Page 30 of Wouldn’t it Be Scottish?

Puzzled, Donal looked at the lady in question. “Does it matter what she thinks?”

Mary thought about it. “Probably,” she said. “If I am to marry Belvoir, then I need to play up to his relatives. In fact,” she looked at Donal with a wrinkle between her brows, “I probably shouldn’t be talking to you after the scandal you’ve embroiled yourself in. I think I can be forgiven though. We are old friends after all. And you are a duke’s son,” she added thoughtfully.

“And yet you prefer Belvoir to me?” It slipped out, but he didn’t sound angry, just puzzled.

Mary laughed softly. “Oh Donal, you are a Scottish duke’s son and no fun at all. I want to live in London and enjoy myself.”

Donal worked his way through this. Mary had never had any intention of returning to Bonnyrigg with him. He had already guessed that, but here was the proof. She wanted to stay in London, and the plans she had for her future did not include him. They would not include him ever again.

He wasn’t upset. He was relieved. And he couldn’t fault himself. He had done everything in his power to win her back, and now he would walk away from her without a backward glance. Agatha was waiting for him across the room, and he wanted more than anything to join her.

Mary was watching him with a puzzled look—she didn’t seem to be able to read his mind like Agatha. Had she always been so self-centered behind that lovely face? “Should we dance?” she asked him, with a flirtatious little smile. “Belvoir will be so jealous when he sees us.”

“I thought he wasn’t here,” Donal retorted.

“He might be,” she said airily. “And even if he isn’t, someone will be sure to tell him.”

That was when Donal decided he had had enough. “No, thank you. I want to dance with Agatha.”

“Goodness me, you have very strange taste, Donal.”

“I think I have excellent taste. And by the way, just so that you know, I am marrying Agatha because I am in love with her.”

Mary seemed to find this quite incomprehensible, but Donal didn’t care. What she thought and did no longer mattered to him. He bowed politely, as if to a stranger, and turned and walked away. He quickened his steps, making a circuit of the ballroom, until he reached Agatha.

“Here you are,” he said, unable to hide his relief.

Kilsyth and Mrs. Robinson greeted him warmly, but Agatha’s expression remained somber. He had become so used to her smiles when she saw him. Now he could see that something was very wrong.

“Will you dance with me?” he asked, thinking to question her when they were alone.

For a long and terrible moment he thought she was going to refuse, but finally she murmured subdued agreement and let him lead her out onto the floor. She was wearing a very pretty dress, and he complimented her on it.

“It is new,” Agatha said gravely. “I am not sure how much wear it will get once I go home.”

Donal almost missed his step. “Are you going home?” he said.

Agatha didn’t answer him, asking instead, “How is your Mary?”

Donal wasn’t about to be sidetracked. “Why are you going home, Agatha?”

She managed a smile that was so unlike her usual ones that he felt quite worried. “I will have to go home at some point.”

Which wasn’t really an answer, but it occurred to him that once she was home, Agatha would announce that their engagement was over and cut him loose. And then what? Would he have to go back to Bonnyrigg having been rejected by both Mary and Agatha? It was the latter that stung the most. He didn’t want to walk away from Agatha and never see her again. He couldn’t imagine it. He wasn’t going to do it.

“You haven’t told me about Mary,” Agatha said, jolting him back to the moment. “The two of you seemed to be very cozy just now. Has she realized the error of her ways?”

Was it possible that was why she looked so unhappy? Because of Mary? Well Donal could do something about that.

“She was trying to make Belvoir jealous. And she isn’t my Mary. I don’t think she will ever be mine again, and mabbe she never was. ’Tis a relief really, that I no longer have to hope for something that is no’ going to happen.”

She was staring at him wide-eyed. “Donal,” she breathed, “that is so sad. Are you sure you shouldn’t keep trying?”

“Definitely,” he said firmly. “Now we are both cut loose, you from Richard and me from Mary.”

He wanted to say more, about how well they got on, and wouldn’t it be nice if they kept doing what they were doing. Not because it made anyone jealous but just because it made them happy.

Before he could turn his jumbled thoughts into words, Agatha said, “Well there is nothing stopping me going home now.”