"How pleasant for them both. I was sadly worried that he'd be bored, left alone. I'm glad Miss Stewart was available."

"Just what I thought." Miss MacLeod slipped an arm through Dahlia's. "Now come, I must speak to you about the match. Dalhousie and I have much of it planned, but there are still a few details that must be addressed." With a wave to the protesting ladies, she led Dahlia out of the room.

As soon as they reached the foyer, Miss MacLeod led Dahlia into the dining room.

"Miss MacLeod, I really should rest before-"

"Yes, but this won't take long." Several footmen, setting up tables for a cold luncheon and arranging festive springs of mistletoe and red candles down the center of the table, stopped what they were doing on seeing the two young ladies, but a friendly "Carry on" from Miss MacLeod freed them to continue their duties.

Miss MacLeod pulled Dahlia to a windowed alcove where they might not be overheard.

"I vow, but every guest at the castle has become enamored of this one match," Dahlia said.

"I know. It seems odd to me. And you can't tell me they've all suddenly developed a fondness for Lord Kirk and are glad someone is standing up for him, for I've seen their reaction when he enters a room."

"They scatter like fish before a crocodile."

"Exactly. I wish the motives of our fellow guests were more n.o.ble, but I fear they are concerned with something far more base: they all wish to win."

"Win what?"

"Their wagers."

Dahlia blinked. "Wagers? On me?"

Miss MacLeod chuckled. "Yes, some of them. Some of them, not."

Dahlia saw nothing to laugh at. "I can't imagine her grace would countenance such a thing."

"Then you don't know her grace well. The d.u.c.h.ess of Roxburghe is quite a gambler. In her heyday, it was the fashion for women to wager at high stakes. Look at the d.u.c.h.ess of Devonshire."

"Who brought one of the greatest fortunes in the history of England to its knees? I hardly think she is a good example. I can't imagine my G.o.dmother throwing away a fortune."

"And she never would; she's Scottish and knows the value of a coin. So while there is to be gambling, her grace has limited all wagers to no more than a guinea-so you won't see any fortunes changing hands. The enthusiasm you see is for bragging rights rather than fortune, but it's enough. I believe every guest present now has a finger in the pie."

"Oh no." Dahlia pressed her hands to her cheeks. All of her earlier euphoria was now gone. "Good G.o.d, this has gotten out of hand. It was just to be a friendly wager between the three of us-"

"Friendly? Miss Balfour, I was there. Lady Mary and Miss Stewart deserved a challenge."

There was no mistaking the plain look Miss MacLeod sent her way. Dahlia frowned. "You are their friend."

"No, I'm not. I know them, yes. But friends?" Miss MacLeod shook her head. "Sadly, one cannot truly be friendly with Lady Mary. If there is anyone I would count as a friend, or would wish to, it is Miss Stewart. She has always been very kind to me, although she's far too ready to please Lady Mary."

"I've noticed that." Dahlia was silent for a moment. "So they sent you to speak to me as their second. I don't suppose they wish to offer their apologies and ask for the whole thing to be forgotten. If so, I am quite ready to-"

"Oh no. They asked me to bring you their compliments and to inform you that no quarter will be given."

Dahlia stiffened. "That was hardly necessary."

"I thought so, too." She shook her head. "Miss Balfour-"

"Please, call me Dahlia." She sat upon the window seat and patted the cushion beside her, feeling drained. "Pray join me. I cannot stand another moment."

Miss MacLeod did so, smiling a little. "I hope you regain your energy before the match."

"Oh, I shall. I will order some luncheon on a tray delivered to my room, and will be right as rain with a little quiet." I hope.

Miss MacLeod tilted her head to one side. "I hope you don't find this forward, but I feel that we shall know each other quite well before this is over."

"That would be nice. I don't know many of the guests."

"It will be very nice. And you should call me Anne. I'm here because Lord Dalhousie asked me to speak to you and explain a bit about Miss Stewart and Lady Mary."

"You've come to help me?"

"If by 'help,' you mean 'a.s.sist in winning,' no. I am still their second. Besides, I've never played a game of battledore in my life, so I wouldn't know where to begin in offering a.s.sistance. Dalhousie thought you should know why Lady Mary and Miss Stewart are the way they are."

"Why does he wish that?"

Anne smiled. "I suspect he believes it will a.s.sist you in your efforts, although I'm not so certain." She adjusted the folds in her skirts and said in a thoughtful tone, "The viscount is a good man, you know. Better than most. And he's known Lady Mary since he was in short coats."

"I had no idea."

