Chapter 4 #2
When word of the misfortune befalling one of the earl’s guests reached Polite Society, Balfour would never again be able to charge exorbitant sums for simple hospitality.
· · ·
“Tell me of your home, Miss Genie. How does it compare with Balfour?”
The young lady at Ian’s side seemed incapable of uttering a sentence without a considering silence before she opened her mouth. Maybe she was thoughtful by nature, maybe she was intimidated, and maybe this was some hen-witted attempt at coyness falling far short of its mark.
“Which home would that be, my lord? We have the London townhouse, a house in the New Town in Edinburgh, the family seat in Kent, a very nice little set of estates in Oxfordshire, as well as a hunting box in Cumbria, and dower properties for me and Hester in Surrey and Sussex respectively.”
Of course they did. “Which is your favorite?”
Another pause, while Ian guided her around a tree root protruding into the path.
“I like them all. The town house is for the Season, so we have great good fun there. My dower property is quite lovely, but I expect you know that.”
“I know no such thing, Miss Genie. You could describe it to me.”
“I haven’t seen it since I was seventeen…”
She had the knack of implying questions where they made no sense, like at the end of her last pronouncement. Some query hung in the air:
Shall I describe it to you? Or maybe, Might we finish conversing now, my lord? Walking and talking at the same time taxes my brain so sorely.
Except she wasn’t stupid. Ian would have bet his best bull doddy the lady wasn’t stupid. She was just unforthcoming in his company. At breakfast she’d been laughing and flirting with Gil and Con as shamelessly as her aunt.
“Miss Genie, perhaps there’s something you’d like to ask me? My attempts at conversation aren’t taking us very far in the direction of getting acquainted.”
“Why would you wish to acquaint yourself with me, my lord?”
No hesitation there. “Because you are my guest, because you are a lovely young lady, because my great-aunt suggested we might suit, because we’re wandering about here in the woods with no one else to converse with, largely by the design of my enterprising younger siblings.”
A slight smile creased her lips. Very slight, but genuine.
She glanced meaningfully over her shoulder at Hester, striding along, opera glasses plastered to her nose supposedly the better to identify Highland birds. “Younger siblings can be the devil, can’t they?”
“A mixed blessing, but you and Hester seem close.”
This was firmer ground, something they honestly had in common, and Ian mentally kicked himself for not thinking of it sooner. Beside him, he felt the lady relax just a little. Her stride opened up; her grip on his arm became more functional and less decorative.
“Hester is the very best sister, but she is a little sister, if you take my meaning. She embarrasses me with her pithy observations—always in company, of course—without even intending to, but she’s also my staunchest ally.”
“I think your cousin, your brother, and your aunt are all allies too. In his own way, even your papa takes your welfare seriously.”
“Oh, he’d better. Mama will sulk for ages if this excursion at Balfour doesn’t go well.”
The smile was gone, and Ian wondered if Miss Genie recalled with whom she walked. He steered her past another upthrust root.
“What can I do to ensure your visit goes well, Miss Genie? I am your host, after all. Your pleasure is my first concern.”
That might have been laying it on a bit thick, but she nibbled her lip and glanced over at him, a considering, somewhat fretful gesture. He waited, hoping they were on the verge of some genuine honesty, a small step in the direction of betrothal, but an important first step.
She dropped her gaze and then stumbled hard, pitching into Ian with an unladylike yelp. He caught her around the middle before she could hit the ground and hauled her up against him.
She stood awkwardly, one foot raised, letting Ian keep her balanced by virtue of leaning into him.
“I am so sorry, my lord. I’m not usually clumsy. I’m never clumsy, in fact, but I can be preoccupied… oh, blast. Excuse my language, but it hurts.”
She was going to cry. Ian scooped her up against his chest and carried her to a fallen tree lying sideways along the path. When he had her seated, he fished for his handkerchief, wondering all the while if this was a ploy or a genuine mishap.
“Genie?” Miss Augusta came bustling up, Gil at her side. Ian had never been so glad to see a decent woman in his life. “Dear heart, have you come a cropper?”
“I twisted my ankle, Gussie. I feel so terribly stupid.”
“We can heal your ankle,” Augusta said, patting her cousin’s shoulder. “The stupid part is a chronic facet of the human condition.”
Gil whipped out his handkerchief and passed it to the lady, while Ian wondered when his brother had started using monogrammed linen.
“Here, now. Let’s have that boot off.” Gil knelt on one knee like some damned parfit gentil knight and started on the laces of Genie’s walking boot, while Augusta—what was wrong with the woman?—stepped back to allow him.
