It's Getting Scot in Here (The Wild Wicked Highlanders #1)(9)
Amelia-Rose looked at her reflection in the mirror. Her hair did look very nice this evening. Too nice, perhaps. She straightened her left sleeve a little. “Do you suppose my intended has bothered to bathe?”
Mary chuckled. “I would imagine Lady Aldriss has insisted that he do so. He is half English, you said.”
“Yes, and half Scottish. Highlander Scottish.” She sighed. “You’ve seen them about. They’re all brutes with great bristly beards and kegs slung over their shoulders.”
“Those are the ones working at the docks, Miss Amy. This one’s a viscount. And he’s to be an earl, one day.”
“I know. And being called ‘my lady’ and having people bow and curtsy to me would be very nice.” Amelia-Rose grimaced as she stood again. She’d begun parroting her mother even when Victoria Baxter wasn’t there to notice. “I don’t object to his status. Only to his location and the quality of his upbringing. Scotland is very far away from London. If I were to hold a soiree there, who in the world would even know it?”
That had been her concern since her mother and Lady Aldriss had come to their agreement a fortnight ago. London boasted soirees, recitals, theaters, amusements, rides in the park, museums, and everything else imaginable. Scotland had … sheep. One could not dance or have witty chats with sheep. Or Highlanders, in her experience.
The small bell that usually sat on the table in the foyer began ringing wildly, a sure sign that her mother was, at the least, growing impatient. Stifling a sigh, Amelia-Rose headed downstairs, pulling on her deep-blue gloves as she descended the straight staircase.
Her mother met her at the bottom. “You’ll do,” Victoria said, eyeing her. “Though I wish you’d woven ribbons through your hair.”
Blue ribbons, no doubt. “Mama, this is Drury Lane, not a grand ball,” she countered, putting on a smile. “And I certainly don’t wish to look too eager.”
“Why shouldn’t you look eager?” her father put in, emerging from his office. “It’s all arranged. All that’s left is you and Lord Glendarril meeting, and the two of you choosing a date for the wedding. I daresay we’ve done the difficult part in all this.”
“Oh, nonsense, dear Charles,” his wife put in, surprising Amelia-Rose. “Our daughter has been the toast of London for two years now. She’s already had…” She paused, glancing at Amelia-Rose. “How many proposals have you had?”
“Four,” she answered, taking her light silver shawl from Hughes the butler and wrapping it around her shoulders.
“There you have it, Charles. Four proposals in two years. Why should she be eager to meet a man who has both a title and wealth and who cannot flee when Amelia-Rose says something untoward?”
Ah, so it wasn’t a compliment after all. She should have known better. “I am trying, Mother. And I thank you for taking the trouble to come to an agreement with Lady Aldriss.”
Victoria put a hand to her forehead. “Gratitude, at last. I am quite overcome.”
“Now, now, dear,” Amelia-Rose’s father soothed, ushering them past Hughes and out to the waiting coach. “Three of those proposals are from this year. She is making an effort.”
“Thank you for saying so, Father.” And she had been making an effort. She hadn’t said anything truly scathing since late last Season, when Lord Albert Pruitz, the Marquis of Veyton’s thirdborn son, had compared her to a pitcher of milk. She’d learned her lesson after that calamity, and she’d minded her tongue. Her thoughts hadn’t been all that cooperative, but at least the entirety of her did understand that no one would ever offer for her again if she couldn’t refrain from accusing a suitor of having the imagination of a turnip.
In her second Season now, she’d learned to temper her expectations and to accept her own shortcomings. She’d hoped to find a man who admired her for who and what she was, who appreciated that she had a wit, and that hadn’t happened. Now her parents had gone and found a man for her—one who apparently met none of her qualifications. The only actual benefit she could see to marrying Lord Glendarril would be that she could move out of Baxter House. But going from there to the Highlands didn’t seem much of an improvement at all.
No one arrived early at Drury Lane Theater, because being early meant there was no one there to admire one’s gown or cravat as one walked up the wide, curving staircase. On the other hand, they were seated in Lady Aldriss’s box and provided with drinks within two minutes of leaving the carriage.
Three open seats remained in the box. Lady Aldriss, of course, and Lord Glendarril, but who else? Not Eloise MacTaggert, because Amelia-Rose knew her friend to be dining with the Harrises this evening. One of the other brothers, then. She stifled a scowl as people below began to wander to their seats. Nothing had been officially declared, but people knew who she would be meeting tonight, and she wasn’t about to give anyone fodder for gossip by allowing a careless expression. Not any longer.
Across the theater in a box nearly opposite the one in which she and her parents sat, Lady Caroline Mays and her younger sister Lady Agnes, together with the Duke and Duchess of Hildergreen, took seats in their own box. Caroline lifted her opera glasses, spied Amelia-Rose, and gave her a wave.
Smiling, Amelia-Rose waved back. Inwardly, though, she cringed. She liked Lady Caroline—they were dear friends, really—but the duke’s daughter couldn’t keep a secret to save her life. She would see everything that went on in Lady Aldriss’s box, and by morning every one of their mutual friends would know it, as well. Wonderful.