The Scottish Bride (Sherbrooke Brides 6)

Mary Rose saw the young man again on their fourth day. She had seen him before, quite a lot, really. She was sitting beneath an umbrella on the beach, watching Leo, Max, and Meggie playing in the sand.

Tysen had gone off to buy some tea cakes for them all when the young man cast a long shadow beside her. “ Excuse me, ma’am, for intruding on your solitude, but I heard from some friends of mine that you are from Scotland. My name is Bernard Sanderford.”

She remembered that Tysen had spoken to him, that she had seen him about a good half-dozen times now, and so she smiled and said easily, “Why, yes, I am Mary Rose Sherbrooke, sir.”

“Ah, yes, the lovely Mrs. Sherbrooke. Your husband is a vastly fortunate gentleman. One has but to look at you to know that.”

Mary Rose tho

ught immediately of Erickson MacPhail. She’d rather hoped that Erickson was one of a kind. Evidently not. She didn’t say anything, just watched Mr. Sanderford. He was as handsome as Erickson. Perhaps that was the key to a rotten character. She wasn’t the least bit afraid of him, not since she’d had a goodly bit of experience with Erickson.

Even when he came down on his haunches beside her, Mary Rose only looked at him, her face still. He was a bit too close, but she knew she could blight him easily if the need arose. It was odd that there was no one else on the beach, just the children, playing near the breaking waves.

He said, his eyes so intimate that she wanted to throw sand in his face, “Actually, your husband is very well occupied at this moment, ma’am. Does he perhaps bore you and thus you sent him away on an errand? I know you saw me, and so you sent him away. Ah, I have been watching you, and I saw how you looked at me. Perhaps you and I could get to know each other. Perhaps we could meet later?”

“Are you related by any chance to Erickson MacPhail, sir?”

“No, that is a foreign name, ma’am. Surely I would not be related to a foreigner. Now, perhaps—”

“Mama!”

It was Meggie, covered with wet sand, her hair in tangles around her face, and on her heels were Max and Leo, looking windblown, sunburned, and quite alarmed. Meggie planted herself in front of Mr. Sanderford, hands on her hips, and demanded, “Sir, who are you?”

“Meggie, love, this is Mr. Sanderford. He was just paying a bit of a visit.”

Max said, “Our mother doesn’t entertain gentlemen when our father isn’t available.”

“Surely,” Mr. Sanderford said, appalled, “you are not the mother to these children? You are far too young.”

“Mama is nearly thirty-five years old, sir,” Leo said. “She just looks young. She says that we keep her looking young. She’s very happy with Papa and with us. She tells us that all the time, don’t you, Mama?”

“At least twelve times a day,” Mary Rose said.

“I see,” Mr. Sanderford said slowly and rose. Even though he was young, his knees creaked a bit. He dusted off his knit britches, looked at each of the children, and said, “I never loved my mother as you do yours. You are fortunate to have her.”

“Yes, sir, we know,” Leo said, and waited there until Mr. Sanderford had left them. When he was sure the poacher was gone, he sped away to turn a series of cartwheels right down to the water’s edge.

Mary Rose laughed.

“He reminds me of Erickson MacPhail,” Meggie said thoughtfully as she watched him walk back up the beach to the path.

“Odd you should say that,” Mary Rose said. “You three were right here. How ever did you know that he wasn’t being a gentleman?”

“Pompous Max might be a blind looby,” Meggie said, eyeing her brother, “but he knows when a flash cove has the light of wickedness in his eyes.”

Mary Rose could have handled Mr. Sanderford, but she was pleased to her bones that the children had been so possessive of her. “Thank you all,” she said.

Then Tysen was back, his hands filled with cakes and tarts, apples and oranges. “Who was that man speaking to you?”

“Father,” Max said, “that was no gentleman. He was trying to flirt with Mary Rose.”

Tysen blinked at that. Slowly, he lowered himself to the blanket. “What happened?” he said to Mary Rose.

“He is very much like Erickson MacPhail,” she said matter-of-factly, “and I could have dealt with him, but Max, Leo, and Meggie came running to protect my virtue.”

Tysen wanted to bash the man’s face in. He was on his feet in an instant, his face red with outrage, but Mr. Sanderford was nowhere to be seen. Then he cursed under his breath. Meggie heard him and stared, her mouth dropping open.

“I’m sorry,” Tysen said. “I should not have said that.”