Across the house, there was a shouting match going on.
“You will marry him. If I say you will marry him, then you will. If I say you have to dance an Irish jig, then you will do it now. Do you understand?” It was Lord Campbell, the commanding and furious tone unmistakable. “Your ways have got this whole family into this mess. I will get you out of it, but only if you do as I say.”
Allan looked at the butler who blushed the color of a poppy in embarrassment.
“I am so sorry,” he whispered. “Perhaps it would be best to come back at another time?”
“No need. I believe I may be able to put an end to the shouting match. Please, do not trouble yourself to announce me. I think I can find them all on my own.”
The butler looked rather relieved not to have to go into that room again. He bowed his thanks to Allan and then hurried off toward a servants’ stairwell.
Allan looked down the corridor as the shouting continued.
Lord Campbell had to be yelling at his daughter, but someone was crying too. The somewhat deeper tone told him it was not Frederica crying. It had to be her mother.
Allan reached for the door handle, his fingers hovering over it as he listened to what was being said inside.
“You will do it,” Lord Campbell said again.
“I will not.” Frederica was standing her ground. “If you put me in a church with that man, I will refuse to take the vows. I will. I ran away from him last year. Does that not tell you everything you need to know?”
The woman crying yelped, as if she had been physically hurt by these words.
“You have no honor, no sense of dignity, and no sense of family responsibility.”
“And you have no sense of family love, dear Father.”
“When did you become so insolent!?”
Allan couldn’t listen to this anymore. He turned the handle and opened the door wide, stepping inside.
All eyes turned toward him in alarm. Lord Campbell looked so shocked indeed that he was in danger of falling over. His hands were loose at his sides, his jaw slackened. Lady Campbell had looked up from the handkerchief she was crying into, and Frederica, who hadn’t yet changed out of the pink gown she had worn the night before, paled to the color of a newborn lamb.
“Good morning,” Allan said in a level tone.
No one answered him. They were plainly in too much shock.
“Ahem.” When Allan cleared his throat, it created a sudden movement from the Earl of Campbell.
“Lord Padleigh. You do us the greatest honor in coming to see us.” He scurried toward Allan, like an ingratiating rat, as he bowed so low that his hooked nose was in danger of brushing the floor.
Far behind him, Frederica actually turned her eyes up to the ceiling, clearly pleading the heavens for patience.
There was a lot that was reassuring in seeing that Frederica was sensible of how ridiculous her father’s ambitious ways were.
“I hope you forgive my words last night,” the Earl said as he stood up straight.
“You mean when you accused me of keeping your daughter as a lover?” Allan countered. Lord Campbell now turned the color purple, struggling to attempt a simpering smile that looked much more like a painful grimace.
“It was my anger and panic speaking. I do apologize sincerely for my words.” He bowed deeply again, even lower this time, so that Allan wondered if his back would click, and he’d be stuck in that strange position forever.
“We are greatly honored by your presence,” Lady Campbell found her own voice. All signs of her tears were now gone. She sniffed heartily and shoved her handkerchief up the long sleeve of her gown then curtsied deeply too.
Allan looked away, finding Frederica’s eyes.
She seemed greatly shocked indeed to find him there — even confused — her brow furrowed deeply. She had barely moved a muscle since he entered the room.
He carefully walked around her father, who hadn’t yet fully stood from the bent position he was in. As he neared her, he took in as much of her as he possibly could.
