Page 4 of A Rogue in Twilight (The Whisky Rogues #2)

She went forward tentatively beside Lucie.

The man beside Cousin John was tall and healthy, with a classic, well-balanced profile, slightly arched nose, dark brows over long-lidded eyes.

A sweep of thick, wavy brown hair gleamed with gold.

But his jaw had a stern set and his expression was dour despite a striking masculine beauty.

But Elspeth was no romantic ninny. “He is indeed a scowler,” she told Lucie.

“But so handsome, quietly powerful. The frown rather suits him,” Lucie said.

“The room is full of handsome gentlemen, John included. But all of them seem able to smile,” Elspeth replied.

The strange feeling was returning. She felt lightheaded, even breathless, and felt as if a knowing was about to come over her. Either that, or the oppressive air in the room was too much. She flapped her painted paper-and-ivory fan frantically.

Lucie, despite the feathers in her blond hair and a flounced pale pink gown, was not the delicate porcelain doll she appeared to be.

She pulled Elspeth forward through clusters of women so fast that shawls slipped from smooth shoulders, pearls and jewels flashed, and the hooped skirts peculiar to court dress swung gently as they passed.

“Ah, ladies,” John said as they approached. “Lord Struan, may I introduce my sister, Miss Lucie Graham, and our cousin, Miss Elspeth MacArthur of Kilcrennan.”

“Charmed,” Struan said, taking Lucie’s gloved hand first. He turned to Elspeth and she offered her gloved fingers and looked up.

For an instant, she felt as if she faced a warrior angel come to life.

The man standing in a shaft of sunlight was simply compelling, his lean features classically shaped, his chestnut hair liberally threaded with gold.

Under a slash of dark brows, lightly frowning, his eyes were summer blue, cool and reserved—under the scowl.

“Miss MacArthur.” His deep voice, a quiet comfort in the noisy room, contrasted his somber expression. “Kilcrennan? It sounds familiar.”

“Miss MacArthur’s grandfather, Donal MacArthur, owns Kilcrennan Weavers,” John supplied.

“I know the name, though I have not met the man. Excellent cloth. Sir, I would be delighted to include your cousin and your sister in my party while you look after your mother—that is, if the ladies do not mind,” Lord Struan added, inclining his head. “I hope Lady Graham feels better soon.”

“Thank you, Struan,” John said, and took polite leave of them.

“We appreciate it so much, Lord Struan,” Lucie said.

“We are so excited to be here. King George is the first British monarch to visit Scotland since Charles the Second, they say,” she continued in an overly bright manner.

“I wonder how long it will take before we can be admitted to the reception room.”

“Not long, Miss Graham,” Struan answered. “The crowd has gone forward an entire inch in the past hour.”

Elspeth smiled at that. “We have been waiting simply hours,” she said.

“Hours,” Lucie agreed, “first in that awful line of carriages—miles long, it was—and then these dreadful crowds in the palace rooms. It is taking so long, but soon we shall have our introductions and our kiss.”

“Kiss?” Elspeth glanced at Struan, could not help it, and saw the viscount watching her with those cool blue eyes.

“Every lady here receives a kiss of courtesy from the king,” Lucie said.

“Are we expected to swoon when that happens?” Elspeth said without thinking.

“Some might feel moved to do so, but I am sure you two can resist.” Struan looked amused as he offered an arm to each of them.

Elspeth took his left arm, noticing that he carried a cane, as did many fashionable men, in his right hand, now hooked above his elbow.

As they walked, she sensed he favored his left leg.

Unlike many, he required the cane’s assistance.

She frowned, wondering at the cause of it.

Suddenly she knew. As her hand lightly touched his arm, she saw in her mind an image of men running, falling, saw smoke drifting over a field as explosions sounded in the distance. She gasped, and it faded. “Oh—the war!”

Struan looked down. “Miss MacArthur? Pardon, I did not hear what you said.”

“Nothing,” she said, flushed with embarrassment. Lucie looked at her, puzzled, and Elspeth glanced away. Her city cousin knew little about her gift of Sight. Lucie had a good heart and a practical head and was skeptical about such things.

Struan guided them toward an elderly woman standing with two young women, all silk and feathers, elegance and hauteur. Two gentlemen stood with them, one in somber black, the other in a red plaid Highland kilt, jacket, bonnet, sporran, and socks.

Struan made quick introductions, and Elspeth barely caught the names.

“My great-aunt, Lady Rankin of Kelso. My sister, Miss Fiona MacCarran, and Miss Charlotte Sinclair,” he said of the women.

He then indicated a tall blond man beside him.

