“You will be noticed as soon as you walk into a room,” Louisa assured her. “Your hair is so light and your skin fair as porcelain.” She smiled at Fiona. “And you, with your inky hair will draw attention, too.”
“You do make a fine contrast to each other,” Lady Bute said.
Lorelei looked from mother to daughter. They were certainly a contrast as well. The Countess of Bute was mostly what she expected…a matron of theton. Louisa was a surprise. She didn’t seem at all taken with fashionable clothes or balls, soirees and routs…Endless engagementsshe had called them.
And Lorelei had detected a bit of independence in her tone, even if she deferred to her mother. She bit her lip to keep from laughing. Independence was a trait both she and Fiona had in spades. Perhaps they’d have an ally.
It was going to be an interesting Season.
…
Alasdair MacGregor reined in his great Friesian and paused to observe the smoky haze that blotted the horizon and obliterated what he knew was the densely packed city of London.
He patted the stallion’s neck. “We better appreciate the fine air we still have, Kelso. In another hour or so, we’ll be breathing soot.”
The horse blew through his nostrils as though he understood the value of clean air and ambled slowly forward rather than briskly trotting like he usually did.
“Aye. I’m in nae hurry, either.”
He’d spent four days riding hard to get here and now that he was close, he slowed down. A wise general took time to survey the battlefield and plan a course of action before engaging in combat. He grimaced. The Scots would have defeated the English at Culloden if that procedure had been followed.
Not that he had any intention of resurrecting another war with England. Ostensibly, he would be in London to help sort through land grants that might be returned to the clan now that their name had been un-proscribed—specifically five hundred hectares that were in Campbell hands. He’d just spent the last five months in Ireland trying to locate MacGregors who might have a claim. Trying to reinstate those properties would probably require a vote of Parliament and would be not an easy task, but his brothers were depending on him to handle it. It was a huge responsibility and he didn’t intend to fail.
Truthfully, though, he had another reason for being in London. His incorrigible sister and Miss Lorelei Caldwell were apt to get themselves into trouble by blithely forging ahead, with no thought to consequences. What had his brothers been thinking to allow the two of them to travel to London by themselves, save for a driver and two coachmen? He’d stuck to the main road and kept an eye out for Lord Bute’s carriage, half expecting his sister and Lorelei to have run afoul of something before they’d even reached the city. That he’d seen no carriage with the earl’s crest parked at any of the coaching inns was encouraging, but the Lord only knew what mischief they could get into in a city the size of London.
But, as long as he was being honest with himself, there was still another reason he wished his damn brothers had kept the females at home. When Lorelei had arrived at Strae Castle with her sisters last summer, he’d been immediately attracted to her, even though she was but eight-and-ten. Her hair was the color of moonlight and her eyes such a light blue they looked almost silvery. She looked otherworldly, as if she’d been touched by the Fae. Or maybe the Fae had touchedhim, because he’d stolen a kiss—against all good sense and judgment—the night they’d returned from Kilchurn Castle, and it had rattled him to his bones. That she hadn’t slapped him silly was somewhat of a miracle or maybe the ill-timing—or well-timed, depending on one’s view—of his sister appearing on the steps had thwarted it. In any case, it was a good thing he’d left for Ireland not long after or he’d have attempted another kiss, probably not with the same luck.
Looks could be deceiving, though. Beneath Lorelei’s proper lady-like appearance lay a reckless streak that made her throw caution to the winds. Feisty. Flighty. Fickle. Not traits that a reasonably intelligent man would seek in a woman. Mayhap Lorelei was some sort of sylph after all, for he found her irresistibly fetching.
Courting her in the Highlands would have been much easier than having to mire through the muck of a London Season with all the sods that would be vying for her attention. But he wasn’t one to turn down a challenge.
He was a MacGregor, after all.
Chapter Two
Lorelei looked around the Pot and Pineapple, a small eatery on Berkeley Square that was being transformed into a tea shop that would serve ices and sorbets. She’d heard rumors before she’d left last summer that a man named Gunter had plans for this place, but at that time it had still offered only French and Italian sweetmeats.
“Mmmm,” she said to Fiona as she sipped her lemon ice. “Can you imagine how good this will taste once the weather turns hot?”
“Does it truly get hot here?” Fiona asked as she tasted her own ice. “The closest we come to that in the Highlands iswarm.”
“The summer has days that are stifling,” Lorelei replied, “but at least we will not be wearing wool.”
“Aye. I think we bought enough clothes this morning to outfit a whole village.”
Lorelei laughed. “We have only begun to acquire what is needed for a Season in London.”
Fiona shook her head. “’Tis hard to imagine all of it. Morning dresses for the house, walking dresses for strolling, different ones for riding in a carriage, and needing separate bonnets—”
“And do not forget the tea gowns and ball gowns,” Lorelei added, “with slippers and shawls to match. We’ve yet to be measured for those.”
“I brought the gown I wore to the Campbell’s feast with me,” Fiona said. “I can wear that.”
Lorelei nodded. “Yes, and I can wear the two I own as well, but Almack’s has several balls during the Season, and Lady Bute said she has acquired subscriptions for all three of us, so we will certainly need to add more gowns.”
“Hmmm.” Fiona looked thoughtful. “I doona think Louisa much cares for the idea.”
“I think you may be right.” The three of them had set off this morning accompanied by three maids and two footmen. After poking about a shop or two on Bond Street, Louisa had taken her maid, Mary, who was married to the accompanying footman Garth, and gone to Wittnow Evs Book Emporium near Charing Cross with instructions that they’d meet back at the Pot and Pineapple by three of the clock. It was nearly that now. “She should be coming back soon.”
