The Highland Countess (The Changing Fortunes Series Book 6) by M. C. Beaton

Author:M. C. Beaton [Beaton, M. C.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: RosettaBooks
Published: 2014-01-15T04:00:00+00:00

Chapter Eight

Lord Toby Freemantle walked slowly in the direction of Albemarle Street to pay his respects and offer his apologies to the Countess of Murr. He began to wonder if she would even see him.

Forget about the rights and wrongs of the matter, it was old history and he had had no right to insult her. And if he did not find what she had meant by “breaking hearts” he would be unable to rest. Once he had received her explanation, he convinced himself, the ghost would be laid and he would be free to resume his placid if somewhat boring existence.

Although it was early afternoon, the day held a harsh bright glitter and a rising wind whipped pieces of paper round in miniature whirlwinds in the cobbled streets.

He paused for a moment to watch the splendid sight of the Sun Insurance Fire Brigade tearing into action, brass bells clanging, great horses straining, and the firemen in their leather helmets, striped stockings and blue coats clinging to the engine’s side. The freshening wind whipped this way and that, tugging at his hat and playing in the snowy folds of his cravat.

A huge butler with the pale gray narrow eyes of the Highlander answered the door to him and accepted his card with a clumsy bow. He was shown into a small saloon on the ground floor which was tastefully decorated in shades of green and gold.

After some minutes, he became aware that he was not alone. A beautiful child was lolling in a chair in the corner of the room. Rory and Lord Toby surveyed each other in silence. Rory was feeling queasy after his debauch of the night before.

“Are you come to see mama?” he asked.

“Yes,” said Toby, feeling a strange pang and wondering what on earth was the matter with him. Morag had been married after all. It was only natural she would have a child. He now realized that despite all the old earl’s winks and hints, he had in his heart of hearts believed Morag to be virginal. He must have been mad.

“Are you Lord Toby Freemantle?” queried Rory, swinging his feet listlessly over the edge of the chair.

Lord Toby stared at the child in surprise. “Yes, I am. How did you guess?”

“Green-eyed sneering dandy,” said Rory vaguely. “You’ve got such green eyes I thought she must have meant you.”

“Has anyone ever told you you are an insolent young pup?”

“Frequently,” replied Rory with great indifference. Lord Toby studied the child narrowly. Rory felt too ill to put on his usual angelic expression. He was too tired to think of any blackmailing tricks and so Toby was one of the few people to see Rory for what he was—his better side anyway—a frighteningly high intelligence starved for an outlet.

“I supposed you are cramming for Eton,” said Lord Toby.

“No,” sighed Rory. “I am too young and charming to be sent away among a lot of rough boys.”

“You should not mock your mother.”

“I! Never!” cried Rory hotly. “But I would like to learn, oh, so many things.

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