The Lady Most Willing

“Let us say that some brain fever takes you and you are persuaded by whim or madness that you are in love with someone of my ilk.”

“Let us say that,” she repeated, in an odd voice.

“How would your father react?” He went very, very still, awaiting her answer as though his life depended on it, even though he already knew what it must be.

Her mouth curved in a partial smile, and she drew in her breath on a tiny sob and gave a small, shaky laugh.

“But the point is entirely moot,” she said, eyes sparkling with . . . merriment? “I would never ask my father—”

“There you are!”

Robin’s hands dropped and he fell back a step, feeling as though he’d taken a blow from a battering ram squarely in his chest. Fool. Fool!

“I have been looking everywhere for you!”

With neither interest nor urgency, he looked around. Marilla Chisholm sailed into the library. He greeted her interruption with a vague sort of relief. At least she’d spared him the remainder of that sentence: I would never ask my father to accept a man like you.

“I swear for so small a castle, people do a marvelous job of getting lost in it,” Marilla prattled on. “But no matter, I found you. We are going to play a new game and we need you to— Good heavens!” She stopped dead, her eyes growing round. “Is that Lady Cecily behind you? Whatever— Oh!” Her hand flew to cover her mouth. “Whatever are you wearing, Lady Cecily?”

Cecily glared at Marilla.

“Now you know who would tattle about your apparel,” he said softly before turning to Marilla. “Lady Cecily is preparing to enact a scene from Romeo and Juliet for tonight’s entertainment. She is to play Mercutio.”

“Oh,” Marilla said, doubtfully.

“Wasn’t it clever of her to dress as a young gentleman to bring veracity to the role?” he asked, the hollow in his chest growing with each passing second.

“I suppose,” Marilla said grudgingly. “But we are not doing theatrics. I have another game and you must play,” she said. “I refuse to leave unless you come with me.” She glanced at Cecily. “You can come along, too.”

“Thank you,” Cecily replied, but her gaze never strayed from Robin’s face and her brow furrowed as she regarded him.

Was his pain so evident? Poor dear girl. She had probably thought they would laugh together at the idea of him proposing to her and now he’d revealed himself, and being a tenderhearted young lady, she would be distressed that she had unwittingly caused him pain.

If he stayed here in the library with her, if he even refused to join the party, he had no doubt she would hunt him down and tender an apology, or worse, console him.

“We must hurry along. The others are waiting and you have no idea how long it took me to find them all and gather them into one place,” Marilla said. “All these couples billing and cooing as if they are the only people in the world, and no one else matters or needs to be entertained.” She sniffed.

“I suppose you haven’t heard that Lord Oakley has offered for my half sister? Apparently, he must have some sort of fascination for women who wear spectacles. Rather peculiar, if you ask me, but I suppose there’s no accounting for a gentleman’s quirks.” She shook her head, and without another word, hooked her arm through Robin’s and began tugging him toward the door.

And he went.

Chapter 26

“The game is called forfeit,” Marilla a

Cecily, seated in a big upholstered chair near the fire, was in no mood to play more of Marilla’s games, but no one else seemed to share her reluctance. In fact, they all looked rather loathsomely happy and lighthearted.

Oakley was seated on a settee with his arm stretched along the back, Fiona tucked in close. Every now and again he would brush her cheek with the side of his thumb as though he could not get enough of touching her. At the other end of the settee, Catriona Burns occupied a similar position next to Bretton, and though Bretton managed to keep his hands off her, the look he bent on her was as telling and ardent as a touch.

Even Taran was in fine form. For once, he’d traded his ragged old kilt for a surprisingly clean one, below which his legs were properly hosed and gartered. On top, he wore a velvet jacket that, though a few decades out of mode, was at least well cut, and with an improbably snowy lace jabot at his throat, he looked nearly elegant.

Only one person in the room looked as dour as she felt. Robin stood beside the hearth, an arm resting on the high mantel as he stared into the fire. He hadn’t even looked up when she’d entered the room, arriving late as she’d decided to heed his advice and change out of her boy’s clothing. She’d done what she could for the blue ball gown but out of necessity had wrapped the velvet “shawl” around her shoulders again.

“And how do you play this game, lassie? Is there kissing involved?” Taran asked hopefully.

“It’s not required,” Marilla tittered, fluttering sidelong glances at Robin. “But I shouldn’t be surprised if some merry souls didn’t take advantage of a certain element of the game to steal a kiss.”

At least, Cecily noted, Robin paid Marilla as little attention as he did to her.

“I like this game,” Oakley declared. “How do you play?”

“One gentleman is chosen to leave the room. Everyone left selects something from their person and puts it on that table. When the gentleman reenters the room, he holds an auction for the various items that the rest of us bid on. The only rule is that you ca

“Where does the kissing come in?” Taran demanded.

Marilla pretended a pretty fluster. “Well, I suppose if a person wished to claim something urgently enough, that person might be inspired to offer a kiss to procure it.”

“It sounds disastrously dull,” Robin declared flatly.

“Rob,” Oakley said, sounding surprised.

“It does. Childish antics. We make eight. Let us play two tables of whist instead.”

“I don’t play whist,” Marilla said, mincing to Robin’s side and pouting prettily. “I so very, very much want to play. And I would be very, very disappointed if you did not join the fun . . . Robin.”

“Good Lord, what’s come over you, Rob?” Taran sputtered. “I have never known you to act so high on the instep. It’s a simple game and the ladies are bored.”

“I’m not bored,” Fiona Chisholm said.

“I am,” Marilla countered, glaring at her half sister.

“Fine,” Robin said. “I’ll play.”

Marilla clapped her hands. “Oh good! We’ll draw short straws to see who is the auctioneer.”

She made quick work of shredding splinters from a piece of kindling and offering each gentleman in turn a chance to pull one from her fist. Robin drew the short splinter. Without a word, he stalked from the room, leaving the others to select what they wanted auctioned.

Oakley drew a small book from his waistcoat pocket and placed it on the table. Fiona made a sound of surprise, and though Oakley remained as sober as ever, he caught her hand in his and kissed it. When he released her hand, she removed her spectacles and set them atop the book.

“I don’t have anything,” Catriona Burns said, pinking up a little. With a rush of sympathy, Cecily realized she wore no embellishments other than a piece of satin she’d tied around her neck, the end of which disappeared beneath her modest neckline.

“Of course you do,” Marilla said, sounding a bit irritated. “What’s that around your neck?”