One Scottish Lass A Regency Time Travel Romance Novella

Chapter 4

Sorcha could barely breathe as Johnny stopped alongside his father. Lady Davenport gracefully drew a hand in Sorcha's direction. "Jonathan, my dear, I'd like you to meet Miss McClintock. She and her mother, Mrs. McClintock, are visiting us from Edinburgh."

Johnny's lips curved into a knowing smile, and he put out his hand. Sorcha's heart pounded against her ribs –

Before Sorcha could move, her mother had stepped between the two, placing her own hand into his with a bright laugh.

"Master McClintock, it is so good to see you again. I've heard so much about your latest adventures from dearest Lydia! Such admirable pursuits. I'm sure you don't remember me, but I did spend quite a bit of time in your household when you were ... "

She flushed and rearranged her sentence with quick agility. "When you were a bit younger. But let's talk about the present. Come, do show me around your fine home! I must see every single corner of this fantastic place of yours."

She tucked her hand into the crook of his arm and led him off toward the piano room.

Tension wrapped like a snake around Sorcha's heart. She knew she should be used to her mother's behavior by now. She had lived with it for every day of her life. But for her mother to do that today – with Jonathan – stretched her forbearance to its breaking point.

The party swirled around her. The Davenports were called away by another group of arriving guests. Florentia and her friends giggled and whispered, enjoying the adventure of the evening. Sorcha felt as if all of it were a distant scene, one taking place far, far away.

The darkness swirled and coiled, threatening to smother her.

A glittering voice came in her ear, the smooth elegance of a harp's strings, pulling her back to the present. "Jonathan's like that, you know. Catches the eye of every woman in the room." There was a glissando of laughter. "Not to worry, my dear. Soon he'll be all mine, and I'll be sure to keep him on a tight leash."

Sorcha turned to the speaker. The woman was about her age, with pale blonde hair and piercing blue eyes. Her dress was absolutely stunning – a rich ivory color with translucent layers that made it seem she was tenderly swathed in clouds. A rose made of shimmering moonstone nestled in her cleavage.

The woman drew her eyes down Sorcha's much simpler dress. "You must be Sorcha, the Scotswoman," she mused. "I'm Julia, one of Lydia's two daughters. The younger one, of course. My older sister's over there."

She nudged her head to the right.

Sorcha followed her gaze. Indeed, a matching blonde woman stood by the mantle with a portly man in his fifties. Her wide eyes were vacant and passive. One hand rested idly in the crook of the man's arm.

"Oh, is that your father she's with?"

Julia's laugh was a bright portamento of tones. "Father? Oh, my, no! That is her husband, Percy, the Earl of Dover. They married about three years ago. Blissfully happy." Her fingers moved idly to the necklace at her breast. "He gave me this small bauble in thanks. I admit that I had a minor something to do with swaying my sister to accept his suit."

Sorcha looked over the pair. The Earl of Dover certainly seemed content – almost smug. In comparison, his young wife seemed fairly oblivious of what was going on around her. She simply waited at his side to see when she was needed next.

Maybe, to her, that was a form of happiness.

Florentia abandoned her two friends and bounced over to Sorcha's side. Her dark curls playfully sprung from her bun as she moved, and her eyes glowed with interest. "There you are! You must be the Scottish lady!" she announced gleefully. "Now, tell me, is it true what my tutor says? That everyone in Scotland steals cattle, the men all wear dresses, and the women say och in every sentence?"