of advice, lass,” he said, voice low as he took in the slight upturn of her nose and the strand of hair that had come undone and now draped across her smooth, creamy décolletage. “Donna think to shame me. It will no’ work. For one, I donna care what that wee mouse thinks of me, aye? For another, there is little anyone can do to me that’s no’ already been done, and been done worse.”
One her dark brows lifted in a manner that reminded him of a woman hearing a tale she did not believe.
“You donna care for me, then,” he allowed. “I donna care for you, either. But I will marry that lass, and if you continue on as you have in my presence, I will put you out on your lovely arse and pack you back to bloody old England. Do you understand me?” He was confident that would do it—that would make her quake in her festive little slippers.
But the maid surprised him with a smirk; she seemed almost amused by his threat. “Neither should you think to threaten me, sir. For there is little you can do to me that has not already been done, and been done worse.” She gave him a bit of a triumphant look and stepped around him, walking out of the room and leaving the faint scent of her perfume in her wake.
What did that mean? What might have possibly been done to that privileged little butterfly? She was naive—she had no notion of the cruelty of life, not like he did.
But her lack of fear and her conceit would not leave him. He was still brooding about it when the women returned, at which point he picked up his gloves and held out his arm to Catriona. “We’ll take our leave, aye? Lady Kent, Miss Kent, you and your family are invited to dine at Balhaire this Friday evening if it suits,” he said formally.
The mouse smiled with surprise.
“Your lady’s maid as well,” he added awkwardly and, at least to him, surprisingly.
The mouse smiled as if she hadn’t a brain in her head.
“We might discuss the details of the wedding, aye?” Catriona added. “Our customs are a wee bit different.”
“Oh. Yes, we should...we would like that very much, wouldn’t we, Mamma?” the mouse asked uncertainly.
“Yes, thank you,” the mother said, and returned her daughter’s anxious smile.
“Aye, verra well.” Rabbie was suddenly eager to be gone. “Cat?” He began striding for the door.
They walked out of the house, Miss Kent and Lady Kent trailing behind, calling their goodbyes and thank-yous. Rabbie mounted his horse and looked back at the house, and imagined those hazel eyes shooting daggers at him from behind one of the new windows.
AVALINE’S FORCED SMILE faded away the moment the door was closed to the departing Mackenzies. “He scarcely spoke to me at all,” she said to Bernadette.
“You scarcely spoke to him, either, dearest,” Bernadette said.
“I know, I know, but I don’t know what to say to him,” she said plaintively as they returned to the salon. “What am I to say to someone who is so aloof? It’s desperately difficult to even smile at him. He’s so...unappealing,” she said, shuddering.
Bernadette didn’t think his appearance was unappealing on closer inspection. He had good looks behind that unpleasant mien—a strong jaw, thick lashes that framed his stormy blue eyes, a regal, straight nose. He was quite obviously brimming with vitality, given his size and apparent strength. It was the blaze in his eyes that she found so disquieting, and the dark circles beneath them.
“Now you are invited to dine with him, so you must be prepared to converse with him,” Bernadette advised.
Avaline snorted at that statement as she walked to the windows and gazed out at the vast landscape of nothing but meadow and hill. “It’s useless,” she said. “He won’t respond.”
“If he doesn’t have the courtesy to make proper conversation with you, then perhaps you might draw it out of him by engaging him as we discussed.”
Avaline glanced over her shoulder. “What questions?”
“I can’t give you specific ones,” Bernadette said. “You must allow the conversation to guide you.”
Avaline turned from the window, looking confused. “Meaning?”
“Just...questions, Avaline,” Bernadette said impatiently. “Any entry that will give him leave to talk about himself. You might ask where he attended school. Did he have tutors, what is the name of his dog, does he enjoy hunting or riding.”
“What if he doesn’t enjoy riding or hunting?”
Bernadette’s patience was hanging by a tiny thread. She realized this was a difficult situation for Avaline, but could the girl not construct a few logical thoughts in her head? Did she truly have no sense of how to make conversation with a gentleman? “The point, darling, is to simply ask questions to promote conversation. Ask if he had a favorite governess, if takes his meals at Balhaire or his home, what is his favorite activity—questions.”
“Yes, I see,” Avaline said quickly, always eager to please, whether she knew how or not.
Bernadette sighed. She sat on the arm of the settee, her hands braced against her knees. “Like this,” she said, softening her voice and, hopefully, any outward sign of her growing frustration. “You might ask him ‘Do you often sail with your brother?’ And he might answer you completely, or say something quite curt, as he is wont to do, such as no. Then what do you say?”
Avaline shook her head.
“You say something like ‘I had my first voyage here, and I found it quite pleasing, although I took a bit seasick when we were in open waters. Have you ever experienced it?’”
Avaline blinked. “No, I was quite all right during the voyage, but Mamma took ill.”
“Avaline!” Bernadette cried.
“I mean, yes, yes, I understand.”
She understood nothing. Bernadette stood up and crossed the room to her charge. She put her hands on Avaline’s shoulders. “Avaline—you really must be prepared. I can’t always be there to help you.”
“What?” Avaline exclaimed, her eyes widening. “Of course you will! You’ll be beside me Friday evening to help me—”
“I don’t think I should go,” Bernadette said. “You rely on me far too much, and in this, you really must make your own way—”
“Bernadette!” Avaline grabbed Bernadette’s hands from her shoulder and held them tightly in hers. “I can’t possibly bear an entire meal without you! I need you!” She leaned forward and whispered, “You are my only hope. You know my mother is no help, my father doesn’t care—”
“But I can’t—”
Avaline suddenly let go of Bernadette’s hands. “You must attend! I insist!”
“Avaline—”
“I
