Page 6 of Wouldn’t it Be Scottish?

“You should set up as a matchmaker,” Mrs. Robinson replied with a teasing smile.

Agatha gave an unladylike snort but changed it into a cough when they turned to her inquiringly. “Shall we go?” she said. “Lord Donal will be wondering where I am. I don’t want him to call a halt to our plan before we have even begun.”

*

Donal was lurking near the dais where the orchestra had set up, looking as miserable as it was possible for a man to look. And Agatha knew at once why. She could see Mary Davidson dancing with the Belvoirs’ son, smiling up at him prettily, fluttering her lashes, and no doubt drinking in the ridiculous compliments the man was bestowing upon her.

Agatha decided she did not like Mary very much. She must be as shallow as a puddle if she let a man like Belvoir turn her head! Everyone knew he was a dreadful flirt, and there were even rumors that he had ruined a debutante last year, although his family had done their best to hush it up. Richard had told her so—he was a third cousin or something to the Belvoirs, although they barely recognized him.

Agatha left her father and Mrs. Robinson talking with some acquaintances and went to join Donal. He startled when she touched his arm as if he was sunk deep in his gloomy thoughts. “Oh,” he said. “I was just . . .um . . .”

Agatha eyed him impatiently. He did look handsome in his evening wear—well, even more handsome—although maybe the unfamiliar clothing was adding to his discomfort. He was probably more used to gallivanting about in a kilt. Although Agatha was Scottish herself, her family were from the border with England and very different creatures than the wild, highland MacKenzies. Lord Kilsyth’s father had been a farmer, and his son still owned land and a large house in the village of Setholm. Agatha’s mother had been a pretty girl from Edinburgh on a visit to a relative when they had met and fallen in love. It was a comfortable tale, and one which Agatha—despite her daydreams of adventure—had expected to emulate.

“We should dance,” she told Donal. “And you should smile. No one will believe you are enjoying yourself if you wear that glum face.”

Obediently, he forced something resembling a smile to his stiff lips and held out his hand to her.

“You can dance?” she asked him uneasily, as she placed her gloved fingers delicately in his. “I forgot to ask.”

He frowned as if he was insulted. “Yes, I can dance. Can you?”

Agatha sniffed, and the next moment they had taken to the floor, their steps a little rigid at first but soon becoming fluid and graceful. She was surprised. He was actually a very good dancer, and they complemented each other very well. Richard was not very good, but she had always put that criticism to one side because she loved him. Donal was good. She felt light in his arms, and the sensation was so novel and enjoyable that she almost forgot why they were here.

Donal spoke into the silence that had grown between them, as if he thought an explanation was necessary. “My mother likes to dance. When my father wasn’t about, she used her children as partners. We soon learned not to tread on her toes.”

He was smiling, and she scrutinized his clean-shaven face and blue eyes with their thick, dark lashes. His dark hair was smoothed back with pomade but it was still a little longer than was fashionable. It suited him though. When he wasn’t sunk in misery, he was a striking man, with his straight, narrow nose and strong, square jaw and charming smile.

She glanced past his shoulder toward Mary Davidson. There she was, preening and simpering like a fool. Agatha hoped she didn’t expect Belvoir to propose to her, and she really hoped Mary would not listen to his wheedling. The man was genuinely hateful, and if Mary did not know it by now then she was a fool.

Agatha felt a twinge of shame at her own judgmental thoughts. She did not know Mary, and it could be that she was too innocent to recognize the trap Belvoir was setting for her. Should she tell the girl? Give her a warning?

Donal interrupted her uneasy thoughts. “My brother Callum tells me that the weather is a safe subject while dancing.”

Agatha raised her eyebrows. “Do you mean the brother who married his tutor? I suppose he would know all about that.”

Donal grinned, and it made him look younger and even more handsome. “Callum is my eldest brother. Rory is the next one. It was Rory who fought the duel and then married Grace to save her from her horrible father, only to fall in love with her. They are all living at Bonnyrigg at the moment.”

“And you are the youngest?” she asked, interested. The MacKenzies sounded like an unconventional family.

“I am the youngest brother, yes, but no’ the youngest child. That honor goes to Catriona, my sister. We call her Cat. I canna imagine her doing anything as scandalous as Callum and Rory.”

“Hmm,” Agatha said. “You never know. I couldn’t have imagined doing anything scandalous either, and yet here I am.”

Donal sobered. “I dinna think what we are doing is wrong,” he protested. “We are simply trying to right the mischief that has befallen us. What’s the matter with that? Apart from the lying, I suppose,” he went on with a frown. “And pretending to be in love with each other when we are barely acquainted.”

“I don’t want to think of it as lying,” she corrected him sharply. “We are playing a game, and it serves them right for forcing us to do it. Only last year, Richard swore he would be happy to stay with me forever, and I suspect your Mary did the same.”

Donal opened his mouth as if to refute that, only to close it again.

“There you are then,” Agatha said triumphantly. “We have been driven to this course of action because of the way they behaved. It is entirely their fault.”

The dance came to an end. “Are you hungry?” Donal asked her. “We should pretend to eat at least.”

“Yes, good idea.”

Donal took her arm in his and was leading her toward the supper room. “I dinna know about you, but I haven’t had much appetite since Mary left for London. I’m surprised by how hungry I suddenly am. I dinna think I will need to pretend.”

Agatha smiled. “I’m glad to hear it. My appetite hasn’t waned at all. Unfortunately.”