The Last Debutante (14 page)

“Why no’?” Jamie said. “She has far too much time on
her hands, as we’ve all heard quite clearly. Miss Babcock, Duff will introduce you to Dougal Campbell on the morrow.”

“That’s not necessary, as I have already made Mr. Campbell’s acquaintance,” she sniffed.

That surprised Jamie. He gave her a dubious look, to which Miss Babcock smiled, pleased with herself.

“I am not one to mope, sir. I’ve uncovered the lay of the land—of Dundavie, that is—while you have recuperated, and I have made Dougal Campbell’s acquaintance. And he did not seem to me to be in a very big hurry to have a new wife, but if that is your wish, then I will find him one.”

Jamie had fully expected her to demur. She was bluffing. He stood up. “To Dougie’s happy future, then. Now, if you will excuse me, I’ve been taken from my duties for more than a week, thanks to your grandmamma.” He started out of the room. “Anlan, Aedus,
trobhad.
”

Anlan was on his feet at once, trotting forward. But Aedus stayed on his belly and began to thump his tail nervously. He looked up at Miss Babcock.

“Aedus,
trobhad,
” Jamie said again, a little more forcefully.

The dog’s ears dropped back as he slowly rose.

“Stay,” Miss Babcock said airily, without even looking at the dog, and Aedus’s tail began to swish nervously along the floor.

“He doesna speak English,” Jamie said, and gestured for his dog. But Aedus looked at him as if he were a stranger.

“Good dog,” Miss Babcock cooed, and the traitorous Aedus flattened out his ears completely, lowered his head,
and slid, like the snake he was, onto his belly beside her. Miss Babcock smiled coyly at Jamie. “It would seem he speaks at least a little bit of English, wouldn’t it?”

Jamie glared at Aedus, who avoided his gaze altogether. He looked at Miss Babcock, who had the most impudent smile he thought he’d ever seen on a woman. Then he whistled for Anlan, who at least had the canine decency to come when his master called.

Jamie stalked out of the room with as small a limp as he could manage.

A
MOUNTAIN OF
paper was waiting for Jamie in his study, as well as a list of clan members who required an audience. In his absence, two more clansmen had sold their parcels of Campbell land to Lord Murchison. Their reasoning, Robbie explained, was that they could no longer make a living on the wee bit of arable land. They were bound, as so many Campbells seemed to be bound these days, for Glasgow. If not there, then Edinburgh. Or America. It was conceivable, Jamie thought morosely, that the once mighty clan might be left with nothing at all.

He worked until his eyes blurred and his leg ached fiercely. He stood to stretch it, cursing it under his breath. It had stiffened on him, and he walked to the window with deliberation, willing the injury to heal, to stop distracting him.

It was a fine day from the look of it, and he cranked open one of the rusty mullioned windows to let fresh air in. He
was turning back to his work when the sounds of a very odd laugh and a barking dog caught his attention.

Jamie stilled, listening to the laugh, and turned back, bracing his hands against the cool stone, leaning out the narrow casing to have a look.

He saw the splash of blue muslin in the middle of the bailey, the glint of the sun on honey-gold hair. A boy kicked a ball about the lawn, and Daria chased after it. His dogs were with her, Aedus chasing after the soiled hem of her gown, barking. Anlan, who had left Jamie’s side somewhere between the first and second stack of petitions, was curled up in the shade of the wall, watching passively, his tongue hanging from his muzzle.

Daria kicked the ball back to the lad, but it veered off course. He laughed again, and Jamie realized then who the boy was, for it was the sound of a child who cannot hear himself: Peader Campbell, his cousin’s son, six or seven years of age, born without the ability to hear. In his short life, Peader had been, to Jamie’s mind, shunted off to the side and isolated by his lack of hearing. How had Daria Babcock found him? How had she known how to make the poor lad laugh?

