Page 11 of The Tartan Trap

“Right,” Rachel said. “We’ll start with the most desirable, then move all the way down to the least acceptable. First on the list is the Duke of Ettrick. I’ve heard that he’s very handsome, as well as wealthy, and of an eligible age. Rumor has it he intends to take a bride this year, as he’s never come to London during the Season before, and it stands to reason he’s coming for that purpose.”

Margaret made a rude noise with her mouth and flopped to her stomach. “You might as well write the king at the top of the list, if you’re aiming that high.”

“Don’t be ridiculous—the king is unlikely to marry again.” Rachel jotted another name. “Right, after Ettrick is the Earl of Jamison. Less handsome, but still wealthy and very eligible.”

Margaret shook her head and muttered, “Start with the second sons of bankrupted barons—that’s who’ll be coming for me, and no one else, mark my words.”

“What was that?” Rachel lifted her head from her list.

“Nothing,” Margaret said quickly. “It’s only that my list is so dreadfully boring. I’d much rather work on yours. Have you considered all the ways animals in the wild repel attackers?”

“I hardly think I can go after the gentlemen with teeth or claws, lest they lock me up somewhere rather unpleasant. And none of those institutions have decent libraries—I’ve made inquiries.”

Margaret swallowed down her line of questions. She’d learned that any conversation with Rachel could very quickly end up a thousand miles from the original point it had originally been travelling. One had to put on blinders lest one be tempted down a side road that could lead nearly anywhere.

Margaret said, “I’m not talking about teeth and claws. I’m speaking of less-violent means of repulsion. When I looked up the chimpanzees in the encyclopedia, for example⁠—”

Rachel interjected, eyes wide, “You can hardly expect me to throw⁠—”

Margaret held up her hands. “Don’t even say it. I simply meant that I learned all animals have ways of attracting a mate. Perhaps if you look to the animal kingdom and see how they do it, you might consider practicing the reverse.”

“What a fascinating thought.” Rachel looked down at her navy dress. “I suppose my plumage is already appropriately somber.”

Margaret nodded but privately disagreed—even in a simple navy gown, Rachel’s beauty was obvious. She had large blue eyes, straight white teeth, and a slender nose with just the hint of an upturn at the end.

“Perhaps instead of rosewater, I might dab some vinegar behind my ears,” Rachel said, tapping her chin.

“That’s an…idea.” Margaret suddenly regretted steering the conversational horse down this particular lane.

Rachel canted her voice very low and said, “And maybe instead of speaking in my normal register, I could speak to them like this.”

Here, she devolved into a small coughing fit.

Margaret stood and rang the bell for tea service. “That would undoubtedly put any gentleman off courtship. The voice or the coughing—either one would suffice.”

Rachel said brightly, “And if they’re remarkably persistent, I’ll just hiss at them until they go away.”

CHAPTER 4- CALLUM

Callum strode down the street, his fine wool overcoat billowing out behind him. Though he didn’t care for the city, Callum couldn’t deny there were some perks—chief amongst them the quality of the clothing. Ellis had advised him of the best places to shop and hadn’t steered him wrong yet. He’d already visited the bootmakers and the tailors, outfitting himself for “hunting season,” as his cousin had jokingly called it.

Only, two weeks in London had convinced Callum that, unfortunately, his cousin was correct—Callum no longer knew who was the hunter and who was the prey in this scenario. Even now, he was vaguely aware of a group of ladies sitting in the window of a fashionable tea room across the street. Callum had glanced once in their general direction—he’d been taking note of his surroundings, nothing more—and they’d blatantly stared at him ever since. They’d been watching as he entered the tailor’s, and they still watched half an hour later when he’d exited.

At the top of the street, he was glad to leave their stares behind. Not that he’d be free of them for long. In the fortnight he’d spent so far in London, he’d learned to be quick about his shopping, especially in a store where ladies might be present. Word had spread that the Duke of Ettrick had come to London, and it was but a puddle’s hop of a leap to deduce he’d come to select a bride.

When he’d expressed his dislike for being stared at on a ride through the park only just the other day, Ellis had mocked him for it.

“Oh yes,” he’d drawled. “What a pity to be handsome and wealthy and single.”

Callum rolled his eyes at the memory. He knew how it sounded—him complaining about his impressive height and build, his strong chin and dark features. But the truth of the matter was that his looks had been far more trouble than they were worth.

Down the street he spied his destination: Morton and Rolland, Fine Stationers. He needed more parchment, a new ledger, and a small, pocket-sized book for jotting down names. He was atrocious at remembering monikers; they flew out of his head nearly the moment they were spoken. He’d found that the only thing that helped was ducking away at the first opportunity to write down names and descriptions.

The bell jangled overhead and he ducked inside, missing the tall doorways of his family manor. The shopkeeper nodded his direction, and Callum began to swiftly peruse the shelves.

Callum selected a ledger, several new pens, and some parchment. He was looking at small, leather-bound notebooks when it happened. He shifted a small book to the side and frowned. Amongst the new journals was a worn one, whose leather cover was battered and scratched from what looked like years of use.

Callum picked it up, his curiosity piqued. Perhaps only the cover was used, and the interior unmarked like the others. But when he flipped it open to a page in the middle, the tightly written script nearly leapt off the page.