Chapter 7
The first time Montgomery saw Veronica MacLeod, he’d noticed her beauty.
The circumstances of the meeting at the Society of the Mercaii had, however, overwhelmed any further observations.
He’d been too intent on rescuing her to note her hair wasn’t truly brown or her eyes weren’t really green.
Instead, her hair had brown and gold and red in it.
Her eyes were a greenish hazel with gold flecks.
She stood quiet and still beside him, dressed in a pale blue dress that didn’t flatter her coloring. She smelled of something reminding him of spring, something womanly and fresh. Her face was too pale, however, and her lips nearly bloodless.
If he’d known her better, he would have bent and whispered something nonsensical in her ear to make her smile.
He would have commented about any of the many people who crowded into the Earl of Conley’s parlor, or told her an anecdote about Virginia.
Because he didn’t know her, because she was suddenly his wife when he didn’t want to marry, he merely stood silent beside her, finding himself amazed that this day had ever come.
In the last hour, they’d been married by an ancient minister who’d taken so long to perform the ceremony Montgomery thought it would never be over.
In the last day, he’d given more than a fleeting thought to returning home, thereby extricating himself from the situation. His honor, however, wouldn’t allow him to renege on his word, however grudgingly it had been given.
The parlor in which they stood was filled with bric-a-brac, nonsensical fringe, deep purple and crimson upholstery.
The crimson velvet drapery defeated even the bravest sunbeam, but somehow the ferns and plants occupying every available surface were flourishing.
The result was a crowded and oppressive room.
He wanted to be away from here almost as much as he wanted to be unmarried.
What would Alisdair and James have thought of this day?
No doubt they’d have made some ribald comment about his bride, her beauty, and Montgomery’s obvious impatience to be gone from this place.
If they’d been alive, he wouldn’t have been there at all.
Alisdair was the oldest, followed by James.
One of his brothers would have been the 11th Lord Fairfax of Doncaster.
Montgomery would have remained at Gleneagle, content to be about the business of ensuring that the plantation was profitable or practicing law.
Instead of his brothers standing beside him, he’d been accompanied by his solicitor. Edmund had left after witnessing the ceremony, claiming the press of work, an excuse Montgomery wished he could emulate.
Too many people milled around the small parlor. The air was stuffy with the various scents of perfume clashing with the dried flower arrangements and the aroma of breakfast lingering in the air.
Someone spoke at his elbow, causing him to flinch.
He covered the movement as smoothly as he could with a practiced smile.
He didn’t like people approaching him without warning.
He didn’t like standing close to another human being.
Arm’s length was near enough, or even farther. Rifle distance was probably the best.
One cousin or another fired a volley of questions at him. He attempted to answer each in as cursory a fashion as possible.
The British had a strange way of talking. The more elevated a man was in their society, the more precise his speech. In the last two months, he’d been told, on more than one occasion, that he spoke like an American, a comment made with such derision there was no doubt it was meant as an insult.
“How are you finding London?” one of the cousins asked.
“I’ve learned a great deal since I’ve been here.” There, that didn’t give away his antipathy to London, did it?
“Tell me all about America,” asked another one of Veronica’s cousins. Amanda? Anne? He hadn’t paid enough attention to their introductions.
“I’d rather hear about England,” he said, forcing a smile to his lips. For the next fifteen minutes, she proceeded to regale him with tales of shops, balls, and her many admirers.
Montgomery had never been so bored.
When Veronica left to change her dress, a task evidently requiring all three of her female cousins, he stood with his back to the wall, away from the other members of Veronica’s family.
He couldn’t stand it any longer. He had to get away. He couldn’t go outside because it was raining, and it would look too much like escape if the bridegroom stood out in the rain and refused to come back inside.
Montgomery moved to the side of the room, entering the corridor and slipping into the Earl of Conley’s library. Thankfully, the room was vacant. He walked to the window, stood staring out at the rainy day, wishing he were somewhere, anywhere but here.
You’re a married man now, brother. James’s voice. Responsible and mature.
It’s the right thing to do, Montgomery. How odd that, of the three, he could always hear Caroline’s voice more clearly. Perhaps guilt had something to do with it.
“Caroline, get out of my mind.”
“Who’s Caroline?”
