Page 1 of Hope in the Highlands (Seduced in Scotland #1)

Hope Sharpe sat at the dining room table, chin in hand, as she gazed out the window of the London terrace home. She was trying to ignore the stifling heat that had descended upon the city that week, as well as feign interest in her grandmother’s overt excitement.

“Isn’t she a dear!” the elderly Alice Sharpe said, fanning herself with the envelope of the letter she held in her other hand. The invitation had topped the small pile of correspondence brought to her just before breakfast. “Dorothea is so gracious to remember us.”

The corner of Holly’s mouth pulled up in a half-hearted smile, but it was difficult to get excited for yet another ball, to be part of yet another season when Holly had been through several already. It wasn’t that she wasn’t grateful to be invited to the events that clogged the social calendar at this time of year, but the oppressive, unseasonably heatwave that had fallen on London this spring was all Hope could focus on.

The housemaids had opened nearly every window to allow in the breeze, but Hope dreamed of the cool, breezy months of autumn. She simply wasn’t made for heat. Her fair skin burned easily beneath the sun, which made her grandmother insist that she cover up so as not to freckle. But the extra layers of clothing that she was forced to wear were stifling. They may have kept freckles at bay but that was no compensation for the way they made Hope sweat.

But she didn’t complain. No. Ever trying to be the dutiful granddaughter, she always did what was asked of her, unlike her younger sisters, Faith, and Grace. But it wasn’t because she was weak-willed. Hope merely believed in finding the best of situations.

Including situations like attending the ball of…of… Come to think of it, who was Dorothea?

“Dorothea?” Hope asked, facilitating the conversation.

She went to take a sip of her tea but abandoned it when she realized how hot it was. Frowning, she looked at her middle sister Faith, who lifted her glass of water in a mock toast.

“The dowager duchess of Spotsmore,” her grandmother said. “She’s always been a dear friend of mine. She’s holding a ball in honor of her granddaughter, Lady Natalie Hawkins.”

Although the Sharpes weren’t exactly wealthy, they lived in relative comfort in a well-staffed London terrace in Soho square that had been in their possession for several years. Not quite as grand or fashionable as Mayfair, but certainly a respectable neighborhood and Mayfair adjacent. Alice had still somehow managed to wrangle them an invitation to what was bound to be one of the most prominent events that season. The Spotsmore mansion was the jewel of Mayfair, and they always held the most fashionable soirees.

“Isn’t Lady Natalie already engaged?” Faith asked, her brow creased.

“Lord Bartley hasn’t proposed,” Grace, the youngest Sharpe sister, interjected, not looking up from her book. Despite her grandmother's disapproval, Grace always read at the dining room table. “Not yet.”

“Well, I’m sure this is Dorothea’s very clever way of helping things along,” Grandmother Alice said, eyeing Hope with purpose.

The small, telling gesture reminded Hope of the state of her own romantic prospects with one Mr. Jacob Pennington. The fourth son of a baron, and with the very little likelihood of inheriting said title, Jacob had attended school to become a lawyer. They had met three years ago during a picnic in Hyde Park, and had started their courtship that very day. But he was steadfast in his five-year plan and Hope knew he wasn’t likely to propose until he made partner in his law firm.

Their pre-engagement was well known throughout London and almost everyone in society had taken to calling her Hold-on Hope, which she had always endured with a smile, not wanting to generate gossip by showing her true reaction. In reality, it irritated her to no end.

“Hope?” Alice said, interrupting her daydream. She faced her expectant grandmother, who sighed with disappointment. “Pay attention, Hope. Young ladies do not fare well when their attentions are so easily lost.”

Hope nodded dutifully. Whenever she would complain about her prolonged courtship—with no engagement in sight—to her grandmother, she was merely reminded that patience was a virtue. Her grandmother would then say that Mr. Pennington would likely prefer a wife to be accommodating rather than peevish, which only added to Hope’s agitation.

But then she would take a deep breath, count to five and remind herself that no good ever came from complaining.

“Yes, Grandmother.”

Hope straightened her shoulders and focused her attention on her sisters’ discussion about Lord Bartley. Hope had once had the unfortunate mistake of asking the gentleman his opinion on literature. He had superciliously stated that fiction was a frivolous waste of time and that she would be much better served by focusing on writings of real import. After that, she was forced to suffer through nearly an hour of his personal review of a mathematics book proving Brianchon’s Theorem, written by Charles Brianchon.

