Chapter Twelve
Connall hated Englishclothes. They were heavy and itched. The cravat constricted his throat, and the jacket was so tight that he might rip it should he do anything but eat or drink in the slowest possible manner.
But he liked the way Mairi’s eyes had widened when she took in his attire. And he definitely noticed the way she touched her lips as if remembering their kiss. She did it discretely, but he saw and if that was the result of this thrice-damned itchy attire, then it was worth it.
The dinner went better than most of these affairs. The countess kept a lively discussion going throughout the evening while still giving every person a chance to shine. It was obviously a matchmaking evening as everyone except for the countess was on the hunt for a spouse. He was seated between a woman who excelled in gardening and another who knew an unusual amount about sheep husbandry. Though not as lovely as Mairi, both ladies were attractive and possessed respectable intelligence. They asked him about Scotland, and he replied in a general way. The food and wine were good, and so the evening went along as it tended to do.
All perfectly boring especially since he was clearly the center of all female attention. After all, he would become a duke one day, and so every lady made sure to catch his attention at some point. Only one was so insistent that he had to pull out his brogue just to fob her off. After all, if she couldn’t understand him, she would eventually leave him alone, right?
Wrong.
She was just starting to lose interest when Mairi looked up from the opposite side of the room. They had withdrawn to the parlor after the meal and were conversing in small groups before the cards were set out.
“He’s only doing that to test you,” she said to the impertinent woman. “If you can’t understand him here, then how will you survive in Scotland?”
“Oh, but I understand every word!” the girl lied.
“I did, too!” another said.
And then it became a contest to see who could understand his thickest brogue. They all failed, of course. He knew words that weren’t spoken in England and several that shouldn’t be said in polite company no matter who understood. Even Sadie and Iseabail didn’t catch them all, but Mairi was used to coarse men’s talk and shot him a look of haughty disdain.
She was right, and he bowed to her in apology. It didn’t work. She turned her attention to the gentleman currently discussing the benefit of various libations as if it were the key to political power. Apparently, the leader of the Tories preferred a special brand of port. Naturally, that reminded him that he was supposed to help sell Liam’s whisky. It was the excuse he’d created so that he could travel with Mairi. That hadn’t worked, but he still owed Liam the attempt.
“The company tonight has been so fine,” he said loudly, “I’ve decided to let you all share in a special gift.”
All the ladies grew very excited at that, but he held up his hand.
“I’ve a warning. It’s a gift shared among Scots, and it’ll test your mettle for sure.”
One and all laughed at that, but he waved to the butler the way a magician begins a magic trick. Fortunately, Parry was ready, and he brought out a bottle that Connall had retrieved that afternoon.
“It’s a very special blend of Scot’s whisky given to me by Miss Mairi’s laird. He and I grew up together as boys, and his clan makes the finest whisky in the world. He gives me a single bottle every year at Christmas, and I’ve saved them faithfully for a good occasion.
“What an excellent idea,” said the countess. “We will celebrate the beginning of the London Season with you. I’m quite excited to get a sip.”
“Only a sip, my lady,” said Connall. “Scot’s whisky is not for the faint at heart.”
The butler poured everyone a glass, including the ladies, though their portions were much smaller. Mairi waved for a full measure, as did Sadie, but Iseabail declined with a laugh.
“I’m Scottish through and through,” she said. “I don’t need to prove it with a drink.”
After a toast to everyone’s health, they all drank. It was a good burn down his throat, and the warmth in his belly grew as he watched the men appreciate the drink. Enough, it seemed, that he would have sales for Liam by morning.
What surprised him, though, was the way Mairi downed her glass. He’d seen her drink over the years, but she never overindulged. She was prone to a ladylike sip or two before disappearing to handle her other duties. As the MacCleal chatelaine, she always had some task or another. And probably more significant, it always fell to her to deal with the drunks.
But tonight, she downed her drink like the burliest Scot and even called for a second while her cheeks turned bright red and her eyes grew wild. He didn’t think the others noticed, but he had known Mairi for a very long time and he could see an edge of desperation in her that he didn’t like.
If only she would talk to him, but she was a woman with more pride than sense. At least when it came to him, and so he stayed away. But he was getting tired of looking away from her when she was the only one in the room who interested him. Sheep husbandry and gardening were valuable skills, ones that might help him once wed. But he looked for more in a wife, and these ladies acted like greedy innkeepers around him. They were desperate to please as they offered themselves for his perusal.
He found the whole thing distasteful and had no stomach for further conversation. Which meant he settled in the corner with a couple of the more genial gentlemen and together, they finished off the bottle. Fortunately for his limited supply of whisky, the party began to break up before he was tempted to open another bottle. And his drinking companions gave him coin for a case of whisky each, which would make Liam happy.
As each person said their good-byes, Connall remained gracious with the ladies and friendly with the gentlemen. Until finally—blessedly—the evening was done. At least for him and the countess. She bid everyone goodnight and disappeared upstairs. Sadie and Iseabail left as well, whispering to each other as they went. He made to seek his own bed until he realized that Mairi had not disappeared to her room. No, she’d gone to the kitchen, no doubt to help the staff with clean up. Or at least supervise.
That woman didn’t know how to rest. Good thing he knew how to wait.
He heard her giving orders to Parry. She kept a kind tone as she questioned him, and then praised him and the other servants for a job well done. She ordered them to leave the rest for morning and seek their beds. He remained in the dark, nursing the last of the whisky, knowing she would come here soon enough. He heard the noise as the last servants went to bed, and then the soft whisper of her sigh as she climbed the stairs into the main hall.
He caught her then, stepping out of the shadows to blow out her candle. Then before he got a fist in the gut for his troubles, he spoke in a low voice.