“That is a step
On which I must fall down, or else o’erleap,
For in my way it lies.”
MACBETH, MACBETH ACT I, SCENE IV
The guests were gone. Well, all but one of them, anyway. Lady Aldriss had gone about it so skillfully that Temperance hadn’t even noticed until the parents of the bride disappeared into the grand house and she turned back to see empty tables all around her.
For a moment, it looked to be a standoff, with the MacTaggerts and Oswell-MacTaggerts huddled around one table, and her alone at the opposite end of the garden. Their numbers had thinned; Niall had run off on Coll’s heels, taking a good share of footmen and grooms with him.
Coll had gone to her house, which was apparently on fire. The thought had stuck in her mind more as words than anything that had meaning. The only sharp bits were the names that kept jabbing at her. Flora and Gregory were her family. And Hades … Oh, she hadn’t even thought to remind Coll about her fierce little cat.
A figure sat opposite her. Temperance wiped the sudden tears from her eyes and looked up. “My lady,” she said, the sound of her own voice small and distant.
“I owe you an apology,” the countess said. “I doubted your tale about someone attempting to harm you.”
“I keep doubting it myself,” Temperance conceded with a faint shrug. “Taken separately, they’re just … minor things. Sandbags falling where I’d just been sitting, a bucket full of bricks falling from the scaffolding in my direction. But then someone ran my hired hack off the road several days ago and overturned it, and they simply drove away. And now…” Another tear ran down her cheek, and she brushed it away.
“You haven’t received any odd notes or threats?”
“I receive odd notes almost constantly, my lady. A surprising number of people—mostly men—evidently believe I am the fictional character I portray onstage.” She grimaced. “At first, I even thought Coll might have been in pursuit of Rosalind.”
“But he wasn’t.”
She shook her head. “No.” A handkerchief was pressed into her hand, and she dabbed at her eyes again. “Thank you. And then he said he’d told you that he meant to marry me, and I was—I was mortified.”
“But you’re not mortified now?”
Temperance looked up, meeting Lady Aldriss’s sharp gaze. She should still be mortified; she’d chosen to make her way as a commoner, and Coll remained very much a viscount, courtesy title or not. They weren’t equals because she’d intentionally made certain they weren’t. And yet … And yet.
“Lord Glendarril is very persuasive,” she said aloud.
“I would say forceful rather than persuasive, but yes, he can be.”
“You remain mortified, however, if I’m not mistaken.” Taking a breath and reminding herself that he had been ready for this battle before she’d learned that her house was very likely burning down, Temperance attempted to focus her thoughts. Mentally, though, she had to compliment the countess on her timing, if not on her compassion.
“Did he tell you that I’ve ordered him to wed, and within the next seventeen days?”
“Yes.”
“Eloise tells me that despite your choice of address, you have actually never been married.”
“That is correct. I never have seen why it makes a difference, but even the illusion of a husband makes a female more acceptable, even if said husband is nowhere to be found.”
The countess narrowed her eyes just a little. “You have claws, then, I see. Interesting.”
“I may at this moment be losing all of my earthly possessions, my lady. That makes me feel as if I need to protect what I have left, even if that is only my pride.” She set down the handkerchief. “I am in love with Coll. I find his forthright nature and fierce spirit to be admirable. I have told him that we shouldn’t marry, and I have pointed out the problems it would likely cause for both of us. As you said, you have ordered him to marry. If he is going to spend his life with a woman, I would prefer that it be me.”
“He has brothers, you know. Lord Aldriss could well cut him off if he does choose to marry you, and the title will go to Aden.”
Temperance grimaced. “That would actually make things easier. It is a threat, however, that only he can answer.”
Coll and a simpler life seemed very compatible, actually, but Coll being idle here in London while she trod the boards in the evenings didn’t seem very realistic. He liked to use his hands, and he was accustomed to having people about who needed his help. Even if his pride allowed her to earn an income for the two of them, he would never stand for being useless. And all that was aside from the fact that she might well have nowhere to live now.
“What if I could offer you the means to live as comfortably as you chose?” the countess said, on the tail of that thought. “You and the nonexistent Mr. Jones could purchase a house in Knightsbridge, and you wouldn’t have to pursue parts on the stage.”
“I like acting,” Temperance replied promptly. “And I do very well with it, thank you very much.”
“Even more, she’s good at it,” came Coll’s voice from the doorway behind them.
Temperance whipped around. His coat was missing, his white shirt soiled and black. Soot was smudged across his face, and his expression made her breath catch.
“It’s gone, isn’t it?” she asked, unable to keep her voice entirely steady.