It had been one of the most tedious hours of her entire life.

“Lady Natalie is a fine young woman and will make an excellent marchioness one day,” her grandmother said, waving off a footman’s attempt to fill her water glass. “She should be very pleased that Lord Bartley has chosen her.”

“I hope she doesn’t have a fondness for books,” Hope mused quietly.

“Poor dear,” Grace said, finally looking up. “I quite liked Natalie. It’s a shame that she’ll have to bear that marriage.”

“Whatever are you all talking about?” their grandmother asked with a pinched brow. “Lady Natalie is fortunate to have found someone to marry. She’s doing a sight better than you three,” she said before giving Hope a pitying glance. “Well, except for you, my dear.”

Hardly a shining compliment, but Hope tried not to be bothered.

“Why anyone would want to be tied to a man like Lord Bartley indefinitely is a mystery,” Faith said as she buttered her toast. “He’s an absolute toad, and I for one am very sorry for Lady Natalie’s misfortune.”

“Faith Sharpe, you’ll watch your tongue,” Alice scolded as a sudden cough escaped her throat. Her hand came to cover her mouth as her face scrunched up. “Lord Bartley… is a…” The tremor from her hacking caused her fine gray hair to loosen from its intricate style. “A fine…” She coughed forcefully into her fist. “A fine man.”

All three Sharpe sisters paused in their activities to focus on their grandmother’s terrible coughing fit. Panicked slightly, Hope sprung up and signaled to one of the servants. A footman returned with a pitcher of water and poured it into a glass that Hope handed to her grandmother. Grace came up to rub her back while a regretful Faith scooched down two chairs to sit by her side, taking her free hand.

Since coming to live with their grandmother, neither Hope, Faith, nor Grace had ever known her to take ill. Even at the death of their parents, she had remained strong and undaunted, barely even shedding a tear, much less taking to her bed as some might have done. She was a woman of robust constitution, and none of the girls had ever seen her sneeze, let alone cough.

“I’m sorry, Grandmother,” Faith said earnestly. “I didn’t mean to upset you.”

But her grandmother shook her head as the coughing fit subsided.

“It wasn’t your fault, dear,” she said with a scratchy voice between coughs. “It’s only a bit of tea I inhaled, I’m sure.”

Hope shared a concerned look with her sisters, and as much as she wanted to believe that it had been a random choking fit, an unnatural chill went through her. She had experienced it only once before—the day her parents had left on their trip to the south of France seven years prior. They died of cholera only a few weeks later. Hope never saw them again.

Once her grandmother recovered, Hope motioned for all of them to take their seats. She tried to convince herself that they were overreacting, but over the next few hours, the coughing persisted. By week’s end, their grandmother’s constant coughing had become a permanent echo throughout their home.

The doctor couldn’t find anything wrong with their grandmother and insisted that all she needed was rest. Over the next few weeks, Hope tried her best to believe the doctor’s diagnosis, but by the time the soiree for Lady Natalie had arrived, she could no longer maintain her positive attitude. She refused to attend the ball, wanting rather to stay at home with her grandmother.

“You must go,” her grandmother had ordered between coughs. Her pale eyes seemed dull and watery, though her raspy voice was insistent. “You must.”

“But Grandmother—”

“Don’t…” she said, coughing roughly into her clenched hand, “…argue. Mrs. Beesley will accompany you.”

“Mrs. Beesley? But Grandmother, she is close to senile. She couldn’t possibly escort us.”

“Hope,” Alice said sternly, causing all fight to go out of her.

Seeing that her quarreling only upset her grandmother, Hope nodded.

“Yes ma’am,” she said, squeezing her grandmother’s hand before leaving to get dressed.

Determined to appease her grandmother, Hope dressed in her best pale green gown, snaking a matching ribbon through her curly, raven hair. Their impromptu chaperone Mrs. Beesley, whose hearing had diminished drastically in recent months, arrived to escort them, and she ushered Hope and her younger sisters into the hired coach to take them to the ball.

