Page 19 of A Tartan Love (The Earls of Cairnfell #1)

Isla couldn’t spare a syllable, her throat too dry. Gray and Captain Balfour likely felt the same. The other four people merely glanced at each other, obviously attempting to understand why the temperature in the room had abruptly chilled several degrees.

It was Lord Milmouth who finally broke the stalemate.

“Balfour?” His brow pinched, his head turning to Captain Balfour. “As in . . .”

“Aye, my lord. My father is the Earl of Northcairn. I am the second son, after my elder brother, Lord Cairnfell.”

“Ah.” Lord Milmouth’s head went back before his gaze shifted to Gray. “I see.”

Lady Milmouth glanced between the men, looking confused for a fraction of a second . . . and then realization sank in. She flushed a truly remarkable shade of scarlet.

Everyone in Polite Society knew of the enmity between Northcairn and Grayburn.

But as Northcairn and his progeny rarely attended ton events—Gray had ensured they were hardly received anymore—their ill-fated meetings were not treacherous shoals that hostesses were called upon to navigate with any regularity.

By inviting members from two hostile families, Lady Milmouth had made a most colossal blunder.

“Oh! Oh, no!” Her ladyship fluttered a hand to her bosom.

“I hadn’t the slightest idea . . . Edward merely invited his friends and didn’t mention their familial connections, you see .

. . we rarely stand on ceremony when here at Kingswell House, so I didn’t think .

. . and Edward’s friends had just arrived before you, so there hasn’t been a moment to ascertain . . .”

Poor Colonel Archer looked back and forth between everyone, his expression confused.

Isla nearly sighed. His innocent soul likely couldn’t fathom the depth of hostility that existed between the Balfours and the Kinseys.

Would he be similarly unruffled by her foolish marriage to one of his closest friends?

Oh, what a tangled web we weave . . .

Mr. Walter Scott had the right of things.

Isla feared she would be sick.

“Our rooms, if you please, Lady Milmouth.” Gray kept his eyes trained on Captain Balfour as he spoke. A warning if Isla had ever seen one.

Her ladyship spared one more glance for Captain Balfour and then squared her shoulders.

“Of course. You must wish to rest, Your Grace. Please follow me.”

Isla trailed her brother, gaze studiously avoiding Captain Balfour.

But she felt the burning press of his eyes regardless.

Lady Milmouth showed Isla and Gray to their rooms, apologizing on a loop, hands wringing in misery, tears brightening her eyes .

“I simply didn’t know. Oh dear, what a disaster! I am so desperately sorry for any distress this has caused you both. And here we were, so hopeful for a wonderful week!”

Her ladyship’s anxiety matched the jittery nervousness that had taken hold of Isla’s limbs.

Lord help her! What was she to do?

Perhaps Gray would insist they leave at daybreak. Or demand Captain Balfour be shown the door. Or goad Captain Balfour into a bout of fisticuffs over tea and scones and have him arrested for brawling.

Isla hardly knew which outcome she would prefer.

After changing her clothing and tidying her hair and sternly ordering her hands to stoptremblingthisinstant! , Isla knocked on Gray’s bedchamber door.

Gray’s valet answered, bowing her into the room. Like herself, her brother had already changed out of his traveling attire and was currently staring into a mirror, straightening the cuffs of a tight-fitting blue tailcoat.

Gray met her gaze in the reflection and then nodded at his valet to leave. The man closed the door quietly behind him. Gray gave his sleeves one final tug.

“We are not staying with Balfour in residence.” Trust her brother to get directly to the point. “I refuse to put you in his orbit.”

So.

They would be leaving.

The knot of dread beneath Isla’s breastbone did not loosen at the thought as she might have supposed.

Why?

The answer arrived immediately—

Leaving solved nothing.

If she wished to continue her suit with Colonel Archer, she needed to learn to navigate his relationship with Captain Balfour. She had to face this challenge, not shrink from it.

Fortunately, Captain Balfour had said he was leaving for America. Soon, he would be an ocean away. Which meant Tavish Balfour wouldn’t be a regular fixture in her life with Edward Archer, thank goodness.

But that didn’t solve the problem of this week-long house party .

Isla crossed to the window.

Naturally, the Duke of Grayburn had been put in one of the finest rooms in the house—a large tester bed, a sitting area before the fire, as well as two enormous windows overlooking the Italian parterre garden and the rising mountains to the west.

Isla cleared her throat. “Lady Milmouth is excessively distressed over this faux pas . I would hate to ruin her house party due to our intransigence over—”

“Her ladyship should have had the intelligence to ascertain who Archer was inviting. Asking a few pertinent questions as to the origins of one’s guests is the duty of any worthy hostess!” Gray snapped from behind.