“Oh, that cannot be comfortable,” Augusta murmured, taking the boot from Gil’s hand. “You did yourself an injury, my dear.”
“I feel so stupid.”
Yes, they knew that. Ian was beginning to feel rather stupid himself. He shifted to Augusta’s side.
“We can have the grooms bring a pony cart for you,” he said. “Or I can simply carry you back to the house.”
Genie blushed. Gil’s hand on her foot hadn’t caused her to color up like that, but Ian’s very gallant offer—if he did say so himself—had her cheeks flaming.
“Of course we can’t put his lordship to that trouble,” Augusta said. “Gilgallon will carry you back to the house, and Lord Balfour and I will locate the others and inform them of your accident.”
“You mustn’t cut short the outing.” Looking fragile and brave, Genie pressed Gil’s handkerchief to the corners of her eyes.
“We won’t.” Hester spoke up from Augusta’s other side. “We’ve a way to go yet before we’re along the Balmoral property line. I’ll tell Her Majesty you were otherwise detained, shall I?”
“Give her my regrets,” Genie said. “His Highness too.”
Hester saluted, straightened, and walked off in the direction of the Queen’s holding. And just like that, Gil was hefting Genie into his arms, while the lady—Ian’s intended—looped her arms around Gil’s neck and laid her cheek against his shoulder.
“Only to the edge of the woods, Gil.” Ian put some sternness in his voice as Augusta tucked the boot into Genie’s lap. “Hail a groundsman to have the pony cart brought along for the sake of the lady’s dignity.”
“Put ice on that ankle,” Augusta added, looping her hand over Ian’s arm. “White willow bark tea would be a good idea too.” She dropped her voice as Gil moved off with his burden. “Do come away, my lord. Genie is mortified enough.”
“What about me?” Ian asked, letting himself be marched on down the path. “What about my mortification? I was the lady’s escort, and I was supposed to keep her from harm.”
“Genie is not at her best just now, and you did keep her from harm. What if she’d pitched to the earth and struck her head on a rock? No, don’t look at them. She would never want you to see your prospective bride so discomposed.”
Illumination flared in Ian’s brain. Pride he could understand. Genie saw Gil more as a henchman, perhaps, and that was why she’d allowed him to aid her while Ian stood around, surreptitiously stuffing his plain handkerchief back in his pocket.
“I bungled that,” he said. “We’d just started a real conversation, and I damned near dropped her on her head. Beg pardon for my language.”
He felt a shiver go through Miss Augusta. Perhaps he’d shocked her.
Another shivery little tremble, and then he heard her snort.
“You’re laughing at me, Miss Augusta Merrick. A belted earl on his own demesne, and I am an object of ridicule.”
“You are pouting,” she said, letting her mirth become audible. “A great, grand, strapping, handsome man, complete with title, gorgeous green eyes, and loyal minions, and you’re pouting because your younger brother stepped into the breach.”
“Was her ankle really turned?” He’d been too much a gentleman to inspect it himself. Hadn’t even felt an inclination to peek with his gorgeous green eyes, truth be known.
“Oh, yes. There’s a lovely bruise rising right below her ankle. She wasn’t bamming us, my lord. But if she had been, perhaps it would have been a ploy to find aid and comfort in your arms, had you but offered.”
Had he but offered? When the lady was cuddled in Gil’s embrace as if a dragon were in pursuit of her virtue? “Let’s find the others. My sister is loose without supervision in the company of a guest far too much a gentleman for his own good.”
Augusta kept up easily with Ian’s stride. “Matthew is a gentleman, you know. He won’t take liberties with your sister unless invited to do so, widow or not, Englishman or not.”
“It isn’t my sister I’m worried about.”
· · ·
Augusta closed the door to her bedroom, leaned against it, and smiled broadly.
Wasn’t it lovely, to go striding through the woods with a handsome man at her side, one who apparently enjoyed his own property and wasn’t bound by the notion that a lady must mince about, clinging helplessly to his arm.
Though she had clung, just a little. How easily Ian had lifted Genie into his arms. How adorable he’d looked, standing by, wanting to help but letting his brother be the one to aid the lady.
Augusta glanced around at the plaid decor surrounding her and decided Scotland was good for her.
The MacGregors were good for her, getting her out in company, providing her handsome escorts, putting hearty fare before her at meals…
Augusta tried to recall why she’d been so reluctant to join this family journey in the first place.