Chapter Nine
Connall was feelingmore like himself. He’d spent nearly two days wrapped in a fever, but it had broken yesterday afternoon. Since then, he’d slept well and was now bathed and shaved, thanks to the help of a very ambitious footman in the countess’s household. Lloyd was his name, and Connall had been so exhausted by his illness that he never figured out if that was the man’s given name or surname.
Damn, but he was tired. He’d always thought the English way of dressing was tiresome, but it never left him weak as a kitten. That meant he was back in bed—barely dressed—and staring at the ceiling as he thought about Mairi. He could hear the noises of the household and knew that the ladies were having a dancing lesson. The strains of the music filtered to him up here. So he lost himself in a vision of Mairi in a sweeping gown, dancing amid the glow of a thousand candles.
She was always associated with fire in his mind. She’d been raised beside the furnace of her father’s glassworks, but he’d never seen her as fragile as glass. She reminded him more of the copper his clan mined. She was beautiful and powerful like any metal, but still flexible enough to bend to whatever life threw at her. He admired that in her and dreamed of heating her passion—
A knock sounded at his door, interrupting his reverie. Good thing too, since he’d sworn two days ago to give up all thoughts of Mairi.
“Come in,” he called, hoping it was her. She’d checked on him twice during his fever, cooling his body with a soothing cloth, and then once this morning to declare his fever gone. Every time he’d tried to tease her, but she’d bid him sleep and he’d sunk deeply into that place where all was rest while she soothed his body. He hoped now to give a better account of himself. Except when the door opened, he saw a woman with fiery red hair and the dot of freckles.
“Lady Iseabail,” he said, doing his best to hide his disappointment. “Shouldn’t you be at the dancing lesson?”
“We finished that and have been sent to do our chores.”
His brows rose. “Chores?”
“Mairi and Sadie are learning how to balance accounts for a household.”
Connall frowned. “They already know. Sadie’s been managing for her mother—”
“Sadie knows how to track a small home with few servants and a flock of sheep. Mairi has managed an entire castle. Neither has hosted a dinner party in London.”
He had to acknowledge her point. “Then why aren’t you—”
“I am to speak with you.”
He didn’t like being put in the category of a chore, but he could understand that some discussions were difficult. And Iseabail had never seemed like a woman who rushed into unpleasant things. She more than any of them knew how unpleasant a person’s life could get.
“Then come on. Out with it. What is it—”
“Do you mean to take a wife this Season?”
That was putting it bluntly, but then the Scots could be a forthright people. And he would do well to answer in kind, though it would lead to a very difficult conversation with her. “Yes, Iseabail, I do.”
“And you’re no longer set upon Mairi?” she pressed.
“That’s correct,” he said. Then he waved her inside before sitting up more fully in bed. “Shut the door, Iseabail. It’s time we spoke clearly, you and I.”
She looked momentarily panicked, but then straightened her shoulders as if she were the Queen of England. “It is not proper for me to be here alone with you.” She spoke in clear, unaccented tones and he was startled by how perfectly she mimicked a cold Sassenach lady.
“My apologies,” he said, matching her cool tone. “But you did come in here to my sickbed. I thought you would appreciate privacy for the coming discussion.”
She frowned at him. “Your Grace…” she began, then became lost for words as she said no more.
He sighed and sat up as straight as if he were having an audience with a royal even though he sat in a bed and wore little beyond the evening jacket Lloyd had found somewhere. “Lady Iseabail, leave the door open for propriety’s sake, but please bring a chair close so that we may converse quietly.”
She nodded, left the door wide, then sat in the chair furthest away from him. Certainly, he thought wryly, he’d love to shout his romantic intentions across the room. But then he moderated his irritation. For all that he was in a sickbed, she was frightened of being alone with him. He’d been around enough women to know when they relished catching him alone in a dark corner, and when they flinched at the very sight of his large hands. Iseabail had too much pride to flinch, but she was certainly afraid of being alone with a large man. Even as she stiffened her spine and faced him square on, she kept an escape route open for her to run away if necessary.
“I’ll not hurt you, Iseabail,” he said gently.
“But will you marry me?” she asked.
He stared, momentarily taken aback. He’d had various encounters with her over the years and had thought her to be a reserved and generally frightened girl. She didn’t run free the way Mairi had, even as a child. Mostly because her mother had held a tight rein over her, but also because the women of the Bain clan were cowed creatures who kept their heads down and their mouths shut. He would never have guessed she’d be this bold. But then, he’d never guessed she’d run across Scotland to hide as Sadie’s maid.
In the face of his silence, Iseabail pressed her point. “The countess has been telling us to evaluate our place on the Marriage Mart dispassionately. Therefore, let me tell it to you. My mother was English and taught me well. You are a duke, and it would do you good to have an English seeming wife.”
“I’m a Scotsman,” he growled.