down.”
“Then the sentiment is mutual.”
She disengaged from his grasp and left the hothouse. As she walked rapidly along the path toward the picnic blankets, willing away the heat in her cheeks and the quivering in her blood and the sudden acute disappointment of having gotten what she wanted but not at all what she began to realize she needed, she noticed a small carriage alongside the others.
She recognized it, as well as the soberly clad gentleman disembarking from it. Like the devil, the Reverend Elijah Waldon had arrived at the ideal moment to cause the most damage.
H er vicar was a starched, priggish pole of a Sassenach, and Duncan took a quick disliking to any parents who would seek to ally their vibrant, passionate daughter with such a man.
She affected the introductions with grace. Only a hint of dismay in her lily pad eyes conveyed her displeasure over welcoming Waldon to her party. Duncan shook the man’s hand and found his grip surprisingly firm.
“How fortunate you gentlemen are,” Waldon said expansively, “to enjoy the company of so many lovely ladies.” He chuckled as though he’d uttered a witticism.
“Will ye join us for refreshments, Reverend?” Elspeth said.
“I should like that, my lady.” With amiable, self-satisfied smiles he arranged himself stiffly on the blanket. Duncan moved to Finch-Freeworth standing apart.
“Yer sister says yer parents intend her match wi’ Waldon,” he said easily, as though the notion of it didn’t clamp his stomach in a vise.
Finch-Freeworth nodded. “Is it any wonder she felt she had to do this”—he gestured to the picnic—“to escape that fate?”
Clearly her brother didn’t know the entire truth of it. She was not only escaping her fate. She was trying to build a dream.
He’d done the same. Seven years ago, after he returned from the East, he’d found and killed the man that had led his sister, Miranda, to her death. Then he went to work for Myles. Every guinea he’d earned for the odd strongman jobs he’d performed had gone home to his lands. He’d made Myles pay him well and he’d sent thousands of pounds to Scotland. But putting the estate back on its feet was only part of his plan. He dreamed that someday when he died, Sorcha would inherit the estate that she so ably managed despite limitations.
That his stubborn half-sister refused to marry and produce an heir was the only weakness in that plan. If Elspeth were to inherit, it would be the end of their lands. Elspeth was as starched and prim as Waldon, and she’d give away the land management to a useless fool like their father had, and the family would be ruined once and for all.
They were nearly ruined already.
His brow loosened. All but Moira. She would live in comfort. And Lily and Abigail were finding happiness too, all because of a fiery-haired, moss-eyed whirlwind of a lady who, it seemed, was as nonplused about this all as he was.
“I saw you walk away with my sister,” Finch-Freeworth said. His brow was low. “I didn’t stop you because I know you’ve spent little time in each other’s company. I think if she intends to marry you she should know who she’s marrying before it’s too late. But when I saw her return I regretted that I hadn’t gone after you. Are you dealing with her honorably, my lord?”
“If I told ye I weren’t, what would ye do?”
“I would call you out and shoot you in the heart.”
“That’d put period to her plan, nou, wouldn’t it?”
Finch-Freeworth’s throat worked. “I care for her, Eads. She may be a curiosity to you, but she’s one of the best friends of my life and here in London she’s under my protection. With a word I can send her home.”
“An wi’ a word, sir,” Duncan said quietly, “I can do the same.”
Finch-Freeworth’s gaze darted to Una. He swung it back. “Are you threatening me, my lord?”
“Wi’ what would I threaten ye, then? The dueling pistol ye’ve already got pointed at ma
“Then the sentiment is mutual.”
She disengaged from his grasp and left the hothouse. As she walked rapidly along the path toward the picnic blankets, willing away the heat in her cheeks and the quivering in her blood and the sudden acute disappointment of having gotten what she wanted but not at all what she began to realize she needed, she noticed a small carriage alongside the others.
She recognized it, as well as the soberly clad gentleman disembarking from it. Like the devil, the Reverend Elijah Waldon had arrived at the ideal moment to cause the most damage.
H er vicar was a starched, priggish pole of a Sassenach, and Duncan took a quick disliking to any parents who would seek to ally their vibrant, passionate daughter with such a man.
She affected the introductions with grace. Only a hint of dismay in her lily pad eyes conveyed her displeasure over welcoming Waldon to her party. Duncan shook the man’s hand and found his grip surprisingly firm.
“How fortunate you gentlemen are,” Waldon said expansively, “to enjoy the company of so many lovely ladies.” He chuckled as though he’d uttered a witticism.
“Will ye join us for refreshments, Reverend?” Elspeth said.
“I should like that, my lady.” With amiable, self-satisfied smiles he arranged himself stiffly on the blanket. Duncan moved to Finch-Freeworth standing apart.
“Yer sister says yer parents intend her match wi’ Waldon,” he said easily, as though the notion of it didn’t clamp his stomach in a vise.
Finch-Freeworth nodded. “Is it any wonder she felt she had to do this”—he gestured to the picnic—“to escape that fate?”
Clearly her brother didn’t know the entire truth of it. She was not only escaping her fate. She was trying to build a dream.
He’d done the same. Seven years ago, after he returned from the East, he’d found and killed the man that had led his sister, Miranda, to her death. Then he went to work for Myles. Every guinea he’d earned for the odd strongman jobs he’d performed had gone home to his lands. He’d made Myles pay him well and he’d sent thousands of pounds to Scotland. But putting the estate back on its feet was only part of his plan. He dreamed that someday when he died, Sorcha would inherit the estate that she so ably managed despite limitations.
That his stubborn half-sister refused to marry and produce an heir was the only weakness in that plan. If Elspeth were to inherit, it would be the end of their lands. Elspeth was as starched and prim as Waldon, and she’d give away the land management to a useless fool like their father had, and the family would be ruined once and for all.
They were nearly ruined already.
His brow loosened. All but Moira. She would live in comfort. And Lily and Abigail were finding happiness too, all because of a fiery-haired, moss-eyed whirlwind of a lady who, it seemed, was as nonplused about this all as he was.
“I saw you walk away with my sister,” Finch-Freeworth said. His brow was low. “I didn’t stop you because I know you’ve spent little time in each other’s company. I think if she intends to marry you she should know who she’s marrying before it’s too late. But when I saw her return I regretted that I hadn’t gone after you. Are you dealing with her honorably, my lord?”
“If I told ye I weren’t, what would ye do?”
“I would call you out and shoot you in the heart.”
“That’d put period to her plan, nou, wouldn’t it?”
Finch-Freeworth’s throat worked. “I care for her, Eads. She may be a curiosity to you, but she’s one of the best friends of my life and here in London she’s under my protection. With a word I can send her home.”
“An wi’ a word, sir,” Duncan said quietly, “I can do the same.”
Finch-Freeworth’s gaze darted to Una. He swung it back. “Are you threatening me, my lord?”
“Wi’ what would I threaten ye, then? The dueling pistol ye’ve already got pointed at ma
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