Chapter Thirteen
The weather had decided it was done raining, at least for now, and a hint of late sunshine spilled through the clearing clouds as they set off through the wet slicked streets. They didn’t have much to say. At one point Donal said in a soothing voice, “Dinna worry. It will be all right.”
Agatha murmured agreement, but she didn’t believe him, and she couldn’t help but worry. She had an ominous feeling that everything was about to go very wrong indeed.
Donal took Agatha home first, saying he would leave again immediately for Aunt Jennie’s.
But as they drew up at the front of the Kilsyth house, Agatha’s fears were proven correct.
Donal had barely helped her down to the footpath when the front door was thrown dramatically open and her father came rushing toward them.
Behind him trailed the butler and behind them . . . Sir Richard Leslie.
Before she could begin to explain what had happened, her father was demanding to know where she had been. Then Richard began babbling about the picnic party believing she and Donal had drowned during the storm.
“We were about to start a search when we realized your boat had been returned,” her father interrupted, “and then we noticed that the carriage was gone.”
“You could have been abducted,” Richard said dramatically, with a telling look at Donal.
“Where were you, my dear?” Her father was holding her hands almost painfully in his own as he peered down into her face as if expecting to discover some terrible wound. To Agatha’s consternation, he looked as if he had aged ten years.
“Father,” she finally managed to get a word in.
“Please, please don’t concern yourself. I am unhurt.
Nothing happened. Well . . .” She looked over her shoulder at Donal, who had come to stand behind her and didn’t seem to know what to say either.
“The rain made us so wet that we could not continue with the picnic, so we went to Susan’s house.
Do you remember my friend Susan? She lived nearby and I thought she would help me. I was very wet.”
“We were both very wet,” Donal added. “Impossible to go to the pavilion in our condition.”
“You could have told me,” Kilsyth said, frowning. “Didn’t you think I would worry, my dear?”
“We didn’t think it would take so long,” Agatha wailed. “When we reached the house, Susan wasn’t there, and the housekeeper told us she and her family are away. But she was kind enough to let us in and dry us off, only then the rain wouldn’t stop and—”
At that moment Richard cut in. “You know it is all over London?”
Agatha’s mind went numb. Before she could find words, Donal spoke up. “What is all over London? The housekeeper and her husband will corroborate our story. We dinna have anything to fear.”
Richard met Donal’s gaze, his own darkening.
Was he jealous? Why should Richard be jealous when he had rejected her?
“Lord Donal’s brothers have not been forgotten,” he said in a hard voice.
“Members of the ton still speak of them. Do you really think society will believe your absence with Lord Donal was innocent? With his brothers’ scandals still fresh in their minds? ”
“I am not my brothers,” Donal reminded him in a voice every bit as hard as Richard’s. The two men glared at each other like dogs about to fight.
Dear God, in a moment they would be demanding satisfaction by dueling in the street!
Speaking of which . . . Agatha looked about her and noticed with dismay that there were faces at windows and even some of their neighbors at their front doors, watching as if this was the latest theatre extravaganza.
“This is so unfair!” she burst out, feeling herself on the verge of tears.
“Hush, my dear. Come inside.” Kilsyth took her arm, leading her into the house. She looked over her shoulder and was glad to see Donal following. She was not so glad to see Richard behind him.
Agatha turned to face her former beau. “Why are you here?” she asked him accusingly.
He shuffled self-consciously. “I was worried,” he said. “When it was noticed you were missing, I thought you had drowned. No matter what has happened between us, I would not want ill to befall you!”
He did look as if he were telling the truth. They had been friends for a long time, even if there would never be anything more between them. She was quite certain of that.
“You had no right to be worried,” she said, probably unfairly. “You gave away any rights you had over me when you chose Miss Elliot.”
Richard opened his mouth again, only to be interrupted by her father.
“Stop it, Agatha. Richard brought Miriam and me home when we discovered the carriage was missing. We were very concerned, and so was everyone else at the picnic.”
Speechless, Agatha looked at Donal and wished she could fall into his arms and have him hold her. It was what she needed right now, but if she did, then Richard would see it as proof of his suspicions.
“It was the weather,” Donal said, not looking away. “We can hardly be blamed for the weather.”
“Come into the drawing room,” Kilsyth said, an invitation that sounded more like an order.
Miriam was standing by the window, her face paler than usual, and she gave them a searching, worried look. “I am very glad you are both safe,” she said.
Kilsyth gave her an affectionate smile as he closed the door.
“We were never unsafe,” Agatha huffed. She had never liked this room, and right now she liked it even less.
It was formal in a stiff, impersonal way and felt far too big.
She sat down on the tapestry-covered sofa, ignoring the scratchiness against her thighs through her thin dress, and waited while her father ordered tea and poured a restorative whisky for the men.
Donal stood by the fireplace, clearly wishing he were elsewhere, and then glared at Richard when he sat down at her side.
She stiffened. His familiar presence should have been comforting, but it wasn’t. It was the opposite. She would much rather have had Donal in his place.
“You are compromised.” Richard said, and his voice had taken on a doom-laden quality. She had forgotten his dramatic tendencies.
Agatha’s head jerked up. “I am not! I haven’t done anything wrong.” But she was remembering kissing Donal and the rest of it, and perhaps her voice wasn’t as unequivocal as she would have liked.
