"Of course not. You're… you're-" He fished the air for words, and his face grew rather agitated. "You're Margaret."
"Why," she drawled, "does that sound like an insult?"
"Of course it isn't an insult," he snapped. "I just complimented your intelligence. You're not the same as other females. You're… you're-"
"Then I think you just insulted your sister."
"Yes," Anne piped up, "you just insulted me."
Angus whirled around. "Don't eavesdrop."
"Oh, please," Anne scoffed, "you're talking loud enough to be heard in Glasgow."
"Angus," Margaret said, crossing her arms, "do you think your sister is an intelligent young woman?"
"I did, before she ran off."
'Then kindly offer her some respect and trust She isn't running blindly away. She has already contacted your aunt and has a place to stay and a chaperone who desires her presence."
"She can't choose a husband," he grumbled.
Margaret's eyes narrowed. "And I suppose you could do a better job of it?"
"I'm certainly not going to allow her to marry without my approval of her choice."
'Then go with her," Margaret urged.
Angus let out a long breath. "I can't. Not yet. I told her we could go next year. I can't be away from Greene House during the renovations, and then there is the new irrigation system to oversee…"
Anne looked to Margaret pleadingly. "I don't want to wait until next year."
Margaret looked from Greene to Greene, trying to work out a solution. It was probably rather odd that she was here, in the middle of a family squabble. After all, she hadn't even known they existed the previous morning.
But somehow this all seemed very natural, and so she turned to Angus with steady eyes and said, "May I make a suggestion?"
He was still glaring at his sister as he said, "Please do."
Margaret cleared her throat, but he didn't turn around to look at her. She decided to go ahead and speak, anyway. "Why don't you let her go to London now, and you can join her in a month or two? That way, if she's found a man she fancies, you can meet him before things grow serious. And you'll have time to finish your work at home."
Angus frowned.
Margaret persevered. "I know that Anne would never marry without your approval." She turned to Anne with urgent eyes. "Isn't that correct, Anne?"
Anne was taking a little too long to ponder the question, so Margaret elbowed her in the stomach and said again, "Anne? Isn't that correct?"
"Of course," Anne grunted, rubbing her midsection.
Margaret beamed. "You see? It's a perfect solution. Angus? Anne?"
Angus rubbed a weary hand against his brow, grasping his temples as if the pressure would somehow make the entire day go away. It had started out as the perfect morning, gazing upon Margaret as she slept. Breakfast awaited, the sky was blue, and he was certain he would soon find his sister and bring her back home where she belonged.
And now Margaret and Anne were ganging up upon him, trying to convince him that they-not he- knew best. As a united front, they were a mighty powerful force.
And Angus feared that as an object, he might not be completely immovable.
He felt his face softening, felt his will weakening, and he knew the women sensed their victory.
"If it makes you feel more comfortable," Margaret said, "I shall accompany Anne. I can't go all the way to London, but I can see her at least to Lancashire."
"NO!"
Margaret started at the forcefulness of his reply. "I beg your pardon?"
Angus planted his hands on his hips and glowered down at her. "You're not going to Lancashire."
"I'm not?"
"She isn't?" Anne queried, then turned to Margaret and asked, "If you don't mind, what is your name?"
"Miss Pennypacker, although I should think we may use our given names, don't you? Mine is Margaret."
Anne nodded. "I'd be ever so grateful for your company on the journey to-"
"She's not going," Angus said firmly.
Two pairs of feminine eyes swung around to face him.
Angus felt ill.
"And what" Margaret said, not unkindly, "do you suppose I do instead?"
Angus had no idea where the words came from, no idea even that the thought had formed, but as he looked at Margaret, he suddenly remembered every last moment in her company. He felt her kisses and he heard her laughter. He saw her smile and he touched her soul. She was too bossy, too stubborn, and too short for a man of his proportions, but somehow his heart skipped over all of that, because when she looked up at him with those gorgeously intelligent green eyes, all he could do was blurt out, "Marry me."
Margaret had thought she knew what it felt like to be speechless. It wasn't a condition she often experienced, but she thought she was reasonably familiar with it.
She was wrong.
Her heart pounded, her head grew light, and she started choking on air. Her mouth grew dry, her eyes grew wet, and her ears began to ring. If there'd been a chair in the vicinity, she would have tried to sit in it, but she'd probably have missed the seat entirely.
Anne leaned forward. "Miss Pennypacker? Margaret? Are you unwell?"
Angus didn't say anything.
Anne turned to her brother. "I think she's going to faint."
"She's not going to faint," he said grimly. "She never faints."
Margaret began to tap the flat of her chest with the flat of her hand, as if that might possibly dislodge the ball of shock that had settled in her throat.
"How long have you known her?" Anne asked suspiciously.
Angus shrugged. "Since last night."
"Then how can you possibly know if she faints or not?"
"I just know."
Anne's mouth settled into a firm line. "Then how- Wait just one second! You want to marry her after one day's acquaintance?!"
"It's a moot question," he bit out, "since it doesn't appear that she's going to say yes."
"Yes!" It was all Margaret could do to choke the word out, but she couldn't bear to see the disappointed look on his face any longer.
Angus's eyes filled hope-and with the most endearing touch of disbelief. "Yes?"
She nodded furiously. "Yes, I'll marry you. You're too bossy, too stubborn, and too tall for a woman of my stature, but I'll marry you, anyway."
"Well, isn't this romantic," Anne muttered. "You should have made him ask on bended knee, at the very least."
Angus ignored her, smiling instead down at Margaret as he touched her cheek with the gentlest of hands. "You do realize," he murmured, "that this is the craziest, most impulsive thing you have ever done in your entire life?"
Margaret nodded. "But also the most perfect."
" 'In her life?' " Anne echoed dubiously. " 'In her life?' How can you know that? You've only known her since yesterday!"
"You," Angus said, spearing his sister with a stare, "are superfluous."
Anne beamed. "Really? Does that mean, then, that I may go to London?"
Six hours later, Anne was well on her way to London. She'd been given a stern lecture from Angus, heaps of sisterly advice from Margaret, and a promise from both that they would come and visit in a month's time.
She'd stayed in Gretna Green, of course, for the wedding. Margaret and Angus were married less than an hour after he'd proposed. Margaret had originally balked, saying that she ought to be married at home, with her family present, but Angus had just raised one of those dark eyebrows and said, "Jesus, whiskey, and Robert the Bruce, you're in Gretna Green, woman. You have to get married."
Margaret had agreed, but only after Angus had leaned over and whispered in her ear, "I'll be bedding you this eve whether or not we've the minister's blessing."
There were benefits, she quickly decided, to a hasty marriage.
And so the happy couple found themselves back in their room at The Canny Man.
"I might have to buy this inn," Angus growled as he carried her over the threshold, "just to make certain this room is never used by anyone else."