Saying it aloud made her feel rather sick, but it made the army veteran laugh. “If you’d given me a hundred goes, I’d never have guessed that. What was wrong with your intended? If he had both his pins, he’s already a better bet than me.”

“There is nothing wrong with him,” Margaret replied. “He has a castle in the Highlands. What could be more romantic? I’d have my horses and my dogs, and I wouldn’t have to put up with my husband too often, for his business interests keep him in London for much of the year. You see, Mr. Scott, he is perfect husband material.”

“Save you canny abide him, I’m guessing. Am I right?”

She shuddered. “That is it in a nutshell. I cannot abide him at all, though I promise you, I’ve tried. He disapproves of me. He thinks I talk too much, too, and that I need to learn to guard my tongue. What he really means is that I ought to say only what he thinks. He makes my skin crawl. I can’t explain it any other way.”

“Are they forcing you into it, lass?”

“No, no, nothing like that. I agreed. Well, I didn’t disagree,” Margaret said, shifting on the cobbles, for her legs had gone quite numb. “I assumed that Mama was right, that I would grow to like him.” She twisted her hands together miserably. “I knew from the moment Papa named him that I wouldn’t, but I allowed myself be persuaded otherwise. If only I had spoken up, I wouldn’t be in this dreadful mess. And now I must face the consequences. I almost fell in the Thames back there, you know. It might have been better if I had.”

“Ach, away, you don’t mean that. You’ve your whole life ahead of you.”

“I’m sorry, I’m not usually such a pathetic creature. My troubles are nothing compared to what you have endured.”

“It seems to me that what you need to do is go back and face the music. We Scots have a reputation for fearlessness, and you’re no different, you hear me.”

Margaret mimicked a shaky salute. “I shall take inspiration from you and show courage under enemy fire.”

“Your father’s not your enemy, lass, no matter what you think. He’ll likely be worried sick about you, and not without reason. There’s gonophs—child pickpockets—who would risk their necks to cut the lace from your petticoats, never mind the jewels you’re wearing,” Mr. Scott said. “London’s awash with rogues and vagabonds. For all you know, I could be one of them, playing the old soldier when the truth of it is that I lost my legs—ach, I don’t know, in a fall from a house I was robbing.”