The Untamed Mackenzie (highland pleasures) Page 8

  The stares followed Louisa, in a pause that would have been awkward had not an orchestra already been playing to entertain the arrivals. Louisa’s pretty heeled slippers now seemed too tight, her dress too garish. Hart’s solid arm was the only thing that kept her upright as they moved to the receiving line.

  Hart, not oblivious to the scrutiny, leaned to her and spoke in a low voice. “Face them down and to hell with them.”

  Hart straightened up again, saying nothing more, but Louisa felt a little better. She drew a breath, rearranged her expression, and smiled warmly at a knot of young ladies who stared openly at her.

  Hart was right, as usual. Louisa could do this. After all, she hadn’t killed Hargate, and she had nothing to be ashamed of.

  “Good girl,” Hart said. He gave her arm a pat with his strong hand.

  They reached their host and hostess, Mac and Isabella, who stood at the top of the long line of guests. Isabella’s dark blue satin ball gown was elegance itself, but she was careful not to outshine the other women present. Her role as hostess was to make the ladies of the ton feel welcome and special, not belittled, and Isabella took that role very seriously.

  She gathered Louisa into a hug and kissed her cheek before she grasped Hart’s hands and kissed him as well. Isabella didn’t seem surprised in the least that Eleanor had not come with them. Louisa frowned at her, but Isabella turned away to greet Beth and Ian before Louisa could say a word.

  “I’m glad you braved it.” Mac squeezed Louisa’s hands in his large ones before he kissed her cheek. “Remember, Louisa, we are always here to catch you.”

  They were, especially Mac. Mac had been the one who’d pulled Isabella and Louisa’s family out of the fire when Earl Scranton’s fraud had been found out. If not for Mac and his machinations, Louisa’s family would never have survived.

  “Thank you, Mac,” Louisa said, heartfelt.

  Hart turned Louisa loose once they’d finished the greetings, he and Ian making straight for the gaming rooms. Beth took Louisa’s arm, and the two ladies headed for the withdrawing rooms to straighten gowns and repin hair.

  This night should be the same as any other since Louisa’s come out. Louisa knew as many people as Isabella did, and even her father’s behavior hadn’t lost Louisa her friends. Money ebbed and flowed, Louisa hadn’t been to blame, it was vulgar to worry about finances anyway, and a good marriage could put everything right for her again. Louisa knew half the girls in London and was close friends with half of those—had been their bridesmaids, held their first children, gossiped with them, shared their memories of growing up in privileged Mayfair and country estates.

  Louisa was not as well acquainted with the ladies who happened to be in the withdrawing rooms, but though they stared, they softened under Beth’s friendly smile—most people did. Louisa began to relax. As long as everyone was polite, the ball would be fine.

  Louisa left for the main assembly rooms with Beth and quickly spied a knot of her friends. They were watching her, none of them making any pretense about staring at her and murmuring to each other. Louisa felt suddenly chilled.

  Hart’s words came back to her. Face them down and to hell with them.

  Nothing for it. Louisa could not cling to Beth all night. She slid away from Beth as Beth turned to other guests, and approached the ladies and gentlemen clustered together, watching her come.

  “Adele, how are you?” Louisa held out her hands to a young woman she’d known since they’d been toddlers. “What a lovely gown. You are all the rage tonight.”

  Lady Adele returned Louisa’s kiss on the cheek, but stiffly. “We hardly thought to see you here tonight, Louisa.”

  “I did mean to stay home—I’ve been rather upset, as you might have guessed—but my sister coaxed me out. I couldn’t refuse her, when she had her heart set.” Louisa smiled, as though to say, What can you do with older sisters?

  “Of course, but Louisa . . .” Adele smiled, but the smile was cool and condescending. “In spite of everything, you have never been anything but tasteful.”

  Implying Louisa was not being tasteful now. Louisa saw that the rest of the group agreed with Adele. She’d known these people from childhood, had played in nurseries with them, ridden ponies with them, had made her debut with them. She’d flirted with the gentlemen, giggled with the ladies. And now they gazed upon her as though she were a stranger from a remote land.