Jamie returned to his desk, the image of her chasing after a ball invading his thoughts. He was grateful that someone had given Peader a wee bit of attention, but what vexed him was that he did not understand her scheme. He had no doubt that befriending the boy gave her some perceived advantage . . . but what? Did she think that by befriending the weak at Dundavie she might somehow sway him to give her freedom? Was she as cunning as that?

Jamie stared at the pages before him, rereading the same
words over again. He was surprisingly, and a wee bit alarmingly, plagued with thoughts of a hazy kiss that lived on in his memory, the silky feel of golden hair, of eyes sparkling with ire. He was not thinking of her, his adversary for all intents and purposes, in
that
way, was he? In the way a man might think of an intriguing woman?

“No,” he said firmly. It was the pain in his leg, the mountain of work before him. It was a moment of procrastination, nothing more. For Jamie was a very practical man. He did not think of foolish English debutantes in
that
way. Give him a hearty Scottish lass, not some delicate English rose who took issue with the location of Dundavie’s extensive library . . .

Even if he might credit her with saving his life. One could make the argument that had it not been for Miss Babcock’s arrival, the old witch might very well have succeeded in killing him. But that only meant he might one day thank her. When his money was returned to him. Nothing more.

For he was the Laird of Dundavie.

D
OUGAL
C
AMPBELL PROVED
no challenge at all for Daria. She’d rather hoped that he might, just for the opportunity to while away a few hours, but when she’d asked him if he was of a mind to marry, he’d said with a shrug and a sigh, “Aye. I suppose I ought.”

“Mr. Campbell! If we all did what we ought, life would be so tedious and dull! What do you think, Duffson?” she called out to the young man lurking outside the smithy’s
covered work area. He had shadowed her every move since her arrival. Daria had deduced, given his large build and heavy brow, that he was the son of Duff, sent to guard her. Like his father, he refused to engage in conversation, or even own to the fact that he was following her. So she had named him Duffson, which had at least caused one caterpillar of an eyebrow to rise.

“Well?” she demanded of him, and Duffson ducked his head and moved out of her sight.

“Do
you
see my point, Mr. Campbell?”

Dougal Campbell, who likewise was as tall as a tree, with a thick crop of auburn hair, rubbed the stubble of beard on his chin, clearly perplexed by her observation. He dusted the soot from his leather apron with his bare hand and examined the small clasp of Daria’s bracelet, which he’d spent the past half hour working to repair.

Daria was seated on a table, where Dougal had made a space by moving aside the tools of his trade. Her feet were crossed at the ankles, swinging over Aedus’s head. The dog had become her regular companion in the past few days, particularly when she was restlessly wandering about.

“Have you anyone in mind to wed?” she asked the blacksmith.

“No one in particular, no, miss.” He peeked up at her shyly. “But I’d like a bonny one, aye?” He handed her the bracelet.

Daria examined it. “Oh, how
lovely,
Mr. Campbell! You are quite skilled, are you not?”

He smiled sheepishly at her praise. “Mind the spring,” he said anxiously as she donned the bracelet. When she had
fastened it, she held out her arm for him to see, earning a big smile from the man.

“Thank you, Mr. Campbell. Now then, to you—a bonny wife is all you desire? Shouldn’t you like someone who shares your interests, as well?”

“Aye,” he said, nodding. “But me mum, she saw a faerie when I was born.”

Daria blinked. “I fail to see the significance of . . . that.”

“That means I shall marry a fair woman.”

“Mr. Campbell, there is far too much credence given to superstitions and faeries here. There are really no such things as faeries—”

“Ach, lass, there are,” he said gruffly.

“Well. Perhaps,” Daria said, a tad bit dismissively, as she admired her bracelet. “But can we not agree that whether or not your mother saw a faerie has no bearing on which young lady you might like to extend an offer of marriage to?”

“But it
does
matter. She ought to be bonny, aye?”

Daria sighed to the exposed rafters. “Very well. Tell me who you think is bonny.”