“This is my brother, Dr. William MacCarran. And this is Sir Philip Rankin. May I introduce Miss Elspeth MacArthur and Miss Lucie Graham.”

“Pleased,” Lady Rankin said, not sounding so.

She was tall and buxom in cream silk trimmed in chocolate brown flounces, the skirt filled out by the hoops court dress used to require, and some still satisfied in their dress.

Her white-plumed headdress made the lady look like an eight-foot-tall ostrich, Elspeth thought.

Feeling a pale mouse beside her in silver blue, Elspeth lifted her chin and smiled.

Struan and his brother were impeccably and severely dressed in black cutaway coats and trousers, with waistcoat and neckcloths of white and cream.

They had no hint of thistle, heather, or plaid about them.

Sir Philip, on the other hand, wore a blazingly red tartan plaid and stockings with a black jacket.

The ladies were in formal court dress too, although Fiona’s dress of muted plum satin trimmed in black appeared to be in mourning colors.

Elspeth tilted her head, wondering who had passed away to affect the MacCarran siblings; perhaps the brothers wore somber formal outfits for that reason too.

Ah, Lady Struan , she remembered then. The elderly lady who had held that estate had passed away earlier in the summer. She had been an acquaintance of Donal MacArthur, and must be related to the young Lord Struan and his siblings.

Grandmother. The word came to her then. She wondered if that was so.

“Where is Kilcrennan located, Miss MacArthur?” Lady Rankin asked.

“Near the Trossach Mountains, madam, in the Highlands,” she replied.

“Oh yes! We plan to travel there to visit my nephew at his new estate,” Lady Rankin said. “We wish to tour Loch Katrine and the other sights described in Sir Walter Scott’s marvelous poetry. They say the views are magnificent.”

“It truly is beautiful there,” Elspeth agreed.

“I was not aware you plan to travel north, Aunt,” Struan said.

“Did I neglect to mention it? It is quite exciting. The Highlands are marvelous to behold in the autumn. I have persuaded Miss Sinclair to accompany me, with perhaps Sir Philip or your cousin Nicholas as our traveling companions.”

“Fiona,” Struan said to his sister, “if our lady aunt travels north, you must come with her.” Elspeth detected a note in his voice, as if something was understood between the siblings.

“I shall certainly try,” Fiona MacCarran replied.

“Do you know the area well, Miss MacArthur?” Struan asked then.

“Quite well. Loch Katrine is not far from Kilcrennan, where I live with my grandfather.”

“Then you are not far from Struan House,” he replied.

“Struan is a few miles up the glen. My grandfather knew the late viscountess, and I met her myself. We were very sorry to hear of her passing. She was a kind lady.”

“Thank you.” Struan inclined his head. “She was our grandmother.” He indicated his siblings in his answer. Fiona smiled and Dr. MacCarran nodded.

“Lord Struan holds the estate and title,” Charlotte Sinclair said, and slipped her arm through his. “But he has so little time to visit there. Perhaps for an occasional hunting party, isn’t that right, James? He is quite busy as a professor of natural philosophy at the university.”

Elspeth nodded, smiled, and understood she was being warned away. Miss Sinclair practically glared at her above the rim of her delicate painted fan.

“Recently I arranged to take a brief absence from my lectures in order to spend some time on the estate,” Struan explained.

“I hope you enjoy it,” Elspeth said. No one seemed to hear, but a smile touched his lips and he glanced at her.

“What sort of philosophy do you teach?” Lucie asked. “There is so much of it.”

“Natural philosophy, Miss Graham. Geology, some call it now. Rocks. Earth.”

“There is rather a lot of rock in the Trossachs,” Elspeth said.

He inclined his head. “That sounds very intriguing, Miss MacCarran.”

“Miss MacArthur, forgive me,” Lady Rankin said. “I do not recall your debut.”

“A quiet debut, my lady,” Elspeth said. “A few years ago I attended a hunt ball in honor of the Lord Provost, as well as concerts in Edinburgh with my cousins, the Grahams of Lincraig.”

“I recall that,” Charlotte Sinclair said.

“I was there with the family of the Deputy Lord Provost, Sir Hector Graham, and his two elder daughters. Miss Ellison Graham is a friend. I remember meeting Sir John Graham and Miss Lucie Graham there, but I do not remember you, Miss.” She frowned at Elspeth.

“Oh,” was all Elspeth could think to say.

Miss Sinclair turned a coy smile on the viscount.

“Struan was not there either. He can hardly attend every ball for every new girl, no eligible bachelor could. He only recently inherited a title and is known here for his work at the university. And now he is in demand at parties and outings. But I believe he turns down more invitations than he accepts, is it so, sir?” She smiled up at him.

“Perhaps not as eligible as people hope.”