  “As I say, Isabella wished me to see friends,” Louisa said, pretending not to notice. “She thought I’d feel better in company.”

  “It is a lovely gown,” another lady said, looking Louisa up and down. “Very . . . bright.”

  “Jane,” Louisa said, all but stopping herself from snarling at her. “You’ve known me long enough to know I dislike hints and insinuations. If you believe I should put on mourning and bury myself at home, say so clearly and have done. I did not know the Bishop of Hargate and his family very well. It’s a terrible thing that happened to him. My sympathies lie with his family, of course, where they should. It would be unfair to them for me to claim the entirety of the grief, as though what happened to the bishop was about me and my feelings alone.”

  Jane flushed, but she remained resolute. “Very well, Louisa, I’ll be plain. Putting on a pretty new dress and sailing in all cheerful as though nothing had happened isn’t quite the thing, is it?”

  “I am anything but cheerful,” Louisa said, striving to keep her tone even. “My sister thought the gown would put me in better spirits. She and my sisters-in-law convinced me to come, because they thought I should go out and see people. I’m certain they believed I’d find sympathy among my oldest and dearest friends.”

  Instead of being admonished, the ladies and gentlemen looked annoyed, and Adele laughed. “Louisa, my dear, it’s becoming a dangerous thing to be your friend.”

  One of the gentlemen laughed as well. The four young men behind the ladies were those she’d played tag with in the meadows of Kent and danced with after her come out. One gentleman looked at Louisa as though he’d never seen her before, and another was glancing about for a way to escape without appearing rude.

  “I do beg your pardon for my sister Jane,” the gentleman who’d laughed said. “You see, Mama has told her—and me—to stay away from you. I’m afraid your dance card won’t be very full tonight. Word is circulating that you’re poison.” He laughed again, proud he’d made a joke.

  “You aren’t funny, Samuel,” Jane said. “But it’s true, Louisa. We have been advised to keep our distance.”

  “I see.” Louisa’s chest tightened as she looked at them, finding no sympathy in their faces. “I see now what years of friendship can count for.” She’d cared for Adele and Jane, but their expressions were stony tonight, all caring gone.

  “Not their fault,” Samuel said. “It’s just that murder is so sordid. Not the done thing, you know.” He mimed stabbing with a knife, still grinning.

  “I did nothing to him.” Louisa gave Samuel a hard look. “I had hoped my closest friends would believe me.”

  “It doesn’t matter, does it?” Samuel asked. “No chap is going to risk being at your side tonight, Louisa darling. He’ll always worry about taking a sip of his tea, or his claret, or his port, or his brandy, or his—”

  “What the devil is this?” a new voice said.

  Louisa started, and looked around to see the Honorable Gilbert Franklin, who’d stopped in time to hear the last comments. Gilbert was one of Louisa’s oldest friends—they’d lived next door to each other as children, and Louisa had been maid of honor to Gil’s sister last summer. She hadn’t seen much of either of them since, until Gil had turned up at Mrs. Leigh-Waters’ now-infamous garden party.

  Gilbert cast a disparaging gaze over the little group. “Are you telling me, Sam, that after all these years, you still have no idea how to behave to a lady? I believe that in this glorious England, we think a person innocent of a crime until proven otherwise, do we not? Doesn’t Louisa deserve t
hat same faith? Or at the very least, your respect?” Gil spoke in pleasant tones, as he always did, but his look was sharp, his words direct.

  Samuel had the grace to be abashed. Gilbert was well liked, and now the others looked embarrassed, no longer laughing.

  “How are you, Louisa?” Gil stuck out his hand and squeezed Louisa’s when she put hers into his. “I’m happy to see you tonight. I know you have been painfully upset, and I’ll wager none of these louts have decided to rally ’round and make you feel better.”

  Adele bridled. “Really, Gil.”

  “Yes, really, Del,” Gil said. “I never thought you so heartless. Louisa, I believe the first set is forming in the ballroom. Will you do me the honor? And if your dance card has remained empty tonight, I will happily fill it.”

  The others had gone deathly silent. Gil’s strong fingers remained around Louisa’s hand.

