Kieran Kramer - If You Give A Girl A Viscount

Mrs. Montgomery scowled and opened her mouth, no doubt to berate him, but Charlie put up a hand.

“What we’ll need,” he said firmly, “are beautiful ladies to impress our guests, ladies who don’t appear fatigued in the least. I suggest you lounge about today, playing cards, reading, eating bonbons. Miss Montgomery can pack your trunks when she returns from her thankless errand to Glen Dewey.”

He leaned forward. Stepmother and daughters bent toward him, almost as if they were under a spell.

“You don’t want to have to mingle with the villagers,” he whispered to the spoiled trio. “Leave that sort of drudgery to the workhorses.”

He cast a discreet glance at Miss Montgomery, then turned back to the rest of the company and winked.

“You’re a man after my own heart, Viscount.” Mrs. Montgomery chortled and pushed her chair back. “I’m off to take a nap. Cassandra and Perdita, eat the remaining chocolates from the basket and be sure to lounge about as much as possible. You mustn’t appear fatigued tomorrow.”

And she left.

Cassandra and Perdita jumped up, anxious to be indolent.

“I get the chair by the front window,” Perdita called, and practically raced her sister out of the room.

Only Charlie and Miss Montgomery were left.

He ignored the odd glimmer in her eyes. “We’ll repair to the Keep tomorrow morning. If all goes as planned, we’ll have guests in place there by tomorrow afternoon.”

She didn’t say a word, only sent him a basilisk stare.

“I had to do it,” he said. “At least they won’t be coming with us now. You’ve got to admit it was genius.”

“Genius? I’ll be up all night packing their trunks. Enduring their tantrums.”

God, yes. She would be, wouldn’t she? “But you’d be doing that anyway,” he dared to say. “Correct?”

She didn’t say a word.

“I’ll make it up to you,” he promised her. “I’ll do anything. Anything you ask.”

“Anything?” Her gaze was speculative.

“Yes. I’m supposed to, anyway. Godmother’s orders.”

“Huh.” She kept observing him.

He couldn’t help it. He put on his best peer-of-the realm expression: intimidating, cold. In control. He always did that when he was in trouble.

But she wasn’t cowed in the least. Instead, the corner of her mouth turned up. “I’m going to hold you to that promise, Lord Lumley,” she finally said.

And swept out of the room.

Glen Dewey should be charming, Charlie thought that afternoon. It had all the ingredients to make it so: a quaint, colorful high street; chapped, smiling faces at every door, each person ready to greet you and invite you to linger; smells that would make a full man hungry again—roasting lamb, baking bread, simmering pudding.

But something was lacking. To be charming, one had to be free of worry. If one looked closer, the houses of Glen Dewey had been repaired umpteen times. The puddings were thin. The smiling faces were strained.

The village was clearly in trouble.

“Nothing’s happened here for the past five years,” Miss Montgomery told him on the way down Ben Fennon’s slope. “I hope we can do something.”

They parted ways, each on their own mission.

Two hours later, Charlie saw Miss Montgomery through the window at the village shop, speaking with all the local ladies. He waved, and she came running out to meet him.

“Success?” Miss Montgomery’s expression was hopeful.

“What do you think?” He grinned.

“Same here!” She clasped her hands together. “It’s going to be wonderful.”

“We’re on target,” he affirmed.

On the way back up the hill to Castle Vandemere, she scampered up the narrow road ahead of him.

“Joe will be so pleased his shinty sticks finally saw some use,” she said over her shoulder. “He’s made so many over the years, and they’ve been sitting in a small closet off the kitchen, going to waste.”

Charlie liked seeing the extra skip in her step. “He told me he’d watch the game from one of the fields below the castle.”

“Oh, that makes me glad for him.” Miss Montgomery threw Charlie a grateful smile. “But what gave you the idea that shinty would bring the men together?”

He gave a little laugh. “No man can resist an opportunity to compete. I knew when Joe showed me the sticks, along with a ball to hit, that nothing would be able to prevent the men from playing. And by the end of it, all their differences seemed puny. They agreed to hold the hunt.” He paused, reflecting on his success. “Not that the gathering was trouble-free at first. They were leery, and a few unfriendly remarks were exchanged that I managed into jokes. But Joe’s whisky was also an irresistible lure and made it easier for the men to get past their awkwardness with each other.”

“You’re quite the diplomat.” Miss Montgomery said it as if she truly admired him.

“Do you really think so?”

“I know so.”

Her confidence in him was flattering. “Tell me more about what happened with you and your ladies.”

She sidestepped a pothole in the road, and Charlie followed her lead. “They almost walked out on me, saying they didn’t have time to waste,” she said. “Their daily work is hard and unforgiving. But then I told them about the ceilidh at the conclusion of the ten days, and they forgot to be wary around each other. They grew excited at the idea of dressing up for it. Everyone loves a good dance. They’re even willing to cook and clean for the visitors—I think a bit of pride in the village began to come out by the end of the visit.”

“You sound like quite a diplomat yourself. Or perhaps it’s your dimples. I know they’ve charmed me.”

She slanted her gaze back at him. “That’s enough of that, my lord.” Her voice was a bit breathless, and he didn’t think it was from the climb.

She resumed her forward stride, her hips angling right and left as she picked her way over the rough road. “The best thing of all,” she said without looking back at him, “is that Mrs. Gordon gave the women everything they’d need to look lovely for the ceilidh .”

“You’re a clever girl.” He meant it, too. “How did you get Mrs. Gordon to donate all the fripperies?”

Miss Montgomery paused in her hiking and turned to look back at him. “I had to give her the only inheritance from Papa that I’ve been able to hide from my stepmother, a beautiful ring with lovely stones that was more a precious memento than anything of great value. Nonetheless, it was enough for Mrs. Gordon. I … I hope Papa would have understood.”

She looked as though she really weren’t quite sure. Traces of guilt lingered around her eyes.

The wind picked up and blew mournfully around them, at odds with the sunny day.

“No doubt he’d have given you his blessing completely,” Charlie reassured her.

He saw her brow soften a little at that, which made him glad. But the truth was, he hated that she’d given away her cherished keepsake. Although he wouldn’t tell her—no need to make her feel the absence of her ring even more.

“Did you pick out a dress for yourself?” he asked her, and wished with all his heart that he could have paid for the gowns.

“No,” she said, her voice light. “I have one with which I can make do very well.”

“You should spoil yourself, too.”

“What I wear that night won’t matter,” she said with a stiff shrug. “I’ll have more important things to think about, such as how the visitors and villagers are enjoying themselves.”

It was no use arguing with her. The woman was stubborn. And perhaps she needed a little more convincing that she deserved to don a beautiful gown.