He’d named three young women, all of whom worked within the walls of Dundavie. Daria then set out with Aedus beside her and Duffson trailing behind to pay them each a short visit. Anlan preferred to remain behind and nap in the shade of a cart full of hay.

After introducing herself to the first two—although Daria had already learned that she needed no introduction, as she was notoriously known as “the Ransom”—she learned that both young women had understandings with other gentlemen.

That left Catriona Campbell. Catriona was a kitchen maid, and she bustled about preparing the midday meal as Daria presented the possibility of Dougal as a husband.

“Dougal Campbell, the blacksmith?” Catriona asked, as she chopped onion with rapid-fire precision.

“Yes, him.”

She shrugged. “I suppose he’ll do as good as any, won’t he?”

Daria reached across the scarred wooden table and helped herself to a muffin. The cook had cheerfully pointed them out to her after Daria had cheerfully fawned over her bannock cakes. “Miss Campbell!” Daria cried through a bite of muffin, and quickly swallowed. “Is
that
how you will choose the man with whom you will spend the rest of your life? Wouldn’t you at least like to know a little something about him? Aren’t you even curious whether you have anything in common with this man?”

“I’ve something in common with him, aye, miss. We’re both Campbells. One will do as well as the next.”

“These muffins are
divine,
” Daria said. “I shall leave Dundavie as fat as a pig. As for you, Miss Campbell, that is positively uncivilized. In England, we engage in a period of courting so we might determine compatibility between a man and a woman. A lifetime is a very long time if one is not compatible with one’s husband.”

“Must have a lot of time for sitting about, then,” Catriona said. “In Scotland, we’ve too much work to be done to determine . . . what was it you said, then?”

“Compatibility.”

“Compatibility.”

“Interesting perspective,” Daria said with a slight shrug.
“Well then, it seems that my task here is done. I shall relay to Mr. Campbell that you would welcome his offer, and he may thank the laird for it. Will that suit?”

Catriona smiled. “Suits me well enough, aye.”

“Just remember,” Daria said as she slid off the stool where she was seated, half a muffin between her fingers, “you’ve no one to blame but yourself if he proves an unfit husband. I have no reason to believe he will be, as he seems rather amiable, but one never knows, does one?”

“I donna rightly know, miss,” Catriona said distractedly as she dug through a barrel of potatoes.

As her one task was completed, Daria continued wandering about Dundavie. If she ventured too close to the gates, Duffson wordlessly shepherded her back into the bailey, ignoring her argument that it was preposterous to think that she might run into the woods in a gown and slippers, and besides, there was an entire village of Campbells waiting to tackle her if she tried to do so.

It
was
preposterous. What would she do if she managed to escape the walls and the village? Wander the woods? No, her escape would have to be more ingenious than that. She would have to persuade someone to aid her. The only problem with that idea was that the Campbells were an unreasonably close and wordless lot. She never knew what they were thinking!

Her attempts to see the laird were expertly thwarted by Duff. “He’s got the business of the clan,” he said brusquely when she asked why she couldn’t speak to him.

“But my grandmother is undoubtedly sick with worry. And I should very much like to know if my letters were delivered to Edinburgh and my grandmother’s house.”

“Aye, they were.”

“Did you speak with my grandmother? Is she well?”

“I did no’ take it, lass. But your grandmamma is fine. The letter was delivered two days past and tacked to her door.”

“Tacked to her door! Why did you not just hand it to her?”

“Because she wasna within, lass,” Duff said impatiently. “But the letter was delivered, aye?”

Daria didn’t know what more to say, so she continued on. She walked the small rose garden, visited a schoolroom where a few children were learning their Gaelic letters and clearly understood when the instructor pointed out who she was, since the five students all turned their little heads and stared at her as if she were the devil himself.

“That’s right,” she said, lifting her chin. “I’m
English.
Would you like to learn an English song?”