"Oh yes. Lady Mary's father, the Earl of Buchan, and the late Viscount Dalhousie were great friends." Anne plumped a pillow and leaned against it. "I think they'd always hoped that Lady Mary and Lord Dalhousie might make a match of it, but it never came to fruition. Lady Mary is quite wealthy and her family is significant, which I'm sure you know, for she cannot take more than two breaths without mentioning that she can trace her lineage all the way back to William the Conqueror. But despite her bravado, she's an only child, and was sickly for most of her life. That has shaped her character, and not always for the best."

"You'd never know it to see her now, for she's in the bloom of good health."

"She cast off the remnants of her childhood ailments when she left the schoolroom. I believe it is because of the riding we did at our boarding school. Miss Latham, the headmistress, is an accomplished horsewoman and she was determined that all of us would be, too. However, Dalhousie thinks it is because the countess, Lady Mary's mother, was no longer able to coddle her daughter so."

"I'm sorry to hear of Lady Mary's misfortunes."

"It's good to know your opponents. Miss Stewart, on the other hand, is far from Lady Mary's equal. It's been rumored that Miss Stewart's only claim to society is Lady Mary's sponsorship. Some people say Miss Stewart's father was once"-Anne glanced at the footmen, and then leaned closer and whispered-"Lady Mary's head groom."

"She dresses very well for someone without funds."

"Lady Mary's castoffs. Every one. Lady Mary loves to lord it over Miss Stewart, and reminds her of it frequently. I feel for her, I truly do."

Dahlia's heart had been sinking as Anne revealed more and more. Had I known all of this, I would never have challenged either of them, Lady Mary because she's not worth the attention, and Miss Stewart because her life is difficult enough without my complicating things.

"Miss MacLeod-Anne, do you think I should step back from the challenge?"

"Lud, no! Everyone is going to be there, so it's too late for that. Besides, to be honest, Lady Mary could use a good setdown. Since yesterday, she has been relentless in mocking Lord Kirk. Just this morning she said that Lord Kirk's manners were no better than a groom's, although she doubted that such a maimed and lame man could even ride, being nearly an invalid. Naturally her comment cut both Lord Kirk and, to some extent, poor Miss Stewart."

Dahlia's jaw tightened. How dare that woman? I should- "Ah! There's Dalhousie now, peeking through the doorway." Anne waved. "He must wish to confirm our arrangements for the tournament and- Oh dear." She lowered her voice. "Lady Mary and Miss Stewart are with him."

Dahlia barely heard, for she was still fuming. Maimed and lame, indeed! Kirk may have a faint limp, but he was far from being "maimed." As for lame, he was every inch a healthy man under his well-pressed coats, a fact she knew better than anyone. This morning, she'd felt nothing but solid muscle under her fingertips when they'd kissed. The memory, instant and sensual, warmed her face, and her shoulders, which had drawn up as she'd gotten angry, relaxed a little. I know him and they don't. Therefore their opinions don't matter.

"Ah, Miss Balfour!" Dalhousie took her hand and bowed over it, looking through his lashes as he spoke. "I missed you in the gallery this morning."

Dahlia had no doubt that look had gotten him excused from many a transgression. "I'm so sorry, but I was detained. Did you receive my message?"

Dalhousie pressed his other hand over hers, capturing it firmly. "Yes, but it did little to reconcile me to your absence."

Dahlia, aware of Lady Mary's tight expression as she looked on, found herself unable to think of a single response. The viscount was being gallant, and Dahlia was quite certain she'd enjoy his flirtation under more normal circ.u.mstances. After all, she'd come to the d.u.c.h.ess's house to find romance, and who wouldn't enjoy a handsome, t.i.tled gentleman offering compliments with such a whimsical smile? Why, she'd dreamed of just such a thing.

But right now, all she felt was a stab of irritation, and the fact that Lady Mary was glaring over his shoulder didn't add an iota of pleasure to the moment.

Dahlia had to admit that Lady Mary looked stunning in a morning gown of blue muslin finished at the hem a la Van Dyck, her Greek kid spring slippers of gold complemented by her gold and ruby bracelet and earrings. She was every inch the daughter of a wealthy, powerful house.

Now, she stepped forward and slipped her arm through Dalhousie's, effectively drawing his hand from Dahlia's. "We all missed you, Miss Balfour." There was no mistaking the falseness of Lady Mary's tone. "Dalhousie gave the most amusing tour."