Upon arriving at the Duchess of Spotsmore’s home, Mrs. Beesley quickly found the sitting room, where she promptly sat down to nap. Hope was then abandoned immediately by Grace, who eagerly left to visit with her friends. Before Faith could wander off as well, Hope reached for her sister’s elbow and leaned close to her ear as she spoke.

“It doesn’t feel right being here, does it? What with Grandmother sick and all.”

“She’ll be fine, Hope. And you know she would want us to be sociable.”

Hope gave her a pointed look, knowing very well her sister was trying to placate her. Faith was on her tippytoes, peering over the other guests, looking for someone in particular, prompting Hope to say something.

“You should be wary of dancing too much with your Mr. Delaney, Faith,” she said as they moved out of the sitting room together. “He’s garnering a reputation.”

Faith rolled her eyes.

“From who?”

“It was in the gossip pages in the Times the day before last.”

Faith gently pulled her arm out of her sister’s grip.

“I assure you, Hope, that if Mr. Delaney is gaining a reputation, it’s not from the like of me,” she said, scanning the ballroom. “Besides, he’s been helping me with my watercolors.”

Mr. Delaney was one of several artist friends that Faith had become close with over the past year. Faith had always loved the art of painting but had given it up a year ago after experiencing a heartbreak. She had fancied herself in love with an artist known singularly as Donovan, and when he’d disappeared months ago, Faith had lost all interest in painting. Thankfully, she had recently started to spend time with her friend, Renee, Mr. Delaney’s sister, and once a week, Faith would attend a painting lesson at the Delaney home. Hope was happy that she had recently returned to her passion, but she worried that Mr. Delaney would break her sister’s heart, just as Donovan had.

“Still, you shouldn’t spend too much time in his company.”

Faith was barely listening, focusing instead on scanning the crowd. Someone must have caught her attention, for her eyes lit up. She gave a little wave.

“There he is. And Renee is with him.”

“Do be careful, Faith.”

She turned to face Hope.

“Despite what you and grandmother believe, I’m quite capable of handling myself. Besides, it is not me that we have worry about.”

Hope frowned slightly.

“Do you mean Grace? She rarely ever looks up from the pages of her books. Unless it’s to consort with that reading group of hers.”

“Exactly,” Faith said. She began to walk away but added over her shoulder. “It’s the quiet ones you have to worry about.”

“Oh, but…”

She tried to continue their conversation, but Faith only drifted away, melting into the sea of guests moving about the grand ballroom. Hope sighed, fretting over the ever-present tension between her and her sisters.

There had been a time when the three of them had been very close. Before moving in with their grandmother, she and Faith particularly had been the dearest of companions. But in the years since their parents’ death, each sister had come to different conclusions about life, and a wedge seemed to separate them, like the tendrils of ivy breaking through a brick wall.

Each of the sisters had dealt with the tragedy differently. Grace had withdrawn into an isolation that it seemed no one could breach, not even her sisters. Faith had become cynical, always expecting the worst. And while Hope had tried to lift their spirits, it seemed they found her relentless optimism as aggravating as she did their aloofness and pessimism.

Hope wandered across the edge of the ballroom, finding a large marble pillar to lean against at the edge of the ballroom where she could worry about her sisters and grandmother undisturbed—or so she had thought. Suddenly, a male voice spoke in her ear.

“My pearl.” Jacob’s voice shattered her concentration. “I was hoping to see you here.”

Spinning around, she saw the mild, passive gaze of Jacob Pennington’s brown eyes staring back at her. Jacob was a young man of average build and standard features. With wheat colored hair and a somewhat slanted forehead that caused his brow to appear heavier than it was, he gave the appearance of a great thinker, as he so often reminded Hope.

“Jacob, I’m so glad you’re here. I’ve been having the worst few weeks,” she said, her hand going up to the lapel of his jacket, but he quickly pushed it away.

Though the show of physical support would have buoyed her heart—and the rejection of it pained her—she refrained from telling him so. He would only reprimand her for being emotional.

“Now, now, we wouldn’t want any gossip. I’m quite certain we can speak without touching,” he chided as he glanced around. “We don’t want people to think that the apple doesn’t fall too far from the family tree.”

Hope frowned. Jacob never wished to show affection, not even in private. But what was he talking about?

“My family tree?” Hope repeated, confused. “What does that mean?”

