Page 135 of The Highlander Is All That

“This calls for champagne,” Victoria announced, which had the effect of reviving Esmeralda from her swoon.

“You’re too young for alcohol,” she snapped.

Victoria was not suppressed by her ominous tone. “Nonsense. How often does one’s sister get married?”

Esmeralda glared at Mary. “Far too often it would seem. Two within the space of a week, it seems.”

“A couple days,” Anne corrected her.

Esmeralda merely grimaced. Most likely put out that she’d been robbed of not one, but two fancy weddings.

“One would think you’d be delighted, dear aunt,” Mary said. “Two St. Claires down and only two to go.”

For some reason, Elizabeth glanced at Hamish. He was staring at her, which caused a lurch to her stomach, so she looked away.

“About that,” Victoria said, leaving the sentence hovering there like a cloud of coal dust in the summer air.

All eyes snapped to her. She smiled blindingly. “Peter has proposed.”

“Oh good lord, no.” Esmeralda slumped again and this time Elizabeth suspected her faint was for real.

“Does anyone have smelling salts?” Bower asked, but again, no one was paying attention. Like a wave lapping the ocean, the girls swelled to the other side of the room and proceeded to congratulate Victoria with effusive hugs.

“I can’t believe we’re all settled,” Victoria gushed. But then she stilled and added, “Except Elizabeth, of course.”

“Elizabeth will be fine,” Anne said. “She can always come live with us at Bowermadden.”

To which Hamish snorted.

Victoria nodded, but her expression was one of sympathy. “She’s already had one suitor. I’m sure there will be others.”

“Naturally,” Mary agreed with a glint in her eye. “And the Darlington soiree is just the place for her to meet him.”

Elizabeth wasn’t sure what Mary was about, or her other sisters for that matter, but when she glanced in Hamish’s direction, he didn’t look happy in the least.

Which she could only take as encouragement.

Chapter Twenty-Six

Bile boiled in Hamish’s gut.

Enough.

Enough. Enough. Enough.

He had had bluidy enough.

“Elizabeth,” he barked with perhaps too much impatience to be counted as loverly. “We need to talk.”

For some reason, his outburst seemed to alarm her. She lurched back. “I beg your pardon?”

“May we have some privacy?” he snapped.

Esmeralda settled herself into her chair and peered at him with owlish eyes. “No.”

Hamish blinked. “What do you mean, no?”

“By no, I mean no, my dear boy.” The old bat’s lips made a configuration that could only be described as smug.