  Louisa’s heart pounded. Every part of her had been wanting to flee back across Mayfair to the sanctuary of Isabella’s house, where she could go up to the nursery and make herself feel better sitting with the children. Being around Isabella’s children always comforted her, and they did not believe her a murderess.

  Now Gil’s wash of sympathy nearly undid her. He was handing Louisa a lifeline, coming to her rescue. Refusing him and running would be as churlish as Adele and her friends were being to Louisa. The Hon. Gil was well liked, well-bred, well-dressed, attractive, wealthy, and intelligent. His stamp of approval could save her life.

  Louisa smiled at him in true gratitude. “Of course. I would indeed love to dance. Excuse me, my friends. I hope you enjoy Isabella’s entertainments.”

  She wouldn’t cut them dead, much as she longed to. She would not be as petty as they were being. She bowed graciously to the collective group, who had to return the bow or be forever branded as uncouth.

  Gil led Louisa away, keeping such a quick pace she didn’t have time to say anything to him until they stood in line for the opening dance, an old-fashioned country dance. Waltzing would take up the rest of the night—with pauses for Scottish reels, since this was a Mackenzie party after all—but Isabella always opened her balls with country dances.

  Gil knew these dances as well as he knew everything else. Gil had always been there, in the background of Louisa’s life, she now realized. He’d been brother to her dear friend, playing with the two girls as children, teaching them cricket in their adolescence, escorting them to parties after their come outs, quietly shrugging off their praise about his academic honors at university. Gil was the perfect gentleman, so perfect one didn’t always notice him, because he did his best to efface himself and not push in front of others.

  On the other hand, everyone in Louisa’s set considered Gil’s opinion highly important. If Gil had taken Adele’s and Samuel’s part this evening, her social ruin would have been assured. The fact that Gil had admonished them would be all over Mayfair by the end of the set.

  “Thank you for taking pity on me,” Louisa said as they came together in the dance.

  “Nonsense, Louisa, I meant every word of it.”

  “Nevertheless, it was kind.”

  Gil gave her a warm smile. “You deserve much more than to be snubbed by Samuel and Jane, believe me.”

  The dance took them apart, but Gil’s smile remained, like an anchor in the swirling madness. Louisa knew he’d done her a great favor, simply from the goodness of his heart. She’d have to find a way to thank the man who’d just saved her from being an outcast at her own sister’s ball.

  * * *

  How the devil Hart had talked him into stuffing himself into this suit and walking into Isabella Mackenzie’s supper ball, Fellows had no idea.

  His mother had been all for it, though. Fellows hadn’t mentioned the invitation to his mother, because he knew exactly what she’d say. But Isabella must have written to her, because she brought it up immediately when Fellows had visited her earlier this evening.

  The Mackenzie wives had taken to writing to Mrs. Fellows, who loved receiving the letters from the women she termed the “la-de-da ladies.” She read every single missive out to Fellows, and she wrote back to them. She’d been invited to the ball as well, and she laughed about it.

  “Imagine me in a ballroom with a bunch of toffs,” she’d said. “A right git I’d look. I was a tavern maid like me mum before me, and my sister was too, and that’s all there is to that.” She’d softened. “It’s a kindness, I know. They don’t really expect me to come. But you, my boy—you go and show them there ain’t nothing wrong with you. You’re the son of a duke, and you should have been the duke. Now you go and show Lord Hart you’re the better brother.”

  “Huh,” Fellows said, falling into the cadence of his youth. “A right git I’ll look in a fancy suit, Mum, and you know it.”

  “Don’t throw my words back at me, boy. You’re not so big I can’t still smack you about.”

  Catherine Fellows was five feet high, a bit rotund from the ale she liked to drink, and had wrinkles lining her face from the laughter she loved so much. Lloyd towered over her with the tallness of the Mackenzies, coupled with their strength.

  “You’re half my height, woman,” Fellows said, ruffling her hair fondly. “And you’ve got the tongue of a viper.”

  “Yeah? Then I have half a mind to buy a posh dress and go to this do, just to show you. I’ll drag you along by your ear, see if I don’t.”