“Aye. Flora and Gregory are safe, though.” He held up a lidded basket in one hand. “And I fetched Hades for ye.”
Her hands went to her chest, relief setting a sob tearing loose. “You saved him!” she stammered, hurrying forward and throwing her arms around Coll’s hard chest.
He set the basket down and enfolded her in his arms. Safe. He made her feel safe, protected, and wanted, all at the same time. It was a giddy, heady feeling, even with the bleakness around her. “I’m sorry, lass. I couldnae save anything else.”
“You’re not hurt?” She pushed away to look up at his face, brushing at the smudges there.
“Nae. A wee bit singed, mayhap. And clawed-at.” He lifted one hand to show her a pair of deep scratches across his knuckles. “I think Hades may be part Scottish wildcat.”
She chuckled, wiping her eyes again. “I wouldn’t be at all surprised.”
He lifted his gaze, looking over her head toward the table where she’d been sitting. “Ye couldnae wait until I got back here to start yer fight, eh, màthair? Did my lass get in a few jabs, at least?”
“Yes, she did,” Lady Aldriss said smoothly. “I would have asked to speak with her alone regardless, but my timing did leave something to be desired. I apologize for that.”
“You’re defending your family name,” Temperance replied, facing the countess again. “I do understand pride.” Kneeling, she unfastened the lid of the basket and gingerly opened it a crack. “Hello, Hades,” she said soothingly. “My good boy, are you well?”
The cat peered out of the narrow opening, then gave a plaintive meow. Holding her breath, Persephone let the lid open wider, and the cat surged onto her lap and then curled into a tight ball of fur. Oh, thank goodness. Not everything had been lost. Not the little alley cat on whom she’d taken pity six years earlier. She stroked him gently for a minute, then lifted him into her arms and stood again as Coll put a hand under one arm to steady her.
“Thank you, Coll,” she whispered, lowering her face into the black fur. “Thank you.”
“Ye should have seen him,” another male voice announced, “dancing across the rooftop while fire bit at his feet. He didn’t make it three steps on the ground again before the entire house collapsed.”
Gasping, Temperance grabbed at Coll again with her free hand. “For God’s sake, don’t do that again,” she hissed, looking up at his face. The idea that he might have been killed made her entire being go cold. “Promise me.”
“I dunnae intend for any more houses to burn down, mo chridhe.” With a slight smile touching his mouth, he leaned down and kissed her. “And Niall, keep yer damned mouth shut.”
His brother, still wearing his proper coat but also a bit singed, nodded as he made his way over to his wife. “Ye near scared me to death, so I wanted to share.”
All the MacTaggerts were together now—even the patriarch newly arrived from Scotland, apparently to put a stop to Coll marrying her. But they were family, and they hadn’t all been beneath the same roof in a very long time, from what Coll had told her. “I should go see to Flora and Gregory,” she said, setting Hades back in the basket. “We need to find somewhere to stay.”
“Ye’ll stay here,” Coll stated, his voice flat.
“I will not. Today is your brother’s wedding. You should be celebrating, not worrying if someone will put a torch to Oswell House.”
“I’d like to see someone try,” he returned, in a tone that made her shiver. She hadn’t seen him truly angry since that first night, when he’d punched Lord Claremont. This, though, was something more. “I’ve already sent a carriage for Flora and Gregory. Ye’ll stay here.”
“Yes, of course,” Lady Aldriss put in, apparently realizing that she’d lost this argument before it could begin. “You’ll be safe here while we discover who is trying to harm you.” The countess gestured at her daughter. “Eloise, please show Mrs. Jones to the yellow room. And with the number of young ladies residing here now, I believe we can put together a wardrobe for you until you can arrange to have some of your clothing replaced.”
Though she had frequently found it baffling, not to mention maddening, the incessant need for the aristocracy to be polite could occasionally be useful. Temperance curtsied. “Thank you, my lady.”
Coll took her fingers in his. “Huddle and the rest will be worried about ye. If ye write ’em a note, I’ll see it delivered.”
This hadn’t been at all how she’d thought today would proceed. But then she generally slept late on Saturdays, and so she likely would have been in bed when her house burned down. Coll MacTaggert had saved her yet again.
With a glance at the rest of his formidable family, she nodded and turned to follow Eloise into the house.
One thing was becoming evident. If she meant to be alive for long enough to see how all this turned out, she was going to have to take a stand and begin saving herself. Being the damsel in distress was one thing, but now Coll had nearly been killed. That could not happen, no matter what. If she lost him, it would be because they simply couldn’t work out their differences. Not because he’d been killed trying to keep her safe.