“My pearl, let’s not make a scene,” he said, ignoring her question.

“I am not making a scene,” she said softly. “I am simply asking you a question. Why mention my family tree?”

“I don’t think there’s a need to delve into your family history here, is there?”

Hope was perplexed.

“What family history are you speaking of?” she asked, her voice dipping to a whisper as a couple passed them.

Jacob nodded at the couple, his own tone dropping.

“Let’s not discuss it here. We don’t want others gossiping about you sulking.”

“I’m not sulking.”

“You certainly sound as though you’re sulking.”

Hope exhaled and began to count in her mind. One, two, three…

“I’m not sulking,” she said through gritted teeth, trying with all her might to hold on to her good nature. “I’m simply trying to have a conversation.”

Jacob’s brow lifted in surprise.

“My, I wonder what’s gotten into you this evening. You seem peevish. Have you eaten?”

Hope inhaled slowly. She hated when Jacob spoke to her like a child. She counted to five again.

“I have eaten,” she said slowly. “And if I seem out of sorts, I apologize, but it’s only because my grandmother has taken ill, as I’ve explained in my letters, which have gone unanswered, and I’m somewhat worried—”

“My dear, we cannot act all excited simply because a family member is dealing with indigestion.”

“It’s not indigestion.”

“Lady Alice is a healthy woman, my dear. I’m sure she will be fine.”

Hope scowled at him.

“As you have not been by to see her—or me, for that matter—in nearly four weeks, I don’t see how you can assume to know how she is faring.”

A smug, knowing expression came over Jacob’s face.

“Is that why you’re so miffed? Because I haven’t been by to see you? I told you I was working on a substantial case these past few months. If I’m successful in litigation, we might be able to bring our five-year plan forward six months.”

“That is not why I’m upset,” she said earnestly. “My grandmother is ill, and I’m worried about her.”

He frowned.

“Didn’t you hear me? Our plans may be happening sooner than later. I can propose to you next May instead of October next year. Isn’t that wonderful?”

It was like having a conversation with a parrot. To an outsider, it might look like a conversation in that both participants were speaking, but one seemed totally incapable of listening to or understanding the other.

“Yes, that is good news. But I’m very concerned right now about my grandmother. Not to mention my sisters—”

“My dear, if you’re more interested in going over the symptoms of some sniffles than in celebrating this good news, I think I’d much prefer to let you stew by yourself for some time until you get over whatever is bothering you.”

Hope’s. Resolve. Snapped.

“Sometimes I think you have all the empathy of a bee, Jacob. Except when a bee stings, it at least has the curtesy to die of shame or embarrassment. You, I fear, will never be so aware.”

She knew she would regret her outburst, but in that moment, she couldn’t help but take great satisfaction in his slack jawed face. Her grandmother always assured her that men of position chose to focus on themselves in order to allow them provide as best they could for those who depended on them. Hope was set to marry Jacob, so she was expected to put his needs first. But really, how could he be so blind regarding his future fiancée's worries? Was he truly that indifferent to her distress?

Surely he could see she was upset. And yet all he had to offer were chiding remarks about her behavior and callous dismissal of her concerns. He seemed to expect her to fawn all over him, but heaven forbid they touch. It made Hope so angry at that moment that she couldn’t stop herself.

Trudging through the grand house, hoping to find the powder room so she could take a moment to herself to settle her bubbling anger towards Jacob, Hope saw two ladies exit a brightly lit room. Though she barely recognized the two young ladies, she distinctly heard one of them say as they walked by, “That must be the one who was spotted kissing Lord Bartley.”

“I guess Hold-on Hope finally let go,” the other laughed.

Hope’s feet stalled as she glanced at the young ladies who practically ran away down the hall when they saw her stop. Kissing Lord Bartley? Why would anyone assume that she had kissed him? She knew that gossip could spread quickly, and that something as simple as a lady tripping and a gentlemen catching her arm to keep her from falling could be misconstrued as an embrace. But she didn’t recall having laid eyes on Lord Bartley all evening. How on earth could such a rumor have started?

Frowning, she entered the powder room. Much to her surprise, she found Faith and Grace standing before her with pinched faces and strained mouths. Hope felt the inkling of dread.

