Page 22 of A Scoundrel in the Making

“But I love making new friends.” She smiled at Mr. Wesley. “Don’t you agree, Lord Chaluim?”

“I wouldn’t think of disagreeing with you, my lady.”

Not until he had her married, pregnant and tucked away in the country somewhere while he spent her money in Edinburgh or London. The prig.

Fifteen minutes later, she gave thanks when Mr. Wesley vacated the chair to the right of her seat and Lord Reade sat down.

“Lord Reade,” she said, “did you enjoy your cigar and brandy with the other gentlemen?”

“My brandy, yes,” he said. “I do not smoke.”

“My father loved a good cigar,” she said. “Sometimes, I swear I can still smell his cigars.”

“How long has he been gone?”

The gentleness of his tone surprised her and her cheeks heated with embarrassment. Rarely did she lapse into public memories of her father.

“Five years,” she answered.

“Not long,” he said, and her heart constricted at the understanding in his voice.

“It isn’t, is it?” she said. “People are kind, but I can tell that they think I’m being overdramatic by missing him so much after five years.”

“You never fully get over the loss of a loved one,” he said. “But you do learn how to cope with the loss.”

Lord Chaluim patted her arm. “It’s best to concentrate on the present and those who love you.”

Lord Reade’s face clouded, and she quickly said to Lord Chaluim, “Of course, you are right, that does help.”

The disdain on Lord Reade’s face said he didn’t agree.

“One never quite gets over the loss of a parent,” Baron Aidair said.

Abigail’s heart tugged. The lad had been but nineteen. Too young to lose a parent, when he’d lost both. She offered him a gentle smiled. “As Lord Reade said, we do learn to live with the loss, but nothing takes away our memories.”

He smiled gratefully. “Quite right.”

Lord Reade rose. “Are you ready for the stroll you promised me, Lady Buchman?”

“Stroll?” Viscount Chaluim said. “It’s late and the ground will be wet after the rain.”

Reade grasped her hand and assisted her to her feet. Lord Chaluim jumped up.

“You’re quite right,” Lord Reade said. “Which is why Lady Buchman promised to explore Caithis Castle with me a bit.”

“I beg your pardon?” Chaluim said. “You two—alone? That is improper.”

“He is right, my lady,” the baron said.

Abigail gave a gay laugh. “An old widow such as myself has no worries about her reputation.” She looked at Lord Reade. “I had begun to despair that you’d forgotten.”

“Forgotten?”

She shrugged. “You were otherwise engaged.”

He covered her hand with his. “Nothing could induce me to forget you, my lady.”

She smiled, then looked at Lord Chaluim and the baron. “If you will excuse us, gentlemen.”