Alasdair crumbled a copy of theTimesannouncing his engagement, tossed it into the fire in Mount Stuart’s library, and stared forlornly at his empty whisky glass. It was only ten o’clock in the morning and he’d already had two drams. He reached for the bottle on the desk, only to have Mount Stuart slide it out of the way.
“Getting foxed is not going to help.”
He scowled. “’Tis nae going to hurt, either.”
Mount Stuart considered him for a moment, then pushed the bottle back toward him. “Maybe you do deserve a few hours of oblivion.”
Alasdair paused, his hand halfway to the bottle. “What does that mean?”
“It means that by this afternoon or perhaps tomorrow morning, if Oakley is feeling charitable, you will have to deal with the legalities of your betrothal.”
“I do not want to marry his daughter.”
“I think that is rather beside the point.”
“I dinna take advantage of the lass. I dinna even ken she was following me.” Christ. He’d been so intent on interrupting anything scandalous between Lorelei and Westbrook, he hadn’t even thought to look behind him.Eejit.
“Perception is what matters,” Mount Stuart answered. “At least, in London Society.”
He was aware of that, having been part of the machinations of the past few weeks. Bloody hell. He should never have encouraged Melissa. And he wouldn’t have, if he’d not overheard that damned conversation between his sister and Lorelei. They’d wanted him distracted so they could enjoy their Season without him hovering. He’d thought he was playing the gallant knight by deciding not to declare his intentions until Lorelei had gotten these Society games out of her system. Now he realized his pride had been stung because Lorelei wanted to flirt with other men and he’d retaliated by flirting, too. In hindsight, he should never have trifled with Lady Melissa.
“The Court of Public Opinion ye mean,” he said. “A man should have the right to explain.”
“It would make you look even guiltier. The gossips love nothing more than a story they can enlarge. Do not give them that fodder. Besides”—Mount Stuart pulled the bottle back and poured himself a drink—“if you beg off on this marriage, Oakley will make sure you lose every vote in Parliament regarding your land dispute.”
He stared at him. “The duke is that powerful?”
Mount Stuart shrugged. “On other issues, maybe not, but these are mostly English lords who will gather behind their own on a matter of principle.”
Just like his clansmen would. And he’d known that Scots were still not well received by the English. Argyll might be, since the Campbells had fought on the side of the English at Culloden, but Mount Stuart’s father, who had been prime minister, was still perceived by some as more Scot than not. It was one of the reasons the Earl of Bute preferred to remain away from London. Not that it mattered now.
“What about the House of Commons? Ye are influential there.”
“Unfortunately, the Duke of Argyll has requested that the decision be made in the Lords.” Mount Stuart paused, then added, “I doubt that even King George, should my father be able to persuade him, could sway the vote, because there is another factor in play here.”
“Which is?”
He took a deep breath. “Most of the lords have daughters. Should you refuse to marry Lady Melissa it would be considered a gross insult to their daughters as well. It is how aristocrats react. You would be shunned as being a cad, lout, and blackguard… Some of the polite terms they’d use. Your sister would be given the cut direct, in no uncertain terms, as well.”
Alasdair put his elbows on the desk and buried his face in his hands to rub his temples. What was he going to do? Mount Stuart was, in effect, telling him he would have to do the honorable thing and go through with this. A hysterical bubble rose in his throat that he choked back. The irony of wanting to play the gallant knight with Lorelei, and being forced to play the part with Melissa now, was not lost on him. He raised his head.
“What if Melissa would decide to cry off? That is acceptable. She did it with Westwood.”
Mount Stuart gave him a sympathetic look. “If she had not wanted to marry you, her father would not have posted the announcement.”
“Boireannach dianhal,” he muttered.
“She may be a devil woman,” Mount Stuart replied. “There is no denying her father dotes on her when the man acts like a general with everyone else.”
He’d forgotten Mount Stuart understood Gaelic, but it did give him a thought. “Mayhap if I show her how barbaric a Scot can be, she’ll change her mind.”
One of Mount Stuart’s eyebrows rose. “Should you succeed in that, do you think it will convince her father to favor you? He will more likely be furious that you caused his daughter distress.”
He was right, damn it. Alasdair suspected the reason Melissa had screamed when she saw Westwood with Lorelei had nothing to do with them and everything to do with the location they were in. Dark. Secluded. Her scream had drawn attention just as she’d wanted. A crowd to witness that she was in his arms. Hell, she might even have asked someone to make sure her father followed her.
Alasdair had seen how easily she wove her father around her pinky finger. He’d also been around her long enough to know that if something were denied her, she’d want it only more. He’d be shooting himself in the foot going that route. “Hell. What am I going to do?”
Mount Stuart studied him a moment. “A lot of marriages among thetonare for convenience. It does not necessarily mean—”