Miss Stewart, dressed in a spring muslin featuring tiny roses, nodded-ever eager to a.s.sist her friend. "He'd asked Lady Charlotte to tutor him on the portraits, so he was well prepared. Why, the story about the third Duke of Roxburghe was so amusing! Apparently he-"

"Alayne, enough!" Lady Mary's brows rose. "As amusing as it was for us, I'm sure Miss Balfour doesn't wish to hear about our tour of the gallery, and would instead like to speak about our upcoming match."

"An excellent idea!" Dalhousie slipped his arm from Lady Mary's grasp. "Last night Miss MacLeod and I went over the rules. You will each be able to choose a battledore paddle from the d.u.c.h.ess's large selection. Miss MacLeod and I have already picked out the best shuttlec.o.c.ks for the game. As for the points-" He bowed to Anne.

She smiled. "Since battledore may be played in two ways-count each hit as a point, or count the drops-Lord Dalhousie and I had to make a decision. As this is a two-to-one game, it is only fair to count the drops. Every missed hit, or drop, will count as a point for the other side. Whoever is first to reach twenty wins the game. Any questions?"

Lady Mary shrugged. "It suits me."

Dahlia nodded. "I agree."

"Good," Dalhousie said, looking relieved. "So now we must set the wager itself. Lady Mary and Miss Stewart, do you have anything in particular you'd like to wager?"

Miss Stewart sent a quick glance at Lady Mary, then turned to Dahlia. "What about your earrings? We've noticed you always wear the same pair."

Dahlia wore the small garnet and gold earrings frequently. They were family heirlooms, given to her by her mother and once owned by her grandmother. She was just about to shake her head when Lady Mary sniffed.

"I don't have anything to match against garnets." She said the word "garnets" as if she thought they were the most unworthy gemstone upon the planet. "Perhaps this." She unrolled her glove and peeled it off, and then held it toward Dahlia.

"Your gloves?"

"Oh no. Just one. I want to be fair. This glove came all the way from Paris and is embroidered with Belgian lace."

Dahlia looked at the glove dangling so carelessly from Lady Mary's hand, too shocked by her sheer rudeness to reply.

"Mary," Anne murmured reprovingly. "Pray be polite."

"I'm being perfectly polite. You can't tell me this glove isn't worth both of those earrings."

Instantly Dahlia heard herself say, "I agree to wager my earrings. But I want something other than a glove when I win. What I want is a promise."

Dalhousie and Anne exchanged glances. "A promise?" he asked.

"If I win, then Lady Mary and Miss Stewart will stop mocking Lord Kirk for the rest of their stay at Floors Castle."

Lady Mary drew her glove through her hand, her eyes narrowed unpleasantly. "Miss Balfour, you overstep yourself."

"Why? Because I'm asking you to stop abusing a man who is a very kind and decent person?"

"Kind?" Lady Mary couldn't have looked more surprised. "He's rude."

"Very," Miss Stewart agreed. "Just this morning, I pa.s.sed him in the hallway and said good morning, but he just kept on going, ignoring me completely."

"He can be as rude as he wishes, but you will not mention it. Nor will you discuss his limp or scars, nor say anything about him other than kind, good things."

Miss Stewart looked outraged. "You can't tell us what to-"

Lady Mary silenced her friend with a wave of her hand. "Miss Balfour, we'll accept your conditions. But I must warn you, after we've won our match, I may feel even more compelled to mock Lord Kirk, especially in your hearing."

Dahlia had to fight the urge to throw a pillow from the window seat right in Lady Mary's smug face. "Fortunately for Lord Kirk, I shan't lose."

"You're that confident that you'll win?"

"Yes."

"So confident that you'll spot us . . . say, five points?"

Dahlia hesitated. Five points? Do I dare risk it?

Lady Mary laughed. "I thought not. I'll-"

"Yes." The word flew from Dahlia's lips before she could stop it.

Lady Mary's look of triumph could not be mistaken. "Then we are set. Your earrings against our comments regarding Lord Kirk. I look forward to the game. I look even more forward to giving your earrings to my maid. She'll look pretty in garnets."

Hands clenched to hide her fury, Dahlia stood and bowed. "We shall see, Lady Mary. Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to get ready." Without a backward glance, she left the group by the window seat, pa.s.sing by several footmen who were setting out Christmas-themed china for the luncheon. It wasn't until she reached the landing on the grand staircase that her actions fully settled in, and she had to pause and press a hand to her head where a dull ache had formed. Good G.o.d, I can't afford one misstep. Not one.

Twelve.

From the Diary of the d.u.c.h.ess of Roxburghe

I've seen many battledore games on these grounds, but none equal in intensity or pure enthusiasm. However, it wasn't just the game that left our guests reeling, but rather what occurred immediately after . . .