms of London. Since the last few years of his life he’d not felt well, and his condition had deteriorated monthly, he hadn’t had the energy to dissuade her.

She eyed a footman holding a tray of drinks, but truth be known, she would love a Scotch; the hairdo she’d forced Fiona into giving her was causing a headache.

“Would you care for a sherry? Or perhaps champagne?” Lord Campbell leaned in, startling her for a moment as his spicy scent surrounded her. Bergamot, leather, and something completely male. Her heart sped up at his nearness and the warmth coming from his body. Whatever is the matter with me?

“Ah, I would much rather have a Scotch.” She backed up a bit, giving herself room to breathe.

“I don’t believe our host has your favorite beverage available.” He smirked at her, the first time since his sister’s house that he wasn’t scowling at her. When his face was relaxed and he had that rakish smile and teasing green eyes, he truly was a handsome man. She’d already noticed women glancing in his direction, and a few who were throwing him obvious invitations.

“Then I’m afraid champagne it is.”

“My lord, may I beg an introduction to your lovely companion.” A gentleman stood at her elbow, eyeing the area below her chin, which was futile, considering her bosom was covered up to her neck.

Lord Campbell stiffened, then said, “Lady Bridget MacDuff, may I present to you The Earl of Chadwick.” He added, “Lady Bridget is my ward.” Although Lord Campbell was polite, she got the impression this was not one of the gentlemen whom he wanted her to marry. His demeanor was rigid, and a bit of coldness had crept into his voice. Lord Chadwick, however, did not seem to notice. Or care.

But she did, and it was time for the next step in her campaign to annoy her guardian.

She held out her hand and smiled brightly. “My lord, what a pleasure to meet you.”

Chadwick’s eyes lit up, and he moved in closer. Bridget had to grind her teeth to keep from moving back. The man was obnoxious, but if it would irritate Campbell, she would put up with him.

The earl leered at her. Actually leered. “And certainly a pleasure to meet you, my lady. Where has Campbell been hiding you?” He bent in closer until they were toe-to-toe, but unlike Campbell, this man’s scent repulsed her.

She batted her eyelashes. “I haven’t been hiding at all.” She turned to her guardian and gave him a sweet smile. “Have I, my lord?”

She wanted to burst into laughter. It appeared she was not the only one grinding her teeth. His lordship’s lips were tightened into a thin line, and his flashing green eyes narrowed. He bent toward Chadwick and lowered his voice. “Back up, Chadwick. You’re taking away all the lady’s breathing room.”

“Surely you don’t plan on keeping this lovely woman to yourself? You did say she was your ward? Not well done, Campbell.” Chadwick had backed up, but something about his manner told her he didn’t care too much for Campbell’s insinuation.

“I will be happy to get that champagne for you.” Campbell grabbed her elbow and practically dragged her to the nearest footman holding a tray of drinks. He took a glass and handed it to her. “Stay away from Chadwick.”

Her eyes grew wide. As wide as they could with her hair pulling them so tight. “But my lord guardian, I thought you wanted me to find the ‘perfect match.’” She took a sip of the drink, wrinkling her nose at the bubbles. “Is that not the reason you have dragged me to this dinner? To find a gentleman to woo me? Dance with me at balls, take me for rides in Hyde Park?”

Campbell moved her along, toward the French doors. “The only ride Lord Chadwick has in mind is…” He ran his finger around the inside of his cravat. “Never mind. Just stay away from him.”

Dinner was announced, and they made their way into the dining room, Bridget on Campbell’s arm. She was relieved to see Lord Chadwick seated across the table from her and a few places down. He might stare at her, but she could ignore him. She really did not want to encourage him, since she’d done so only to annoy Campbell. No doubt Chadwick was one of those rakes who would take what he wanted from a woman and run as fast as possible if there were consequences.

“Good evening, Lady Bridget.” The man to her right appeared to be a couple of decades older than her. His hairline was receding, and his nose was a bit too large for his face, but he had a wonderful smile and something about him that put a person at ease.

“I apologize. I don’t believe we have been introduced.”

He shook his head. “Not yet. But I know who you are, with Lord Campbell on the same committee with me in Parliament. He mentioned to me that you are his ward and he was bringing you here this evening. I am Lord Hyatt.”

“It is nice to meet you, my lord.” She leaned sideways when the footman reached over to pour wine into her glass. “What committee are you and Lord Campbell on?”

“We are introducing a bill to increase the budget for veterans and their families.”

Bridget took a sip of wine. “How wonderful. I think that is a very good idea.”

“Yes. Lord Campbell was the instigator of the bill.” The man beamed as if he’d made up the bill himself.

She glanced across the table to where Campbell sat a few seats up. He was watching her intently. Now what? Did she have a smudge on her face? Had she drizzled wine onto her gown? Honestly, the man watched her like a predator ready to strike. She smiled in his direction and lifted her glass to him.

To her amazement, he lifted his glass also and smiled back.

Funny sensations fluttered in her stomach, and a flush rose to her cheeks. Confused, she returned her attention to Lord Hyatt.

As Hyatt spoke, she snuck another glance at Lord Campbell as he bent toward the woman next to him to hear her comment. In the candlelight, his aristocratic features were more prominent, the masculine angles of his face giving him the appearance of an ancient warrior. A ginger-colored curl fell onto his forehead, and he shoved it back with his fingers.

“Lady Bridget?”

She turned toward Lord Hyatt, realizing she had not been listening to him. She shook her head. The last thing she should be doing was admiring her nemesis.