“That lad’s in love,” Angus said in what passed for his quiet voice. Despite not having heard his smooth brogue for seventeen years, Francesca would have known it anywhere, just as she recognized the man despite the mahogany hair turned steely gray and the lines about his deep gray eyes. And his hands—good heavens, she remembered his big hands.
“But is the woman?” she retorted, setting aside all those roiling thoughts and moving past her husband to inform Smythe that in addition to the actress he would have to find room for an earl and two servants, and that the table this evening would be set for ten, rather than the eight she’d expected.
“Ye’re the one who spoke with her. What do ye think?” he pursued, keeping up with her.
“I think that you should be speaking with your daughters-in-law and your own daughter, none of whom have set eyes on you before today.”
“Nae a kind word for me, then?”
She stopped in her tracks. “I’ll have several words for you in five minutes, after I settle the rest of my family.”
When she’d written him, she’d expected some sort of help, some order from him that would stop her oldest son’s madness before it could hurt the family. But seeing him standing there at the back of the church, an older but unmistakable version of the man who’d stolen her heart and swept her off her feet in a matter of days, all those years ago—it had stopped her breath.
That wasn’t supposed to happen. He was stubborn and short-sighted and arrogant and argumentative, and she’d cursed him enough in seventeen years that he should have dropped dead at least a dozen times by now. Why, then, did she have the damnedest desire to find a mirror and check her hair?
Deliberately slowing her steps, she found Smythe and then headed into the house for her study. Oswell House was hers, thankfully; her father had seen to it that not only did the family’s wealth remain in her name, but so did the Oswell property. He and her mother hadn’t trusted Angus, especially after a courtship that had lasted but a week, and the result was that Angus had never quite caught the wealth he pursued, which had been difficult for a man of his pride to swallow. Looking back, consulting her before every expenditure or improvement had likely been more difficult than she’d ever realized. She took a seat behind her desk, opened the bottom drawer, and produced a bottle of whisky. After pouring herself a glass, she downed it and returned everything to the drawer.
“Ye’ve done as ye said ye would, then,” Angus said, stopping just past the doorway of the room. “Ye civilized my lads, found them wives, and now ye’ll have yer claws in them for the rest of yer days.”
“They found their own wives,” she retorted. “And I’m still one short.”
“Aye. I reckoned Coll would give ye the most trouble. Good lad. Stubborn lad.”
“Why did you never give them the letters I wrote? Or send me the letters they wrote?”
One gray eye twitched. “Ye took our wee daughter and left me. Left all yer boys. Did ye leave me a reason to be kind to ye? Because if ye did, I didnae find it.”
“It would have been a kindness to them to know that I still cared for them and thought of them.”
He made a dismissive gesture. “Ye wrecked ’em all when ye left. All three of ’em, pining after ye. I helped ’em heal, showed ’em how to be strong and to nae rely on anything but each other. It would’ve softened ’em again, to give ’em yer flowery letters about kisses and hugs and lullabies.”
“I’m amazed they turned out so well. I do know it was despite your influence. And at least they understand that love means compromise. I will see them all in London again, because they care that their wives have lives and families here. I know damned well that you had nothing to do with teaching them that.”
To her surprise, he gave her a short grin before he dropped into the chair opposite her. “Aye. Just as I had naught to do with them learning to dance or read Sassenach poetry or learn French and Latin.” He patted the arms of the chair. “I smell whisky. I could use a glass.”
With a sigh, she pulled the bottle and glass back out of the drawer and slid them across the desk to him. “Are you trying to tell me, in your usual maddening way, that you raised three refined gentlemen who care about the opinions and feelings of others?”
“Ye tell me, bean na bainnse mo àlainn.”
She remembered that phrase. My beautiful bride. He could be charming, but she’d thought herself long past falling for his brogue and confident manner. And yet … her heart still beat faster when he spoke in Scots Gaelic, when he called her by any of the silly pet names he’d had for her.
Francesca squared her shoulders. “Are you here to talk some sense into Coll, or not?” she finally asked.
“Did ye nae see the same thing I did, lass?”
“Do you not see that everything in a marriage would benefit her, and not him?”
“It would secure Aldriss Park’s funding. That’s someaught. And ye’re the one who settled that on his shoulders.”
Yes, she had done that to all three of them. And it had brought them back into her life, and two of them had no regrets about the results. Aden and Niall had found love, and both were happy—amazingly so. And in that love, they’d found some space for her as well, whether they considered her to have earned it or not.
She couldn’t make the same claim where Coll was concerned. At least half of it was his fault; from the beginning, he’d seemed determined not to be ruled by an agreement he hadn’t even known about until a week before they’d arrived in London. And equally determined not to allow her to dictate the terms of his life.