And Richard knew her well, and he had noticed. His eyes narrowed. “It is the man you were with, Agatha, that is the problem!” She saw him shoot an accusing glance at Donal.
Donal raised an eyebrow. “Surely there are worse fates than to be linked to a duke’s son?”
Agatha wasn’t sure that was helpful. “We will just ignore the gossips,” she said quickly, nervously watching the two men. “We are innocent, so why should we allow them to make us feel guilty?”
Her father sighed loudly, but there was a glint in his eyes Agatha did not understand. “I wish it were as easy as that, my dear, but don’t pretend you don’t know how these things work. I will start making plans to go home to Setholm.”
“Archie, is that really necessary?” Miriam interrupted. “Shouldn’t you wait until you know the full extent of the damage?”
“I will marry you. It is the only way.” It was Richard, sounding as if he were a martyr going to the stake to be burned alive.
Agatha turned to him in disbelief. “Marry you?” she breathed, as if at one point in her life she had not wanted to do that more than anything.
She had always thought that marrying her childhood sweetheart would mean a lifetime of domestic bliss.
Now she knew that even if she had still wanted to marry him, her life would be nothing like her previous imaginings.
The two of them would be completely miserable, in fact, so miserable that Agatha cringed at the thought of it.
And Richard was thinking that, too, his expression one of determined stoicism.
He probably thought he was being a good friend, but he didn’t love her.
Perhaps he never had. Agatha was beginning to realize that it was familiarity that had drawn them together.
They had been comfortable friends. Now Richard loved Charlotte Elliot, and if he put aside his dreams and married Agatha, he would grow to hate her.
And Agatha would hate him.
All of these thoughts passed through her head in mere seconds. She had to say no, and she had opened her mouth to do just that, but then she saw that Donal had come to stand in front of her. He looked more perturbed than she had ever seen him, his face flushed and his eyes glittering.
“This is nothing to do with you,” he growled at Richard. “If anyone marries Agatha, it will be me. According to you, this is my fault, so I will fix it.”
Agatha stared up at him, and her heart seemed to give a stutter. This was not exactly the proposal of her dreams, but all the same, she knew it was what she wanted. But then she remembered Mary, the girl that Donal loved. Just like Charlotte Elliot, Mary would always be between them.
Richard started protesting. “I have more right to marry Agatha than you, you . . . you Highland barbarian!”
Donal raised his voice. “And you have proved yoursel’ a wee bawbag! Why should she marry you?”
“Be quiet, both of you!” Miriam cried, stepping into the fray. “Let the girl think!”
Agatha blinked at her. “I don’t want . . .” she began. I don’t want to marry Richard, she meant. But how can I marry Donal?
“You do not need to answer either of them now,” Miriam went on in calm, soothing tones. “Agatha, this is an important decision. Do not allow yourself to be rushed.”
Agatha wondered if, at some point in her life, the other woman had known what it was like to be rushed, but she could not think of that now.
Suddenly, it was all too much. She lurched to her feet.
“I don’t want to marry either of you!” she burst out, and ran from the room, slamming the door behind her.
Upstairs, she flung herself on her bed like a little girl and tried to smother herself in her pillows.
What a disaster! Richard had come back to her, but only because he thought he was being kind, although she admitted he hadn’t been very kind recently.
But marry him? No, it wasn’t what she wanted.
But did she want to marry Donal, knowing he was in love with his Mary?
How could she agree to that when his heart would always belong to another woman?
And yet if her father was right, then Agatha would find herself at the center of some horrid gossip, and the only way to escape was to leave London for Setholm. And what waited for her there? A lonely future with many regrets. But what if she did become engaged to Donal? What if . . .?
Suddenly, a scheme began to unfurl inside her head, so devious and yet so unselfish that she gave a shaky laugh.
She turned over and stared at the ceiling, her mind working through it.
What if she pretended that she was engaged to Donal?
But really it would be another pretense, a last-ditch effort to bring Mary to her senses.
If the silly chit finally realized she was going to lose Donal forever and the scales finally fell from her eyes, then Agatha would immediately break off the engagement and give Donal his freedom, so that he could go to his true love.
Agatha sat up, her hair falling about her in a tangled mess. She could hardly believe her own brilliance. She needed to tell Donal immediately!
If he hadn’t already left.
Hastily, she left her bedchamber and rushed down the stairs, relieved to see the three men and Miriam gathered in the hall near the front door.
They turned in surprise and then stared, because Agatha knew she was not looking her best. She was also behaving in a manner that was very unlike her usual measured and sensible conduct.
Indeed, she hardly recognized herself, but Agatha was too full of her marvelous plan to pause and reconsider her actions.
“You have to marry one of them,” her father announced, sounding strained. “It makes more sense for you to choose Lord Donal, but I will not press you on that.”
Agatha wondered why he was suddenly so determined to marry her off, but she did not have time to untangle that puzzle.
“Yes, I will marry Lord Donal,” she blurted out. “If he agrees. And we will have a long engagement, a very long engagement. But first I need to speak to him in private.”
Her father breathed a heartfelt sigh of relief and Richard began to splutter, but she ignored them both.
“Me?” Donal sounded incredulous. His blue eyes were very wide as she caught hold of his arm and led him back into the drawing room and closed the door.