He turned to find Veronica standing there. She’d changed into an ugly dark blue dress similar to the one she’d worn to the Society of the Mercaii. It flattered her even less than her bridal gown.
“When can we leave?” he asked.
She looked surprised at the question or perhaps simply the abruptness of it.
“Anytime you wish,” she said.
“Now,” he said, walking to the doorway, brushing past her in his haste to leave, only to come face-to-face with the Countess of Conley.
“Have we overwhelmed you with our numbers, Montgomery?” she asked. “Here you are, hiding away, when everyone wants to know about you.”
The woman’s fawning affection was cloying. The whole family was cloying. Within five minutes of his arrival, Montgomery had known he wouldn’t be able to bear their company more than an hour or two.
In two minutes, it would be three hours since he’d arrived.
The countess had insisted on calling her husband, “the earl,” an affectation he found almost as annoying as the English habit of treating people with titles as if they were religious icons.
“We have to leave,” he said, trying to recall some of the manners he’d possessed all his life. He feigned a smile. “We really do.”
“Of course,” she said, giving him a coy little smirk. “We shall allow you to settle in, of course,” she was saying now. “Before we visit.”
He was grateful to see his bride’s answering expression was less than enthusiastic. Perhaps she dreaded the idea of being visited by the Countess of Conley as much as he did.
The countess patted him on the arm, smiled at Veronica. “Here we thought our Anne would be the first of the girls to marry.”
Evidently, the Countess of Conley had forgotten the scandal precipitating their union.
He exchanged a quick look with Veronica, wondering at the glint of humor in her eyes. It was gone so quickly, he might have imagined it.
“We’re leaving London tomorrow,” he announced. “My business necessitates it.”
“Where are we going?” Veronica asked.
“I’m sure your husband will tell you all you need to know,” the countess said firmly. “Do not be presumptuous, Veronica.”
He frowned at the countess, then turned to his bride.
“To Scotland,” he said. “But now we must be on our way.”
The countess looked startled when he passed her. He escorted Veronica to the door, stood impassively as she said her farewells, then walked her to the carriage.
Montgomery nodded to the young man holding the door, waited until Veronica entered the carriage, and followed her, sitting with his back to the horses.
She didn’t look at him, intent on staring at the house, her family clustered on the steps.
Her fingers pressed against the glass; her mouth curved in a small, almost sad, smile as if she couldn’t bear to part with them.
If he’d been in her place, he’d have been singing hosannas right about then.
As the carriage slowly pulled away from the curb, her family called out their farewells. She waved, then turned away, facing him.
“Where in Scotland?” she asked softly.
“Doncaster Hall, the house I’ve inherited along with the title.”
Her look of surprise warned him. Evidently, he wasn’t supposed to speak of such things, merely pretend he’d always been the 11th Lord Fairfax of Doncaster. He wasn’t to mention money. He wasn’t to talk about an entire list of things forbidden by British rules.
“I’m from Lollybroch,” she said, in the same tone she might have admitted to being royalty.
Was he supposed to know the place?
She tilted back her chin and looked at him. No pale miss, now. She looked almost proud of her heritage. Once, he would’ve felt the same. Instead, all he felt was confusion, and a share of grief, not only for his country but for Virginia and Gleneagle.
“Are we going to live in Scotland?”
“It will do as well as any other place,” he said. He couldn’t imagine being as ill at ease in Scotland as he was in London.
She smiled.
If he didn’t know better, he would have thought her happy with the marriage instead of feeling like a pawn being moved about on a chessboard by her uncle. Or perhaps it was the prospect of returning to her homeland that pleased her.
What would Caroline have thought of Veronica? Would she have counseled patience with his new wife? Would Caroline have placed her palm on his cheek, as she often did, staring into his eyes with that intent gaze of hers, giving him comfort with her words, kindness, and the generosity of her love?
Caroline wasn’t there to give him advice. He’d have to muddle through this marriage himself.
“I don’t love you, Veronica,” he said abruptly. “This is not a love match. Or even a political marriage. You were in trouble, and I was forced to intervene. That’s all.”
Wide-eyed, she stared at him. Her fingers clenched, released, clenched again. She looked down at her gloved hands, then resolutely back at him.