Madcap Miss

He patted her shoulder. “Buck up, ol’ girl. We’ll think of something. Bound to, you know.”

“You don’t understand. There isn’t any time at all. Somehow this letter must have been delayed in the mail. It was written over two months ago. I am only surprised that he hasn’t arrived before his letter. Perhaps he fell ill—he is old.”

“Two months? Blister it! Well then, the old fidget has f

orgotten all about fetching you to Swindon. Maybe even thought better of it. Swindon of all places …” Scott frowned.

She eyed him with sudden hope dawning. “Do you think so? He is rather ancient, and maybe you are right and he did forget? That would be wonderful.”

“There, you see, nothing to worry about,” Scott said.

“Unless he was delayed by some business or other?”

“Adore you, monkey-girl. You know that, but, well, while we are the best of good friends, I’m not sure we could make a match of it … however, as I have always said, I will stand by you, and to keep you safely out of Swindon, well, would you do me the honor of becoming my wife?”

Felicia’s eyes watered, and she flung herself at him and hugged him close as he patted her back. She pulled away and answered, “You big, silly love.”

He gulped nervously. “Does this mean you accept?”

She laughed and pulled away. “You needn’t look so terrified. No, sap-head, no, I shall spare you and decline your very obliging offer.”

He sighed with undisguised relief but said, because he was ever a gentleman, “It answers, you know. We get along, and so few married couples do. Besides that … I should never have to lose you when you get married if you were to be married to me.”

She laughed. “No chance of losing me married or not. There is more a chance that I will lose you when you get married.”

He scoffed, “Never!” He sighed and tried again. “It does answer.”

“No, it does not. We are friends, not lovers,” she returned on a sigh.

“We could be both,” he said and colored up.

She hugged him fiercely. “Some girl will be so lucky one day to have you as a husband, but not I.”

He pulled a face, obviously taking exception to this. “Why not you?”

“Because, I have already told you, we are friends—no, more like brother and sister,” she said and eyed him meaningfully.

He released a long, heavy sigh. “Aye, true, though a man could do worse than to have you as his bride, and besides that, we would go on very well together.”

She laughed and offered, “I fancy you would need more than friendship, dear Scott.”

He colored up again and fumbled with his words, finally asking, “What’s to do then?”

She linked her arm through his and started walking toward the woodland path that would take them to the stables. “I don’t know yet, Scotty-lad, I just don’t know, but I do know this: I won’t be taken against my will to Swindon.”

“Egad, no,” her friend agreed.

~ Two ~

GLEN ASHTON, PRESENT Duke of Somerset, took his fence flying, landed in the open field that would take him back to his late uncle’s—now his—stables, and brought his large black gelding to a gentle stop.

Lady Daphne Waverly, the duke’s sister, stood at the large panoramic window and watched her brother. He sat his horse well—a natural born to the saddle, she thought.

He was the very broth of a man at nine and twenty. He was tall, athletic in build, handsome of face, and everything any woman could want. She sighed over the facts because she wished she could see him suitably matched and happy, if only he would cooperate.

She watched him pat his horse’s neck, his silver-laced black hair blowing around his uncovered head, and sighed again as she wondered how many hearts he had disappointed when he would not come up to scratch and offer for the hands he had kissed.

She knew he had never wanted to be the duke. His cousins had been in line before him, but they had both been killed at Waterloo … and now their uncle had passed on and the dukedom had come to Glen.