“I never believed those ridiculous rumors,” Lady Finchley continued. “No doubt, this callow person will soon be leaving London, hopefully never to be heard from again. Don’t you heartily agree, Miss MacCorkindale?”
“I do not. She was taken. Abducted and ruined! I don’t know how she got back here, but I’ll get to the bottom of it.”
“I don’t think so,” a stern voice said from behind Caledonia.
Lily had been too distraught to notice Ewan’s appearance, but there he was, as magnificent as ever, freshly shaven and impeccably attired in black tie and tails. The perfect, proper English gentleman, except for that gleam in his eyes and the Scottish swagger in his stance. He was better than an English gentleman. He was Ewan. “Good evening, Miss Farthingale. I look forward to your harp recital. I hear your talent is quite... er, unusual.” Lily melted at his smile.
Their brief but intimate exchange only served to rile Callie. “You’re trying to protect her. It won’t work. I’ll make sure everyone learns the truth.”
“Enough, Callie,” he said, the ice in his tone obvious to all. “I can assure you, if there ever was a scheme afoot to ruin Lily’s reputation, and you were involved in any way, the consequences will be severe.”
Lady Finchley thought it important to express her opinion as well. “The Farthingales have close connections to the Prince Regent. I’m sure he’d personally mete out the punishment.”
“Can’t you see he’s lying? They’re all lying!”
Caledonia’s uncle joined them. “Enough, Callie. You’re only getting yourself into deeper trouble. As Laird Carnach said, anyone involved in such a scheme will have their heads hung on Traitor’s Gate for the ravens to scavenge. I wouldn’t like to see yours up there, and it will most certainly end up there if you persist.”
Caledonia blanched.
He cast Lily a tender glance. “Glad to see the rumors are completely unfounded, lass.” Then he led his niece away.
Lily let out the breath she’d been holding.
“Horrid creature,” Lady Finchley whispered once the pair were out of earshot.
“Indeed,” Ewan muttered. “I wonder that we were ever friends. Archie’s a good chap, though.”
“The best,” Lily said with enthusiasm, for he’d obviously known the truth and kept it to himself.
Ewan arched an eyebrow. “Not better than me, I hope.”
“What do you mean?” Lily was uncertain what he wished to hear from her. At the inn, she had told him that she loved him, and he’d said nothing in return. She wasn’t going to say it again in front of others. No, she’d had enough public humiliation for one evening. She wanted to run to Lady Finchley’s library and hide out there all evening. Those musty books were looking better and better. Lady Finchley had hundreds in her library.
Dillie squealed. “He’s trying to tell you that he loves you.”
“But he doesn’t.” She let out a pained laugh. “Ewan, stop this now. Tell my sister that you don’t love me.”
All eyes turned to him. Lady Finchley’s were as wide as eyes could possibly be without popping out of one’s head.
One. Two. Three. Four. Ewan said nothing, just grinned.
Lady Finchley gasped and took off at a sprint, neither her advanced age nor impractical evening slippers holding her back.
“No! He’s jesting. Please don’t—” But it was too late. Their hostess was busy spreading this latest embarrassing rumor through the crowd. “You see, this is why I hate these functions.” She frowned at Ewan. “Why didn’t you deny it?”
“Because it’s time I stopped acting like a Scottish baboon. Lass, I’d like a private word with you after the recital. Afterward, if you’ve found it in your heart to forgive me for what I did to you at the inn—or rather, what I failed to say to you at the inn—I’d like a word with your parents.” He kissed her softly on the cheek, and then turned and walked away to take a seat beside his grandfather in the front row.
“Holy crumpets,” Dillie muttered, “what happened at the inn?”
Something magical. They had never held back secrets from each other, but she couldn’t reveal this one yet, not even to Dillie. “Never mind. The guests are taking their seats. Let’s just muddle through this evening.”
CHAPTER 19
EWAN SAT BESIDE his grandfather and Meggie, eager for the recital to begin. Not that he wished to hear the insipid pieces that passed for music in refined society. He didn’t. Nor was he eager to hear Lily’s harp playing since everyone had warned him she was execrable. William Farthingale sat on the other side of Meggie, leaning too close to her for Ewan’s liking, but he said nothing. Who was he to admonish the Farthingale lad for sitting too close to Meggie?