  “Leave off, I’m going. And not because of you. If you think you can scold, you’ve not had the four Mackenzie ladies stand in front of you and ask you why you didn’t do what they asked. Frighten a man out of ten years’ growth, they can.”

  “I think they’re sweet girls,” Catherine said, abruptly ceasing her bantering. “Good manners. So kind to me. No, indeed, you can’t disappoint them.” Her look turned shrewd. “What about Lady Louisa? Does she frighten you out of ten years’ growth?”

  Fellows often discussed his cases with his mother, who for all her talk about being only a tavern maid had good perception about her fellow man. A lifetime of carrying about ale in a public house, she said, had honed her understanding. In Fellows’ opinion, she’d have made an excellent detective if she’d been born male. Her insights had helped him see a case clearly more than once.

  Those insights, unfortunately, made Catherine realize that Fellows viewed Louisa as more than a suspect, and more than simply his sister-in-law’s younger sister. He’d been careful to bury the fact that he thought about Louisa day and night, waking and sleeping. Every time he drew breath, in fact. But Fellows had learned long ago that he could never hide things from his mother.

  “Let it lie, Mum.” Fellows leaned down and kissed her forehead.

  “You’re every bit as good as her, you know,” Catherine said. “Your dad was a duke. Her dad was only an earl. And now her distant cousin is earl, and stingy from what I hear.”

  “I’m a police detective,” Fellows said. “I’m let into the great houses by the tradesman’s entrance. That’s the end of it.”

  “Doesn’t have to be,” Catherine said.

  Fellows pretended not to hear, gave his mother another kiss, and departed. Back at his flat—four large rooms in a building off the Strand that had recently been refurbished—he dressed in the coat and waistcoat Eleanor had bullied him into being fitted for by Hart’s tailor. Under that was a new lawn shirt, high collar, and cravat.

  On bottom . . . Fellows studied the blue and green Mackenzie plaid kilt laid out across his bed. He’d worn it before, at Christmas at Kilmorgan, feeling strange with wool wrapping his hips, air circulating his thighs. Scotsmen had to be mad.

  But Fellows was a Scotsman, or at least half a Scotsman, one of the family Mackenzie. He’d spent his boyhood trying and failing to be acknowledged by them. And then he’d hated them. The hatred had wound so long and so deep it was difficult to put aside.

  He was tired of anger. Anger was a poison, leeching into a man and stealing everything he was. While anger
had allowed Fellows to reach great heights in his profession, he’d also jeopardized his career and even his life because of it. Now he might jeopardize Louisa.

  He put on the kilt and combed his hair, or tried to. His hair never stayed put, the short strands going wherever they wished. At least he’d had time to shave.

  Nothing he could do about the healing bruises and nicks on his face, though. Evidence of his fight with the Marylebone Killer was still present. The bruises were now turning yellow and green, the cuts scabbed over, but dark red.

  If Isabella didn’t like them, he couldn’t help it. She’d already seen them anyway.

  And Louisa? She likely wouldn’t be there. Fellows had told her not to go out until this was over, and Louisa had seemed inclined to agree. Louisa had spirit, but she was no fool.

  So it was with great shock that Fellows walked into the assembly rooms to see Louisa waltzing with a handsome young man, laughing up at him, her eyes bright, joy on her face.

  Chapter Nine

  Fellows had entered the assembly rooms through a side door, not wanting to endure the nonsense of the stiff-necked majordomo shouting his name to all present. How bloody stupid would that sound? The Duke and Duchess of Almond Paste, the Princess of Peach Pie, and . . . er . . . Detective Chief Inspector Lloyd Fellows of Scotland Yard. The company would suppose he’d come to arrest someone.

  If Fellows could clap cuffs around the wrists of the young man dancing with Louisa, he’d do it in a trice. Fellows’ eyes narrowed as he assessed him. Expensively dressed—well, he would be if he’d been invited here. Golden hair gleaming under the chandeliers, every strand of that hair in place. Handsome face, just hard enough not to be feminine, skin unmarred by bruises or cuts.