“Faith? Grace?” Hope said, coming forward. “What is it? What’s wrong?”

Both sisters twisted to face Hope. Grace’s face was pale as a sheet, while Faith’s eyes were red as poppies.

“Oh, Hope,” Faith said, sniffling. “We’re finished.”

“Finished?” she said, her hands going to either of her sisters. “What do you mean?”

“I, well, I may have caused a situation,” Grace began quietly. “But I swear, I had innocent intentions. Or…well, perhaps not entirely innocent, but I certainly meant no harm.”

“I cannot believe this,” Faith said, looking up at the ceiling.

“What’s happened?” Hope insisted.

“Well …”

“Grace was spotted kissing Lord Bartley in the garden,” Faith accused, rotating to her youngest sister. “Only the person who saw her assumed it was me.”

Hope’s mouth fell open.

“What?” she asked breathlessly. “Oh, Grace, you didn’t.”

“She did,” Faith said, her voice quietly furious. “And the Delaneys have publicly cut me! Mr. Delaney says he will not allow his family to be tied to a woman who would behave so wantonly.”

Hope turned toward her.

“You? But why would he assume you did it?”

“I’m guessing because it was some dark corner. How could they believe that it was me?”

Though their faces differed greatly, the Sharpes all shared the same dark, curly hair, and they were dressed similarly this evening. It would be easy to mistake one for the other in the shadows, especially when their backs were turned. But Hope frowned.

“That’s odd. The two ladies who just left here said that I was the one who was caught. They don’t know which one of us did it,” she said. Then she shook her head. “Though in the end, I don’t suppose it matters. Any scandal within the family will affect all of us.”

“Will ruin all of us, you mean,” Faith said, glowering at Grace.

“That’s enough of that,” Hope said firmly. “None of us can change what happened. All we can do is weather the storm.”

“If I tell everyone it was me…” Grace began.

“It won’t matter. One sister disgraced means a whole family disgraced,” Faith pointed out, her voice heavy.

“But if you disown me, tell everyone how shocked you were at my behavior, maybe that will be enough to restore your reputations, at least partially—”

“No one is getting disowned,” Hope interrupted. “We’re a family, and we’re staying that way, no matter what anyone says. Now, let’s go out there and face them.”

Faith seemed hesitant, but peering back and forth between her sisters, she groaned. Her hands came up to the sides of her head, and she shook out her hairstyle as well.

“This will be a disaster,” she whined as Hope linked their arms together.

Hope held out her other arm to Grace, who looked at her sorrowfully.

“I’m so sorry, Hope,” Grace said, shaking her head. “I promise, I didn’t do it simply to ruin us.”

“Whatever you’re reasoning, my dear, this is our reality now. Come. We need to leave immediately.”

Grace hesitated a moment before reaching for Hope’s arm and clinging to her tightly. They would need to be each other’s strengths in the coming days.

They exited the powder room quickly, instantly observing the looks they received as they made their way down the hallway toward the foyer. It seemed everyone was eager to gawk at the trio as they hurried through the house to find the sleeping Mrs. Beesley. Before long, they were all out the door and, in their carriage heading home.

Upon arriving home, Hope noticed the doctor’s hackney outside, waiting in the street. Dread fell around her like a heavy cloak and she leapt from their carriage as soon as it stopped. She was through the front door, and up the stairs before her sisters could catch up with her.

Reaching her grandmother’s room, she found a line of servants all standing outside the matriarch’s room. Every one of them was crying.

Hope's heart beat wildly when Faith called up from the bottom of the staircase.

“Hope! Mr. Pennington has arrived!”

Confused and unbalanced, Hope tried to still her shaking hands. She was torn between the need to rush to her grandmother’s side and to see to Jacob. A maid, Ginger, came forward and curtsied, though her face was wet with tears.

“Begging your pardon, my lady,” she started. “But there’s no helping Lady Sharpe. She’s passed.”

The words didn’t register at first. Passed? No. Surely not. Devastation rolled through Hope even as she tried to push the notion away. Why would she say that? She can’t have passed.

“No,” Hope said.

“Hope?”

She turned and saw her sisters at the top of the staircase. The silent sniffling and weeping of the staff seemed to be enough to inform her sisters of what had happened. Faith covered her mouth with her hand while Grace stood frozen in shock.

