Chapter 1 #2
“Oh,” Fiona said with wide-eyed innocence.
“Is that how it’s supposed to be? Because I don’t seem to remember any of you courting your wives that way.
Let’s run up a tally, shall we?” She pointed the business end of her putter at Richard.
“Richard, you courted Abby...oh, no, you didn’t, did you?
You married with a special license and abandoned her to a scandal.
Francis, you created a scandal with Eve and married her with a special license. ..”
“Blossom,” Glenrothes growled the warning, but Fiona went on, leveling the putter at Vin.
“And Vin...well, I think you have the weakest ground to stand on, don’t you?”
“Blossom!”
“Caught kissing Moira like a preacher’s daughter by none less than Reginald Wallis, the scandalmaker of Edinburgh! And married her also with a special license,” she finished. “I hardly think any of you have the right to dictate to me the proper execution of courtship.”
Silence fell at that, but Fiona’s oldest brother caught and held her eye with a frown. “Are ye finished yet, Blossom?”
Fiona set her jaw and glared back at him, fighting the urge to fling her favorite putter at his head.
Glenrothes sighed. “Take yer bloody shot.”
* * *
Swishing her skirts to the side, Fiona stomped over to her ball and addressed it. Taking a deep breath, she tried to calm herself enough to make a decent go of it, but as she stared down at the ball, she was nearly overcome by the urge to scream...or beat the green to a pulp with her club.
She did neither. Not only because she refused to give them the satisfaction of labeling her behavior as childish and—in that way that only brothers can—extend the label to all of her actions and decisions, but also because the greens keeper at St. Andrews might ban her from the course for tearing up his precious green.
Given her love of the game, it was a risk she would never take.
But no, she wasn’t done. Not by a long shot.
She loved all ten of her brothers dearly, but as Richard had said, they had raised her to think independently and to act the same.
She was used to either doing as she pleased or expecting them to acquiesce to her wishes.
She was what they had made her. How could they possibly expect her to change all of that now?
They should be glad she hadn’t consigned her life to the international league of spinsters after the hand romance had dealt her.
“Might I remind you,” she said tightly, turning on them again. “That you—all of you—have been lamenting my age and impending spinsterhood this past year. Haranguing me—with an annoying degree of repetitiveness, I might add—to settle upon a husband?”
“There has been no haranguing, Blossom,” Vin countered calmly. “Don’t exaggerate. Besides, that wasn’t what I or any of the others said at all. For the most part, I believe our concern was that you were generally ignoring the natural progression of life in favor of a golf course.”
“I cannot believe you would say that as if it were a bad thing as we are all at this moment engaged in that very sport,” she said, pointedly returning to her ball and taking a quick putt, sending it across the green.
It rimmed the cup and traveled a few more yards before rolling to a stop.
Frowning at the ball, she mentally placed the blame for the miss on her brothers’ shoulders.
“At least we all have other things to occupy our time,” her eldest brother volleyed back, but he, too, had reined in his temper. “We have families, spouses, and children to focus on. We were only expressing our hope that you would soon have the same.”
Fiona sighed, rolling her eyes as she counted to ten.
“And so I shall, as soon as Lord Ramsay and I marry. I am eager to wed, Francis. The sooner, the better. I even turned down an invitation from Miss Isette Pearson herself to participate in the Ladies Open Championship at the Royal Wimbledon this summer so that I might marry Ramsay immediately.”
“Is that some sign of serious commitment? But you did not decline the membership to the Ladies’ Golf Union she offered.” Richard looked up at her from where he was squatted down on his haunches, lining up his putt.
Was he mad? “Good Lord, of course not,” she answered. “It’s an honor.”
“I’m sure you think so, but have you considered whether this Ramsay fellow would allow his wife to spend all her days on a golf course?” Vin asked.
A valid enough question. It was the age of men, after all.
Despite the modern times and the fact that women were gaining more control and rights over their lives every day, men still legally owned their wives—tales of Eve’s disastrous first marriage to the previous Earl of Shaftesbury had verified that.
However, her brothers assumed that she intended to continue playing golf after her marriage with the same frequency she did now, and that wasn’t the case at all.