“That is potentially my future mother-in-law you speak of, Gray. If you find her ladyship so lacking, shall I decline to continue my attachment to Colonel Archer? Will you toss away any hope of a political alliance with Lord Milmouth?”

Silence.

Isla stared out the window where an evening breeze shook the Scots pine. She could feel Gray seething at her back.

“I believe . . .” On a deep breath, she continued through lips gone numb. “I believe I can tolerate a week of seeing Captain Balfour here and there.”

Or, more accurately, she needed to learn how to tolerate a week of seeing the captain here and there.

If she couldn’t manage basic social interactions with Captain Balfour—if his mere presence overset her and rendered her what? maudlin? lovesick?—then it would be better to know now. Though to what end, she couldn’t say.

She had no desire to return to what they had been. And she certainly wouldn’t be forfeiting Malton Hill and her community there. She liked Colonel Archer. If she wanted a life with him, she needed to fight her way through this bramble.

Gray snorted. “I do not wish to witness you tolerate his presence, as you say. If Balfour were any sort of gentleman, he could recuse himself immediately to spare your feelings. ”

“My feelings are utterly indifferent, Gray.”

“Are they, though?” His tone held a knowing condescension that raised the fine hairs on the back of her neck.

They never spoke of this, she and Gray. In fact, after his harsh words that night seven years ago, they hadn’t spoken of Tavish Balfour until his reappearance last week.

Isla wrapped an arm around her middle. “You don’t trust me.”

Gray said nothing, though the weight of his anger pressed against her shoulder blades.

“You don’t trust that I have changed.” She whirled, meeting his hazel eyes.

“You don’t trust that I am sincere when I say I will not be returning to my youthful self.

I was barely two weeks past my seventeenth birthday when those events occurred, Gray.

I am now seven years older and no longer a child.

Please give me credit for understanding my own mind. ”

He stared at her before turning away, pacing to the fireplace and back again, his limp making an agitated appearance.

Isla could feel it warring within him. His black hatred for all Balfours—Captain Balfour, in particular—competing with his desire for her to marry Colonel Archer and ally their family with the Earls of Milmouth.

Gray ran a finger under his neckcloth, as if fighting the urge to wrench the restricting garment off his neck.

“There are also three other young ladies currently under this roof,” Isla continued.

“Pardon?” Gray paused, a frown denting his brow. “Why are they part of this equation?”

Isla nearly rolled her eyes at his cluelessness.

“You are hardly so obtuse, Gray. If you throw around the weight of your ducal authority and insist Captain Balfour depart, possibly taking Captain Ross with him—which, of course, you are within your rights to do—the ladies’ undivided attention will devolve upon you and you alone.”

Gray clenched his jaw and pivoted back toward the fireplace, resuming his pacing.

“Despite our feelings on the matter,” Isla said, “Captain Balfour is also the son of an earl. He is not inconsequential, at least not to these ladies and their mammas.”

“As if Balfour has two tuppence to rub together to support a bride,” Gray snarled. “Can you even imagine him marrying?”

Unfortunately, Isla could. She had . Something hot and tasting of ash settled on her tongue at the vision of Captain Balfour taking another bride.

This would not do. She would not feel jealous over Captain Balfour’s future—and surely past—paramours.

The longer she spoke with Gray, the more Isla was convinced this week would be a blessing. She would see Captain Balfour every day and be able to compare him to Colonel Archer. To understand, quite clearly, why she had disavowed Tavish Balfour in the first place.

This was her chance to confront and finally bury any lingering tendresse for that man before he disappeared into the wilds of America forever.

Isla folded her arms. “You are angry because you know I am right.”

Gray didn’t deny it. He merely continued his pacing.

“I want to know Colonel Archer better. You want to court Lord Milmouth as an ally. Both of those objectives become more difficult if Captain Balfour leaves. We can be civil for a week, Gray.”

“But can he?”

“Of course, he can. He is just as changed as I am. Neither of us will return to what we once were.”

But just saying the words caused that pang again. That fathomless old grief that rippled below her surface.

“And what were you, precisely, to one another, Isla?” Gray paused, a hand braced on the mantelpiece.

The question caused Isla to take a step back.

Everything.

The answer surged forward with no effort.

We were everything. An entire universe unto ourselves.

Gray might have uncovered the fact of her relationship with Tavish, but he had never known the profound depth of it.

“What does it matter?” she whispered through a throat gone dry. “It has been dead and buried for seven long years. ”

Her brother lifted an eyebrow, pinning her in place with his hazel eyes.

Silence stretched, pulling taut.

Finally, Gray spoke. “For your sake, as well as his, I hope you are correct.”