Page 2 of To Winter at Wildsyde

She was well aware that among the ton servants were never thanked, but she considered such ill manners to be improper, no matter if it showed up her lack of breeding. If staff looked down upon her for appreciating their efforts, they were at liberty to go elsewhere to be treated with less respect.

Once Garrick had left them alone, she turned back to Mr Anderson and tried not to gawk at the picture he made: a wild looking, unshaven Highlander standing in her father’s opulent entrance hall. Ruth knew the house was vulgar, with far too much gold and ostentation on show. She’d done her best to keep a lid on her father’s appalling taste, but there was only so much she could do. It was his house. Seeing Mr Anderson in such a setting was jarring, though, only highlighting the fripperies and ridiculous expense, and akin to seeing a lion prowl the ballroom at Almacks.

It was not his natural habitat.

“Holy God,” he murmured, staring about in awe.

“Yes, well,” Ruth said, a little impatient now as she felt awkward… more awkward. “Perhaps it would be best if you waited here while I… I….”

“Go and break the news?” he suggested drily.

“Yes,” Ruth agreed, not seeing any point in pretending that wasn’t the case. Whilst her father would be delighted at the prospective earldom, his new son-in-law might give him pause. She needed to prepare the way.

“Will yer da nae like the match?”

“Oh, he’ll like the earldom just fine, Mr Anderson,” Ruth said, trying to focus on keeping things business-like. She was used to dealing with her father’s associates and if she kept things impersonal, for now at least, she might get through this without swooning or becoming hysterical. One could only hope.

“Until he finds his son-in-law is about as welcome among the English elite as a dose of the clap?” he suggested mildly.

Ruth ignored his turn of phrase, certain that he was trying to rile her, though she didn’t understand why. That he needed her money was obvious. Did he find her so unattractive the thought of keeping his end of the bargain was enough for him to hope she’d cry off? The idea could not be disregarded, as lowering as it was.

“You might be unwelcome, but I will do well enough I’ve no doubt,” she said coolly. “A countess is due a measure of respect, no matter who her husband is.” Though Ruth hadn’t the slightest intention of allowing her father to use her for his own ends. She’d done quite enough to elevate the family and its fortunes and wasn’t about to become a martyr to the cause.

That seemed to shut him up, for the moment anyway, and so Ruth ordered him some food—for no doubt a man of his size was always hungry—and set off to find her father.

***

“Bleedin’ ‘ell,” murmured Mr George Stone as he looked up at his prospective son-in-law, despite having been well primed in advance so that he wouldn’t gawp.

Ruth elbowed her father, who shook off his rather daunted expression and held out his hand, giving Mr Anderson the benefit of a broad grin. A practical man, her papa. It hadn’t taken him long to realise that the heir to an earldom in the hand, was a better option than a so far mythical marquess or duke who had yet to show themselves. Yes, the man was a Scot, which was regrettable, but the earldom was an old and venerable one, if not terribly wealthy. Not that it mattered. Mr Stone had wealth in spades, and he wanted his grandson to be born to a title. The Earl of Morven would do very nicely. Except that Ruth could see the calculation in her father’s eyes and the realisation that Ruth had not been exaggerating. Entry into the ton would not happen in this generation, not easily at any rate. Not unless Ruth took her husband well in hand, something of which her father seemed to believe her more than capable.

Not being a fool, Ruth did not rush to agree.

Looking at the man now, she doubted her ability to survive the wedding night. She’d either die of shock or anticipation. Best not think of that. Still, once she’d got his measure, she didn’t doubt she could manage him to a degree. In her experience—which was admittedly limited mostly to her father—men were content enough in their home lives if they were comfortable and well fed, and that at least she could achieve.

Much to her chagrin, Ruth’s witless mama took one look at her prospective son-in-law and swooned. Ruth regarded her mother as she fell with an elegant rustle of silk with an impassive expression. Neither Ruth nor her father rushed to catch her, being far too familiar with the routine, though she suspected Mr Anderson would have done so if the horror on her mother’s face hadn’t been quite so blatant before her eyes had rolled up.

“Ring for Mrs Grisham, Papa,” she said with a sigh, before finding a small bottle of sal volatile and waving it beneath her hopeless parent’s nose. She didn’t dare look at Mr Anderson. She didn’t doubt it was the kind of display which would not find favour with him.

Once her mother had been taken off for a lie down in a dark room, Ruth returned her attention to the men.

“Well, Ruthie, run along then, and leave us to discuss the details, there’s a good girl,” her father said, rubbing his hands together and looking pleased with himself at the prospect of the coming negotiation.

Ruth levelled her papa with a stern look he was familiar with by now, and which chased the smile from his face. “No, Papa, this is my future we are discussing. I shall stay.”

Mr Stone’s expression darkened.

“Would you leave your secretary to arrange the details of an important deal?” she demanded, folding her arms.

“I’m not your bloody secretary, you cheeky mare,” Mr Stone retorted.

“No, of course not, dear,” Ruth agreed with a placid smile. “But you are not me, either.”

She sat herself down before the desk and then craned her neck up at Mr Anderson.

“Do sit down, Mr Anderson,” she said. “Papa, why don’t you offer some brandy? You know a little snifter always clears your mind.”

Mr Anderson gave her a long, hard look which she couldn’t read, but sat as she bid him, and her father poured out two generous measures of brandy.