The Devil Wears Tartan Read Free Page B

direction. “Has she? I think, on this occasion, Jacobs, that I should remain as sober as possible.”
    His valet did not respond—wise man—but his expression smoothed until it resembled a stone effigy. A chipmunk gargoyle.
    “Will you be wanting a timepiece, Your Lordship?” Jacobs asked now, extending a gold chain affixed to a diamond-encrusted watch.
    Marshall shook his head. Time had no meaning for him. He didn’t give a flying fig if it was day or night. Why should he measure it? Nor did the timing of this particular ceremony matter all that much. It was going to occur or it wasn’t. He didn’t much care, either way.
     
    When the carriage arrived at Ambrose, there was no ceremony to welcome Davina, perhaps because they couldn’t advance past the dozens of carriages blocking the drive.
    “Oh dear, we are late.”
    Davina glanced at her aunt. “They cannot hold a wedding without us, Aunt.”
    Theresa didn’t answer, but her censuring look was comment enough.
    “We shall never get there on time. There’s nothing to be done but walk the rest of the way.”
    Theresa descended from the carriage. Davina and the two maids had no choice but to follow her.
    “At least someone will be in attendance,” Davina offered as they navigated through the sea of carriages.
    A few minutes later they climbed the soaring, curving steps leading up to Ambrose’s west-facing edifice. Someone in the house’s past had been enamored of classical architecture, so much so that this entrance resembled sketches she’d seen of the Parthenon in Athens. Imposing columns greeted the visitor, and the wide steps leading to a massive double door seemed designed more to impress than to welcome.
    No one stood beside the curving stone steps and offered a greeting. Even the majordomo was absent. No doubt he was assisting all the other occupants of the dozens of carriages blocking the drive. She was neither escorted to the chamber she would occupy at Ambrose nor introduced to the staff. Instead, the four of them were left standing in the foyer.
    “What do we do now?” Davina asked.
    “You will take off those ugly spectacles,” Theresa said. “Are you trying to make yourself unappealing?” She leaned close to Davina and whispered to her, “It is too late, Davina. This course is already set.”
    “I can’t see without them, Aunt.” But her fingers were already moving to the temples.
    Her aunt frowned at her. “I thought your eyes were weak only for reading.”
    Davina nodded, removing the offending spectacles.
    “Would it not harm you to wear them otherwise? You’re quite a beautiful girl without them,” Theresa said. “Besides, if you wear them, I know you’ll seek out the nearest book.”
    Davina bit back a comment as she put her spectacles in her reticule. She loved her aunt, she truly did. But her aunt had dancing and balls and laughter and the approval of men always on her mind. Theresa was a girl who’d never quite grown up, and Davina often thought herself Theresa’s elder, and not the other way around.
    A moment later, the missing majordomo suddenly appeared.
    “Please inform the earl that we’ve arrived,” Theresa said. “I’m Mrs. Rowle, the bride’s aunt, and she is Miss Davina McLaren.”
    The majordomo stared at Davina, his pinched features revealing his annoyance. Evidently he thought her responsible for his chaotic day. Well, perhaps she was. But she hadn’t planned on being late to her own wedding.
    He snapped his fingers, and a tall, liveried footman appeared from behind a column. “Fetch the trunks, man, and hurry!”
    The majordomo fixed another irritated look at her and announced, “The ceremony is being held in fifteen minutes, miss.”
    “I can’t be ready in fifteen minutes,” Davina said.
    “You’ll find the earl’s staff is ceaselessly punctual,” the man said. From his expression, there was more the majordomo wanted to say, but his ire was evidently not as imperative as the ticking of the