Chapter 7
Chapter Seven
“Agarden party? After a musicale?” Alasdair commented with deep disdain.
A week later, Seth and he were still on a mission to make alliances. The best place they could think of doing it was at the Rippenton estate’s spring garden party.
“Where do you want to go? White’s? Remember what happened last time? It seems that you have the power to make, ahem, friends everywhere you go, anyway,” Seth countered.
“Well, I cannae make sense why folk gather as ‘friends,’ as they say, yet end up gossipin’ behind each other’s backs and feedin’ their own ambitions.”
“Well, now you must tolerate that. You are trying to find alliances that can help you with your father’s issues,” his friend reminded him.
With a barely audible sigh, he looked at the center marquee in the well-manicured lawn. It was mid-afternoon and the sunlight was at its brightest. Alasdair had to admit that the view was pleasant, but nothing he could think of to replace the hills he grew up in.
The Duke of Redmoor knew that it would be unfair to think of everyone in London as terrible, buoyed by their wealth and title. He did meet Seth, who had been trying his best to help him in every step of the way.
A garden party.
Mmm.
The whole atmosphere certainly placed the theme to the fore. Sunlight. Rose bushes. Then, there were more exotic flowers their host had been showing to his guests.
“Good day to you,” Seth greeted every person they passed by or passed by them.
He reserved his mischievous smiles and saucy nods for the young, unmarried women, and, on occasion, even for some of the married ones.
Otherwise, Alasdair continued with small nods and stoic expressions. He could not help but narrow his eyes at some of the people he’d seen.
Seth introduced him to yet another possible political ally, Lord Hamilton.
“Your Grace,” Hamilton said, tipping his head in the barest show of respect. “A pleasure to see you. A fine day for a garden party, is it not?”
“Aye, I’ll grant ye that,” Alasdair replied. “Rippenton’s gardens are bonnie enough. Though for a man used to the wild hills and rough wind, it all feels a bit… manicured.”
“Nature,” Hamilton replied, with a measured smile, “must occasionally yield to order. It’s the price of civilization.”
Alasdair caught the edge in the man’s tone. He knew veiled contempt when he heard it. This one was like the others: polished words masking brittle pride.
Seth stepped in with a smooth laugh. “A fair point, Lord Hamilton, and a blunt one. Scots do like clarity.”
“Oh, indeed,” Hamilton said, smile tightening. “Yet even the clearest waters can hide unruly depths. Fine coats and London polish do not always tame what lies beneath.”
Alasdair’s jaw ticked, but his expression didn’t change. He had attended enough of these bloody English events now, kept his temper more often than not. And still, the whispers of wildness lingered like smoke. Enough was enough.
“Oh, sometimes ye’ve got to change yer colors to suit the room; same as prey an’ predator both learn to blend into the land around them,” he said, with a dangerously low voice.
“Your Grace, some of us do have better things to do than bluster. They are more reliable and effective. Not empty,” Hamilton retorted.
Alasdair’s heart pounded, not because he was afraid of the lord before him. He might actually do something he might regret later, something that would confirm to everyone that he was the sort of Highlander they thought it was.
“Better things, is it? Like yer fine family name? Yer grand estates? Aye, well, both were handed to ye, not earned by yer own sweat.”
“Ah, even so. You should know better about inherited titles, Your Grace, lest you forget. Titles come with responsibility. One must learn to rise above their baser beginnings.”
“Me faither always told me to rise above the low, aye. But all I ask for is the truth, not the pedigree.”
“You presume too much, Your Grace.”
“Perhaps I do.”
It looked like there was no alliance to be formed with the lord that night, as Alasdair felt the space between the two of them widen.
“Perhaps we should switch to a warmer topic, Your Grace?” Seth asked—partly in jest, but Alasdair could tell that his seemingly lighthearted tone carried some tension.
“I will not pander to idle chatter that you are so used to, Lord Whitton,” Hamilton sneered, looking at Seth dismissively. “There are far more important things of greater weight to discuss.”
Alasdair chuckled, but it was not pleasant at all. Not at all. “Weight, is it? Then perhaps ye ought to sit on yer opinions rather than speak them.”
“Again, you mistake bluntness for strength, Your Grace!” Hamilton looked pale and indignant.
“While ye mistake pomp for power,” Alasdair growled.
Gasps and nervous laughter rose up from a few of those nearby. However, none dared inch closer.
Seth’s mouth gaped at his friend.
“It’s time for champagne, Your Grace, I dare say,” he said quietly, nudging him.
Alasdair merely nodded, his jaw clenched and his fiery gaze still on the pale Hamilton as they walked away.
“We need to go to another table for refreshments before you begin a war,” Seth added once they were out of earshot. “You can’t possibly insult members of the ton when they insult you. That’s not how to play this game.”
“It is an idiot’s game,” Alasdair grumbled.
The two walked away from another failed alliance.
Still caught between anger and exhilaration, Alasdair followed Seth to a tent for champagne but suddenly did not have the social appetite for it. So, his friend went to get them glasses instead.
As he rounded a hedge, he froze.
Perhaps coming to the garden party was a good idea, after all.
Appropriately surrounded by rose blossoms, looking prim and proper, Lady Elizabeth Brighton stood with her gloved hands clasped in front of her.
Just like their first encounter, she had no chaperone, at least none too close. It looked like Lady Grisham and Lady Wilhelmina were elsewhere, talking to what Seth referred to as the season’s ‘most eligible bachelors.’
So, why was she here alone?
Alasdair thought Lady Grisham would have pushed Elizabeth in front of those men.
Then, she turned, and their gazes locked; Alasdair felt a strange prickling on his skin. His chest tightened at the sight of the blonde beauty looking back at him, with her lips slightly parted.
He kept his eyes on her. Normally, people shifted their eyes away from him, saying that they could not handle his intensity, but Lady Elizabeth looked back.
For a moment, uncertainty gripped him. Could she see him? He’d heard of people who needed spectacles to see better.
Then, he felt a nudge. It was Seth, passing him a flute of champagne, with his eyebrows raised. His friend had seen the interaction with Elizabeth.
“It’s her again,” Seth murmured.
He looked back at her. She blushed.
Och, there ye go.
She could see him. She was probably not certain he was looking at her, but no, the way he examined her would not leave any doubt.
She lowered her lashes and turned away.
Before Alasdair could protest, Seth introduced him to another lord.
He took a deep breath, hoping that this conversation would be better than the last.