Page 10 of I’ve Grown Accustomed to My Scot

“Well, life is never dull with you around,” she said, and a moment later was gone, leaving him to contemplate his situation.

A married man. The thought gave him a shaky feeling, but Rory ignored it.

Bothwell slid out from under the settee and strolled after his mistress, tail in the air, as if he refused to remain in the same room as a fool like Rory.

*

The next few days were full of tasks his aunt assured him were extremely necessary for a soon-to-be married man. While Jennie went about making the wedding preparations, Rory set off, on her instructions, to visit a solicitor and draw up his will. After some consideration, he left a reasonable amount to his future wife, but the rest went to his brothers and sister. He didn’t think Grace would do something as dastardly as disposing of him in the hope of inheriting his worldly goods, but he suspected Ormsby would, and he wasn’t about to make himself a target.

Ormsby sent paperwork from his own solicitor for Rory to sign. The dowry Grace had spoken of was small indeed, and he wondered if she could really live on such an amount. Perhaps if she removed to a cottage deep in the country? Very deep. Well, that was for her to decide after their wedding.

At night, he continued to go out on the town and return home the worse for wear, which didn’t stop him from going out again the following night. He told himself he was celebrating, but he wasn’t sure what. Perhaps it was his freedom, even though he was certain that wasn’t about to change. And yet he felt unsettled. He supposed he could have brought the whole thing to a halt—as his aunt continued to remind him—but he didn’t.

Rory couldn’t forget the look in Grace’s eyes or the way in which she had twisted her hands together, as if her inner feelings were so tumultuous they might overcome her at any moment.

All the same, he had not realized that marrying her would involve so many complications—in his head it had been such a simple matter. He kept reminding himself that once the vows were spoken and the knot tied, that would be it. They would go their separate ways.

And then all too soon, his wedding day dawned.

Ormsby arrived at the countess’s door with Grace at his side and two younger girls who were obviously the sisters. As they peered apprehensively at Rory, he thought they looked younger than he had expected. When he gave them a reassuring smile, they huddled together, as if afraid of what he might do. After that, he gave up and turned his attention to his future wife.

Grace was pale but had a determined expression. She was wearing a pink gown that leached even more color from her skin, until she resembled a ghost, and there was an uneven circlet of fresh flowers set upon her dark hair that looked as if her sisters had made it. At least her hair looked shiny and brushed today, as it lay loose about her shoulders and halfway down her back.

Was she meant to look like a virgin bride? Rory reproved himself for the thought as he bowed before her. “Lady Grace.”

In return, she gave him a curtsy, her dark eyes downcast. “Lord Rory.”

The earl observed them with a smirk. “I thought by now you might have made a run for the border, MacKenzie,” he said in a droll way. “Mind, I would have found you, but it would have caused me a great deal of inconvenience to drag you back here.”

“I gave my word,” Rory replied, a little testily. “I had no intention of running.”

“So you did.” Ormsby appeared slightly impressed. “You are a singular fellow, MacKenzie.”

At that point, the Countess of Strathmore entered the room, looking regal in a silver dress with beading about the hem and a tiara on her hair. She was a duke’s daughter and an earl’s wife, and she wanted everyone to remember it.

“Ormsby,” she said and held out her hand, which he bowed over. “And this is your daughter?” Her smile warmed as she took in Grace in her unflattering pink gown, the untidy flowers in her hair. “My dear,” she said, “I trust all is well with you?”

Rory suspected it was a roundabout way of his aunt asking Grace if she still wanted to go ahead with the wedding.

“I am very well,” Grace said with quiet assurance. Her gaze slid to Rory and then to her father, before landing on the floor.

“Good, good!” Ormsby rubbed his hands together. “Shall we get on? I am leaving for my country estate shortly, and I want this done before I go.” He turned his attention to Grace. “You will be Lord Rory’s problem now, girl. Your belongings have been packed up and will be delivered here shortly, so there is no need for you to return to my house.”

There was a hush. The younger sisters looked shocked, eyes going to their sister, and Rory felt his own anger rising at the thoughtless cruelty of their father. Was he really abandoning his daughter like this? Washing his hands of her in such a cavalier fashion? Well, of course he was. The man was insufferable, and Rory was tempted to punch him in the nose.

His aunt must have guessed what he was thinking, because she reached out to grasp his arm at the same time giving him a warning glance. “Shall we get started?” she asked politely.

Grace was whispering to her sisters, the three of them huddled together, and whatever she said seemed to calm them. When they broke apart, Grace came to Rory’s side and spoke in a firm voice with only a slight tremor in it. “I am ready.”

When Rory met her eyes, he could see it was true. Grace was indeed ready to take this final step which would allow her to escape her father and set herself free. Surely whatever inconvenience this might cause Rory must be considered minor in comparison to Grace’s desperate situation.

The ceremony began, and it was quite a simple matter after all. Rory spoke his lines and Grace spoke hers, both in a clear and concise manner. There were no tears, thank God, although Rory could hear the younger girls sniffling behind him. They were losing their big sister who was probably the buffer between their father and themselves, so it was understandable that they were upset.

When the wedding was over—no kiss was suggested by the minister—Hocking, the supercilious butler, provided glasses of champagne to toast to the happy couple. That was ironic, and Rory swallowed his in one gulp. Ormsby did too, before he smacked his lips, and then turned to his daughter with a hard look in his icy eyes.

“I will not see you again,” he told her. “You are MacKenzie’s problem now. But if I hear of you bringing my name into disrepute at any time in the future, I will have no choice but to punish you.”

Grace said nothing in return, but Rory was glad to note a fiery flash in her eyes. Perhaps he was not the only one who wanted to punch the earl in the nose.