“Hope?” A man’s voice, Jacob’s, carried up through the house.

Numbly, Hope made her way to the staircase and descended, meeting Jacob at the bottom. She wanted to reach for him, but even in her fog-like misery, she kept her hands at her side.

“My God, Hope, you look terrible,” he said, coming towards her. “Is your grandmother well?”

“No,” she said softly, peering up at him. “No. She’s passed.”

Jacob face fell.

“That is unfortunate. I had hoped she would be able to help rally her friends in society to quash an absurd rumor,” he said. “As you were leaving Spotsmore House, I overheard that either you, Faith, or Grace was spotted kissing Lord Bartley.”

Hope barely registered what he was saying. Her grandmother was no longer alive and a numbness seemed to be spreading throughout her body.

She moved past him, finding a hallway bench as she felt as if her legs would no longer hold her. Dropping to it, she leaned her back against the wall and stared into oblivion.

“Did you hear me?” he asked.

“Yes, Jacob. I did.”

“Well?”

She turned her head to look at him.

“Well, what?”

“Well, how did such a rumor come to be?”

“I daresay it was because someone saw one of us kissing Lord Bartley.”

For a moment, Jacob just gaped at her. “Do you mean to say it’s true?”

“Yes.” She saw no point in lying. She saw no point in anything, at the moment.

“Was it you?”

Hope blinked. The sting of his distrust was significantly dulled after the news about her grandmother, but it still hurt. That Jacob would believe her so unfaithful, well, it devastated her.

“No,” she answered numbly. “It wasn’t me.”

“Well, that’s something, at least,” he said with a nod, shifting his stance. “However, I don’t know how your sisters shall fare now that your grandmother has died. Not without you here to help clean up their mess.”

Hope tilted her head, confused.

“Where am I going?”

“With me, of course,” he said as he reached for her. His soft, smooth hand encircled her cold fingers as he pulled her to her feet. Hope swayed for a moment, unsure of what she was hearing.

“What do you mean?”

“We’ll be married at once, and you won’t have to suffer the scandal that your sisters will endure. We’ll cut them off completely, of course. That’s the only way our reputations will stay intact.”

For a moment, Hope’s heart swelled with appreciation. They were going to be married! But moments later, the meaning of his words trickled down her spine.

“Cut them off? I couldn’t possibly. They’re my sisters,” she said softly, her eyes unfocused. “I can’t abandon them, Jacob. Not now, not ever.” Her brow pinched together. “Surely you know that, don’t you?”

“I know nothing of the sort,” he said stiffly. “Your sisters have proved to be nothing but trouble for you, and I don’t see why you must suffer because of them. Let us leave this place right now. You will stay with my aunt while we secure a special license. We will marry as soon as possible and then you’ll be free of their constant problems.”

But even before Jacob had finished his words, Hope was shaking her head.

“No, Jacob. I … I can’t leave them.”

“You must.”

Out of the corner of her eye, Hope saw Faith and Grace standing on the staircase, watching her and Jacob. She knew they had overheard everything. Ignoring the sting in her eyes, Hope slowly and purposefully pulled her hands from Jacob’s.

This was the end.

“I’m sorry, Jacob,” she said, her eyes downcast. “But I can’t.”

Thankfully Jacob was too proud of a man to ask twice. After a few moments, the door opened and closed with a frightful slam. Hope jumped at the deafening noise. Her entire world had been upended in only a few hours.

Wiping away the tears that fell down her cheek, she went to the coat rack and pulled down her cloak. She whirled the piece over her shoulders and made her way toward the door.

“Hope?” A small voice sounded from behind her and she turned. There, half way down the stairs, stood both of her sisters, arms intertwined in a comforting grip. Grace took a step down, her arm dropping from Faith’s. “Where are you going?”

“I need to think,” Hope croaked, buttoning the cloak beneath her chin.

“At this hour?” Faith asked, her tone shaky. “Don’t you think it’s rather late?”

“I can’t… I can’t bear to stay still,” she said and opened the door.

She closed the door behind her and made her way down the front steps, turning left and then right. She needed to walk, to be away from the unbearable weight of all that had happened that night and all the uncertainty she now faced.

What in the world were they going to do?