Was it enough that she had three of her four children? If she released Coll from the agreement, he wouldn’t be obligated to marry. He wouldn’t feel obligated to marry Persephone Jones, in other words, and while she might never see him again, he would have the opportunity to find a woman he truly loved, rather than one he thought would most offend his mother.
“Ye’re wondering if releasing Coll would convince him to turn his lass away,” Angus mused, sipping at his whisky. “Ye saw what I saw, Francesca. I reckon ye and I havenae ever agreed on the color of the sky, much less what’s best for us and our bairns, but he’s nae a bairn. And he’s seen what he wants.”
“You read my letter, yes?” she retorted. “Admittedly, Mrs. Jones is a highly regarded actress, but she is an actress. A commoner. No doubt you find it amusing that I’m nonplussed, but is she truly who you want to see as the next Lady Aldriss?”
“I wanted a nice Scottish lass for each of the lads, if ye’ll recall.” He crossed his ankles, at home, as he’d always been wherever he went. If only he’d chosen to go where she wanted to be—they might still be living beneath the same roof. “Those lasses, though, they’re nae who I expected ye to choose.”
“You mean they’re not the fainting, delicate, hothouse flowers you warned our sons about? No, they aren’t. They’re women. Strong women, both of them.” She sighed. “I suppose the best we could hope for is that if I remove the obligation for Coll to marry, he and Mrs. Jones remain lovers until he eventually tires of London and goes back to the Highlands to find someone more appropriate. That, of course, depends on whether Mrs. Jones will remove her claws from a wedding band and a future earldom.”
“Or ye might consider exchanging more than a few barbs with her, open yer eyes, and realize she’s nae just a walking scandal.” Coll leaned into the doorway, his arms crossed over his chest.
Well. She would have preferred to have a plan in place before beginning an argument, but as the argument had come to them, she would make do. “What is it about her, then, that you find so irresistible?”
“She’s nae a child, for one thing,” he answered promptly. “She’s a woman grown, with a woman’s experience and a woman’s view on the world. She’s at least as clever as Aden, I reckon, and isnae shy about using her wits. And she’s damned funny.” He tilted his head. “She’s nae scared of me, when even my own brothers look for ways to keep my temper tethered. She’s a hundred women all in one, màthair, and I find her endlessly fascinating. Is that enough of an answer for ye?”
“Will she give up the theater for you?”
“I dunnae. I’ve nae asked her to.”
“So you would have a viscountess whom strangers pay money to see onstage every night?”
“There arenae plays except during the Season,” he countered, his tone still mild, but sheathed in steel. “Strangers can look at her if they wish, as long as she comes home to me.” To her surprise, he came forward, sinking into the chair beside his father. “I see it this way. Ye can force me to wed, and I’ll marry her. Ye can free me from having to wed, and I’ll still marry her. Or ye can forbid me to wed and threaten to hold all of Aldriss Park hostage if I do. Ye’d win that one, but I reckon I’d find a way to be with her anyway.”
Francesca looked at him. She could attempt to force him to do as she wanted. That would give him the choice of either defying her and losing Aldriss Park—or, more likely, he would marry some weak-minded, milquetoast chit and keep Mrs. Jones as his mistress, which would keep him from having a happy life. And it would keep him out of her life.
“Coll,” Angus said, downing the rest of his whisky, “go fetch yer lass, will ye? Yer ma and I need a minute to converse.”
“Aye. I’ll give ye five minutes.”
Once he’d gone, Angus poured another glass of whisky and slid it toward her. “Drink.”
“I’ve already had one.”
He cracked a grin. “Another willnae harm ye. For God’s sake, woman, ye’re about to have to swallow yer pride and admit ye’ve been outmaneuvered by love.”
Scowling, she took the glass and drank it down. “This isn’t the first time I’ve been outmaneuvered by love, you know.”
His smile softened. “I am aware. I owe ye such apologies, Francesca, I hardly ken where to begin.”
She snorted. “One whisky’s clearly harmed you, Angus, if you’re ready to apologize. And two have clearly harmed me, if I’m even considering listening.”
“Are ye?”
“Perhaps.”
Damn him, anyway. She could be nearly seething with anger for seventeen years, and the moment he walked through the door, the moment she heard his voice, she could only remember the times he’d made her laugh, the moments he’d made her heart sing.
Francesca took a breath. “She’ll cause a scandal, you know. For your daughter, for your daughters-in-law, and for me.”
“Ye’re the thinker in this family; think of a way to prevent that.”
