She could be sharp-tongued, but he hadn’t expected her to be cynical. And yet her description of a love match couldn’t be seen as anything but cynical.
Had she hoped for a love match herself? Did she have a man she cared for, a man who’d asked for her hand, and one she’d had to turn away because of her parents’ agreement with Lady Aldriss? It hadn’t occurred to him previously, but it should have. And he didn’t like the idea. At all. “Lass, do ye—”
“Goodness, Amy,” Eloise broke in, her cheeks turning red. “I hope you don’t begrudge me a bit of that luck you mentioned.”
“No, of course not,” Amelia-Rose returned on the tail of that, also flushing. “I apologize. That—it didn’t sound the way I intended.”
“Apology accepted,” Eloise said promptly, smiling again. “Let’s speak no more about it.”
Niall wanted to speak more about it, but apparently that wasn’t a conversation they were to have in front of others. “I reckon the lass doesnae need to apologize for pointing out that ye and Mr. Harris here are sugary enough that ye’re making my teeth ache,” he said aloud, narrowing one eye at his younger sister.
“Oh, stop it, Niall,” his sister returned. “I know you and Coll and Aden would have loved to be able to approve of Matthew before he asked for my hand, and I’m certain that would have entailed the drinking of much whisky and some brawling, but it didn’t happen that way. He asked Mama for my hand, and she gave her permission.”
Niall eyed his sister’s betrothed, and had the satisfaction of seeing Matthew Harris shift a little and suddenly find something interesting to view outside the barouche. “Aye, we’re too late to have had a hand in yer choosing a lad, piuthar, but I dunnae believe it’s ever too late for whisky or brawling. We’re some of the finest brawlers in the Highlands, if I say so myself.”
“Niall, no punching,” Eloise stated again.
He sat back and crossed his arms. “Nae promises.”
They might be jesting, but he hadn’t made up his mind about Mr. Harris yet. Aye, he could assess a man’s character fairly quickly, but this particular lad had in mind to marry the MacTaggerts’ only sister. Learning whether he was fit to do that would take more than a minute. It didn’t help that Matthew Harris likely knew Eloise better than did her own brothers. They should have visited her, however they felt about Francesca. They should have written, at least; they shared blood and heritage, whether she’d ever been exposed to the latter or not.
“I’m willing to have a glass or two of whisky, if that’s satisfactory,” Matthew put in.
“Ha. Either ye have a bit of spleen, or ye’ve nae met a Highlander before. I’ll see what I can arrange.” He sent Eloise a glance. “Nae interference.”
“Amy, I may now have some envy of you for being an only child,” his sister stated, but since she continued to seem amused Niall reckoned he hadn’t done any damage.
Finally they turned into a large, green expanse of trees and ponds and flowers. Niall took a deep breath. It was too orderly and civilized ever to be mistaken for the Highlands, but it wasn’t more buildings and noise. For Saint Andrew’s sake, he could actually hear birdsongs. “This is more like it,” he muttered, his shoulders lowering a little. The mere fact of being in London weighed on him, whether he’d realized it before now or not.
Half a dozen bouncing, flapping lasses met the carriage as they stopped beside a handful of other vehicles. On the far side of the carriages a canopy stood, a spread of blankets on the ground beneath it, while a trio of footmen and a table laden with plates, baskets, bowls, and glasses stood close by and awaited their dining pleasure directly to one side. Ah, food.
“—must be Lord Glendarril,” one of the young ladies, a bosomy redhead, said in between giggles, her gaze on him. “Oh, Amelia-Rose, he’s heavenly.”
Amelia-Rose clambered over him and out of the barouche. “No, no, no. This—this is his brother—one of Eloise’s other brothers, I mean—Oh, dear. This is Niall MacTaggert.”
Niall stepped down from the carriage. “Lasses,” he said, inclining his head.
They all dipped curtsies like a flock of bobbing doves. Bloody hell. Perhaps he needed to be more thankful that Coll had dodged his responsibilities so far today; at least with Amelia-Rose by his side, Niall had a bit of protection from the muslin horde. On