Scandal At The Christmas Ball. Marguerite Kaye
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your head, that’s what made me think you a military man, but it is not only that. It is in your eyes, now that I see you up close. You are a man accustomed to being obeyed. I confess, I am very much surprised that you are not Captain Milborne.’
It should not be surprising that his career had marked him indelibly, but it had never occurred to him that it should be so. ‘Drummond MacIntosh,’ he said, making a stiff bow. ‘You are half-right, Miss Forsythe. I was an army major, but am no longer a soldier.’
‘Ah.’ Joanna Forsythe gave him a sympathetic look. ‘Since Waterloo delivered peace to Europe, there are many men in a similar position. That is, I presume...’
‘Aye,’ he interrupted curtly, ‘I left military service shortly after the battle.’ It was not a lie, but the manner of his leaving was none of her business.
‘We owe you and your comrades a huge debt of gratitude, Mr MacIntosh, but I can see the subject makes you uncomfortable. Tell me, what is a man who is brave enough to fight in battle doing lurking in here, to use your own phrase?’
‘Like you, I came in search of solitude. Though unlike you, I’ve already had a surfeit of the company, while you have yet to sample it.’
She smiled crookedly. ‘I am not weak-willed, not usually, but when I peered into the drawing room and saw everyone taking tea and looking so relaxed and at home...’ Miss Forsythe straightened her shoulders, adjusted her paisley scarf, and forced another smile. ‘But there, I know I must step into the breach at some point. A military term you will be familiar with, Mr MacIntosh. I will leave you to your solitude, while I head into battle.’
Which was exactly what she looked like she was about to do, Drummond thought, adding brave to her list of attributes. He extended his arm. ‘Allow me to escort you. We will face the enemy together. A pincer move, if you will. Shall we?’
* * *
Could her fellow guests really be regarded as the enemy? Joanna Forsythe wondered as she sipped on her tea and made polite conversation. How would they react if they discovered they were mingling with a social pariah? She didn’t recognise a single one of them, which was a considerable relief, since it made it highly unlikely that any were privy to her shameful reputation. Save her host and hostess.
Glancing over at the Duchess, Joanna felt that mix of excitement and nerves which made her feel sick and giddy at the same time.
The Duchess had written a letter in her elegant script, accompanying the invitation to Brockmore Manor.
Now that she is aware of the painful truth, Lady Christina wishes to make amends and has desired me, as one of her oldest and—forgive my lack of modesty—most influential friends, to act as her intermediary.
There will be opportunity to discuss this further during the course of the party, but it is my sincere hope that you will be able to partake in and enjoy the festivities without allowing this most regrettable matter to prey on your mind.
All very well for Her Grace to say, but despite the opulence of her surroundings, the fine food, the luxury of silk sheets and a roaring fire in her bedchamber, and the promise of a fun-filled holiday, Joanna’s thoughts turned again and again to the question of how, precisely, her former employer proposed to make reparation for the damage she had inflicted. Clearly, the all-important discussion with the Duchess was not to be tonight. Then tomorrow was Christmas Day. Boxing Day? There were activities planned from dawn to dusk. How was she to contain herself in waiting?
A burst of laughter from the other side of the room drew her attention. Looking over, she settled her gaze on Drummond MacIntosh who, having handed her into the care of their hosts, had been conversing for the last half-hour with the group of men by the fire, but now he excused himself to make his way over to join her.
He unsettled her, but there was no doubting that he was by far the most attractive man in the room. Not the most handsome, that accolade must go to Aubrey Kenelm, but Mr Kenelm’s golden-haired perfection held no appeal for Joanna. Drummond MacIntosh’s features were more forceful: a strong nose, a most determined jaw, and an even more decided mouth. His skin was deeply tanned, despite the season, the colouring of a man who spent much of his life outdoors, and there were lines fanning out from his eyes. Etched by the elements, or by carousing, or by pain? He was a soldier, so most likely all three. His hair was the kind of glossy black that she would have attributed to artifice, were it not for the streaks of auburn in his curls.
‘Now that you have entered the battlefield, Miss Forsythe, are you feeling more at ease?’
‘The company seems most convivial,’ Joanna replied. ‘I am sure I will feel much more relaxed when we are better acquainted.’
‘You must know our hosts in some capacity, surely, to have been invited?’
‘I’ve never met them. In fact, I know you better than any other person in this room.’
He smiled at that. ‘Then we are in the exact same situation, for I know not a soul here either.’
‘Which begs the question, why are you here? Oh, heavens, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to sound so inquisitive. You will have your reasons, as I have. I’m a teacher,’ she clarified, ‘at a school for girls. A provincial institution, you will not have heard of it. The school is closed for the holidays, but unlike my pupils, I have no family to celebrate with. So you see...’
‘...the Brockmores’ generous offer was most timely. A very good reason, Miss Forsythe, but now I’m intrigued as to why they would do such a thing for a complete stranger.’
She would not lie, but the truth—no, she could not be telling someone she barely knew the whole truth, no matter how oddly tempting it was. ‘I’m afraid you’re going to be very disappointed,’ Joanna said lightly, ‘the reason is very mundane. My former employer is a great friend of Her Grace. It was she who facilitated this invitation, having learned of my currently straitened circumstances.’
Mr MacIntosh frowned at this but said nothing. He had a way with silence, Joanna was discovering, of making her want to fill it. She used it herself, to good effect, on her pupils. Usually they squirmed, then they confessed. Joanna bit her lip. Finally, he surrendered with a gruff little laugh. ‘It would be unfair of me to press you further, especially since my case is remarkably similar.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘My invitation also came via a—a well-wisher who regrets my current circumstances, and wishes to change them for the better. For me, this party is something of an initiation test.’
‘Then our cases are not so similar after all! I assure you, Mr MacIntosh, that I do not require to pass any sort of test. Whatever it is that the Duchess proposes—’ She snapped her mouth closed, staring at him in dismay. ‘If you will excuse me, Mr MacIntosh, I would not wish to monopolise your time.’
But he shook his head, detaining her by the lightest of touches on her arm. ‘I would be delighted if you’d call me Drummond.’
‘Drummond,’ she repeated, ‘a very Scottish name, though your accent is almost imperceptible.’
‘I have been a long time away from the Highlands, Miss Forsythe,’ he replied, his accent softening at the same time as his smile hardened.
‘Joanna.’
‘From the Greek?’
‘Why, yes.’
‘You look surprised, but not all Highlanders are heathens, Miss—Joanna. I was packed off to school in Edinburgh, and had Greek and Latin beaten into me along with any number of other useless subjects.’
‘Education is never useless, Mr—Drummond—though it should never be beaten into anyone.’
‘I did not mean to imply—I am sure that you do not subscribe to the view that to spare the rod is to spoil the child, and are an excellent teacher.’
‘I love my profession. Even in my current situation, I cannot imagine another