As much as she enjoyed the game, she only played as often as she did to distract herself from the fact that life was beginning to pass her by.
She knew what she wanted from life, and despite mocking her brothers regarding their methods, each one of them had the life she secretly longed for: a family of their own.
Her chance at it—the first that had ever come her way—was almost within her grasp.
But as much as she wanted it, Fiona’s unusual upbringing had also made her rather radical about the role women should play in life and marriage, and she wasn’t about to hand over control to just anyone without some assurance that her life would remain her own.
If she was not destined for a marriage like those her brothers had found, where equality was borne of love and respect, she was dogmatically adamant about having a marriage where she held the reins.
If she wanted to travel, she would. If she wanted to smoke as she had seen some women do, she would do just that.
If she wanted to play golf wearing trousers.
..well, perhaps not that. Unfortunately, golf clubs like the Wimbledon Royal had unyielding regulations regarding how female players must be attired.
Ramsay was the perfect choice in that regard. He would yield to her wishes and never think he might control or own her person. Own her thoughts.
Own her heart.
“Of course, he will. Lord Ramsay is everything that will make me happy.”
While Glenrothes might not have gotten the lion’s share of temper in the family, he was cursed with a vexing amount of tenacity on par with her own. “I simply cannot believe that.”
“I agree,” Richard said as he took his shot and sank the ball into the cup.
Fiona frowned at him, though his success in achieving par where she had failed might have been more aggravating than his concurrence. “And why not?”
“That you don’t know the answer to that only proves you don’t know him well enough to marry him. I hardly know him at all, but even I’ve seen that Ramsay is a spineless namby-pamby, Blossom. You’d walk all over him,” Vin announced, stepping up to take his turn, impatient for the game to move on.
Richard chuckled at that. “Indeed, you’d have him under your thumb in no time...If you haven’t already.”
The three men nodded in sanctimonious agreement that had Fiona blinking owlishly before she countered dryly, “Truly? And that wouldn’t make me happy?”
“Blossom,” Vin sighed heavily with a shake of his head as if he genuinely regretted disappointing her.
If he did have regrets, he was the only one. Instead of defending her, however, Vin turned away to tap his short putt in. Both Francis and Richard remained unmoved by her sarcasm.
“Regardless of what you think, you don’t want a man who will cater to you.
You’d be bored to death inside a week,” her eldest brother said unequivocally.
“You’ll never be happy until you find a man who will push back when you push him too far.
Someone who can beat you at your own game every so often. ”
“Aye,” Vin nodded in turn. “Someone who won’t always let you get your way as we do. The man for you, Blossom, is one who stands up to you and gives as good as he gets.”
Turning her back on them, she closed her eyes as a memory wafted through her mind, much as the breeze from St. Andrews Bay caressed her cheeks.
She knew a man like that. One who did give back everything she dished out with equal spirit, who matched her in wit and pure stubbornness. One who made her feel joy, frustration, and anger. One who made her heart ache at the mere thought of him...
No!
Fiona pushed the memory away and opened her eyes, turning into the stiff breeze from the bay to dry the tears gathering in her eyes...or at least provide an excuse if they were noticed. Looking back solved nothing. The future was all she had, and she meant to seize it.
Lord Donovan Ramsay was that future. He was tall, dark, handsome, and charming.
Whatever other fine qualities Lord Ramsay might possess, what mattered the most to Fiona was that he was happy to let her have her way.
He promptly conceded to all her requests and wishes and would never dream of saying no.
He was—yes, she could admit it, if only to herself—extremely manageable. Malleable.
Times being what they were, a woman needed a man with those particular qualities at home.
With Ramsay, she could have everything she wanted without risking her heart.
Glenrothes shook his head as he returned his putter to his golf bag and lifted the bag onto his shoulder. “Perhaps if I had paid more attention, I might have seen it coming, but as you so kindly pointed out, I’ve been focused on filling my nursery.”
Fiona winced but refused to feel any more shame for her flippant words. Lord knew these men had offered enough of their own that afternoon to provide a proper counterbalance. At least Francis’s temper had mellowed if his smoother brogue was any indication.