“That’s not very helpful.” In a sense, though, it was. She had more than her mind here; she had power and influence. With it, she could ruin Persephone Jones and make certain the woman had no further career here in London, if not the rest of the Kingdom. Her reaction to this match would say a great deal. People would watch, and they would listen.
She walked to the window and pushed it open. Aden had wanted Miranda to choose the day for their wedding; she’d picked a lovely one. Sun kissed the roses in the garden, and a light breeze ruffled the leaves of the grand old oak tree in its center. And she, Francesca, had attempted to begin a fight with a young woman waiting to hear if her house had burned down. That woman had not only stood her ground, but drawn blood.
“We’re here,” Coll said. “What’s it to be?”
Francesca turned around. Persephone Jones stood hand-in-hand with Viscount Glendarril, and she had removed her bonnet—and her bright red hair. Honey-colored curls hung halfway down her back and over her shoulders, improper and loose, but rather refreshingly so. Her lavender and peach gown looked expensive in its simplicity, as if she’d worn her very best dress to attend the wedding. Had it been meant to impress Coll’s family, or was it a measure of her pride that she wanted to fit in with what had been, after all, an aristocratic ceremony?
“I’ve seen you onstage perhaps a dozen times,” she said, noting out of the corner of her eye that Angus had gotten to his feet. “You’ve been Rosalind, Juliet, Cordelia, the courtesan in that silly A Mad World, My Masters, Recha from Nathan the Wise, and a half dozen others I can’t remember at the moment.” As she recited the list, another question caught at her attention, and she frowned. “Do you have any influence over the plays put on by the Saint Genesius, Mrs. Jones?”
Persephone nodded. “I’m not always listened to, but I do give my opinions.”
“It occurs to me that you’ve played a fair number of strong, clever women.”
“Thank you, my lady. I like to think there’s a reason I found them interesting.”
Hmm. Coll had said she was quite intelligent, and after two brief conversations—or one-and-a-half, rather—Francesca had no reason to dispute that. “To return to my original line of inquiry, you are a very pretty young woman who has portrayed legendary romantic figures, and you have been pursued by more than one wealthy, handsome, and titled gentleman. Why is it that you’ve set your sights on Coll?”
“I’m nae certain I want ye to answer that,” her oldest son muttered.
Persephone glanced up at him with a brief smile before she faced Francesca again. “The answer is in your question, I think,” she said slowly. “I have played some very romantic heroines, and I have known men in pursuit of those heroines. One even refused to call me anything but Juliet. Coll ran into me backstage, and I … Well, he is very handsome, you know.”
“Yes, I know,” Francesca returned dryly. “Do go on.”
“We spoke and, well, it turned out he had come back there to escape … something, and he hadn’t seen me onstage at all. He only saw … me. Which sounds very silly, I suppose, but I have been a great many people in my life, and he’s the first man I’ve known to value the me underneath them all.”
It didn’t sound silly. Francesca sent a quick look toward Angus. Either he was being uncharacteristically quiet, or he’d learned a few things in the time they’d been apart. She didn’t know which one she found more unsettling.
“Well, then,” she said aloud, her voice catching, but hopefully not enough for anyone else to hear. “If the two of you can figure out how in the world you mean to go on together, I—we—have no objections to your union.”
“You don’t?” Persephone said in a very small voice.
“No. There will be a great deal of gossip, and I cannot say that I approve of your remaining onstage, but I am not marrying you. What I am going to do is make certain everyone knows the two of you have been inseparable from the moment you met. My sons began this Season by upending it, and I see no reason they should conclude it in any other way.”
“That means she wishes ye happy, I reckon,” Angus put in. “As do I.”
Coll swung Persephone into his arms and kissed her. The passion Francesca saw was nearly enough to make her blush, but it did demonstrate to her that she’d made the correct choice. Commoner or not, no one she’d been able to find suited Coll better than this woman. And he’d found her for himself, the discouraging of which had been her mistake to begin with.
A moment later, Persephone batted Coll on the chest, and he let her loose. “Are you certain, my lady? My lord? The scandal—”
“People will talk. I don’t care. I am certain,” Francesca stated.
Persephone took a small step forward. “Then I think you should know something.”
Behind her, Coll frowned. “Persephone, ye dunnae—”
“Family, yes?” she interrupted. “You trust them.”
“Aye, I do.”
“Then so shall I.” Squaring her shoulders, the actress folded her hands primly in front of her waist. “I am not Persephone Jones,” she said quietly. “Or rather, I have only been Persephone Jones for the past seven years. Prior to that, my name was—is—Temperance Hartwood.”