Page 15 of Wouldn’t it Be Scottish?

After the ball, Miriam had come inside his house for a nightcap, and with Agatha gone to bed, they were alone. Archie perused her thoughtful expression. He suspected he would have asked her to marry him before now—he did love her, a different love from that of his wife, but love all the same. His affection had grown deeper with each passing day, but her hidden secrets made him hesitate.

“Where did you meet your husband?” he asked her, tilting his glass to watch the whisky catch the light. “At a ball like the one tonight? Or had you known each other from childhood?”

Startled, she met his eyes, and he saw it then—her need to push him away, to deflect. “It was a long time ago,” she said, taking a sip from her own glass. “Where did you meet your wife, Archie?”

He didn’t mind talking about his wife, but he wanted to hear about Miriam’s husband. “Was it at a ball?” he insisted. “I’m sure you swept him off his feet.”

She laughed, but it wasn’t an entirely happy sound. “I was a governess,” she said, and her voice caught. “He was a visitor to the house where I was employed.”

That sounded ominous! “I did not realize,” he said, surprised. He paused, eyeing her curiously, and then he smiled. “I’m sure the children loved you. You are so good with Agatha.”

Miriam opened her mouth as if to protest, and then closed it again. “The children were not the problem,” she said with quiet bitterness. “Evidently, I was too pretty and encouraged the gentlemen.”

Archie set his glass down on the table with a clink. “Is that what they said?” he demanded, and he knew he sounded furious. He was furious.

“I shouldn’t have told you,” she said quickly. “I don’t know why I did. Pretend I—”

“I’m not pretending anything!” he snapped. “I want to hear what you have to say, whatever it may be.”

“Archie, really, there is no need. The past is best left alone.”

He didn’t want to agree, but he could see she was growing anxious, and he didn’t want her to stop speaking to him altogether. There would be other chances to delve into her secrets, or at least he hoped so.

As if aware of his struggle to rein in his curiosity, Miriam came to sit beside him on the sofa. She took his hand in hers, and lifted it to her face, rubbing her cheek over his knuckles before kissing them.

“You are a good man,” she said. He could almost hear her unspoken addendum. Too good for me.

Archie drew her toward him, seeking her mouth. She came willingly, deepening the kiss, and he felt the sort of stirring in his loins he had not experienced in years. He wished he could lead her up to his bedchamber, but with Agatha in the house he was wary of allowing his desires free rein.

She must have thought the same because she drew back and rested her head on his shoulder with a sigh. “Archie, let’s not talk of the past. It would be a shame if we had to go our separate ways. Let us just enjoy what we have now.”

Archie held her close. She had just uttered a threat, and he knew it, but it wasn’t going to make him give up.

Chapter Nine

The day dawned warm and rather humid with the possibility of a rainstorm, but Agatha was pleased when the picnic went ahead. There was a pavilion nearby that could be used if it did rain, but it was hoped there would be enough clear weather for the guests to undergo agreeable strolls along the banks of the Thames or take to the river in the rowboats that had been supplied for their use.

Donal and Agatha arrived in the Countess of Strathmore’s carriage, accompanied by Agatha’s father and Mrs. Robinson. Donal said he had asked his aunt if she wanted to join them, but she had said that she had another engagement. Agatha wasn’t sorry. She knew her father and Miriam would go off together, and if the countess were there, Agatha and Donal would not have time on their own. She was being selfish, she supposed, but she wanted Donal’s company to herself as much as possible.

“Do you want to go out in a boat?” Donal asked her, looking at the wooden vessels tied up to the small dock. “They look sturdy enough.”

Agatha looked too. She thought that the boats looked rather fragile, and she was not an intrepid girl. “Are you sure that is a good idea?” Warily she peered up at the sky. “I am sure it is going to rain soon.”

Donal snorted. “You’ve clearly no’ lived at Bonnyrigg. If I worried about rain before I did anything outside, I’d never leave my room!”

Agatha supposed she was being rather cowardly, so she agreed, and he helped her into the little boat. It tipped a bit until she was settled, but once in her cushioned seat, she felt secure enough, and Donal seemed to know what he was doing.

Donal worked the oars as Agatha sat back and watched him. His arms must be strong—she could see the movement of muscles under his shirtsleeves. He had taken off his jacket. And his booted feet were planted wide apart as he powered them through the water, the tight pantaloons clinging to his muscular thighs. It was difficult for Agatha not to gawk, but she did her best to pretend she wasn’t.

Agatha was wearing one of her new dresses, a high-waisted white muslin with a flowing skirt. It felt very summery and was nice and cool in the heat. Her poke bonnet was also new, with white lace around the brim and a feather dancing gaily in the breeze from the river. She felt very fashionable, and the way in which Donal kept glancing at her and smiling made her think he was enjoying the picture she made.

The truth was, she was glad to get away from the rest of the group and all the problems confronting her. Mary and Belvoir were gazing into each other’s eyes in a quite nauseating manner, even going so far as to feed each other little titbits of food. Whatever Mary believed or did not believe about Belvoir’s reputation, it seemed to have had no effect on her determination to possess him. And as for Belvoir himself . . . perhaps he was truly in love with Mary?

When she turned her head, she could see Richard and Miss Elliot strolling along the riverbank toward the pavilion, their arms linked and their heads bent close. She heard Richard’s laugh, as if he hadn’t a care in the world, and yet the other night she had been sure that he was having second thoughts about his abandonment of her. Was he so adept at hiding his true feelings?

Agatha just wished she could forget Richard and Mary and the turmoil they were causing her and enjoy this moment in the boat with Donal. It almost felt as if they were a proper couple. She didn’t want to admit it herself, but right now she wished they were.

“Did you see the look Mary gave me when she saw us?” Donal said, with a savage glance toward the shore. “As if she wished I were a hundred miles away. As if I was maukit!”