Read Online Bridegroom Wore Plaid by Grace Burrowes - Free Book Online Page B

hush or busy itself slurping at the cooling tea. “Some of them subsequently offered for Genie. I expect they’ll make a try for Hester too.”
    A small silence ensued between them, punctuated by a particularly loud laugh from Julia, who was sitting between the Misters MacGregor down the table.
    “I will not offer for Hester should I fail with Genie.” His expression was rueful. “I hope.”
    “Persistence, my lord. You’re making progress with Genie, and it’s early days yet.”
    She was so bold as to reach over and pat his arm in company. The idea that this handsome, charming man was admitting of some trepidation was oddly gratifying. Maybe there were worse things than sharing a glorified farmhouse with a cat and an elderly cousin in Oxfordshire.
    ***
    Miss Augusta—not Gus, Gussie, or Auggie—patted Ian’s arm and topped up his tea, little gestures that ought to have irritated him, but they were instead soothing. His siblings had never been the sort to cosset each other, and any tendency they’d had in that direction had fallen away completely when it became obvious Asher wasn’t coming back.
    “Is it really so bad?” Miss Augusta asked him. She kept her voice down and her expression bland as she reached for her utensils. This was probably a spinster’s trick, the ability to lurk beneath notice in her conversations and her mannerisms. Nobody’s gaze would pause at the tableau they presented—a host and his guest exchanging civilities over breakfast, nothing more.
    “You mean our finances?”
    “Your situation.” She took a dainty bite of her eggs, casual as you please, while she invited Ian to lay bare his shortcomings as earl.
    Or to share his burdens.
    He decided her intentions more closely fit the latter.
    “It’s… delicate. Matters are improving, but an estate requires long-term maintenance. We could probably manage well enough over the next few years because my grandfather was a shrewd and practical man, but when the roof needs attention, or if a crop fails again, or Mary Fran or her daughter Fiona require a dowry…”
    The myriad threatening disasters started to list themselves in Ian’s mind: The stables consisted of enormous plough horses, green stock being prepared for sale and near-pensioners, including Ian’s own mount. There was no dowry gathering interest for either Fiona or Mary Fran. The roof was going to need attention in the next five years, or after the very next hard winter—and when wasn’t a Highland winter hard?
    The carpets were all getting worn, and in the family wing there were precious few carpets left. Cook wanted a more modern stove, and the deadfall in the wood was getting thin from providing wood fires for their guests for much of the summer.
    Miss Augusta put down her fork, her earnest expression interrupting Ian’s mental litany of unmet responsibilities.
    “You are a good earl. I recall my own grandfather cautioning my mother to look to the next generation, not the next season. You’re a good brother too. Your siblings are lucky to have you.”
    She didn’t pat his arm again, but she might as well have, so nicely did her words settle in Ian’s ear. “Despite the pressing burdens, one must soldier on,” she said quietly. “Your tea is getting cold, my lord.”
    Ian. He wanted this quiet mouse with the gentian eyes and innocent kisses to call him Ian. He took a sip of tea rather than admit this to her and did not speculate about what such a wayward impulse might portend.
    ***
    The young people were at last away, gamboling like puppies across the park. Watching from his sitting-room balcony, the baron wished them a long and happy ramble. Bleating, laughing sheep, the lot of them. The Scotsmen were big, strapping rams posturing and pawing before the ewes, and the women were brainless twits, just hoping to catch the notice of the fellow of their choice.
    But how obliging of them all, to leave him the run of the house so early in his visit. And what great good