The Scottish Duke Read online

  Jason was an ideal assistant, one with a thirst for knowledge and a yen for travel. Edinburgh was fascinating to him, from the castle on the rock to the tales of the underground city. When he could, he gave Jason a few hours to explore on his own, only for the young man to return filled with some new tale of the city he’d learned or something wonderful he’d seen.

  Another of Jason’s assets: he never once asked why they were remaining in Edinburgh or when they were returning to Blackhall.

  The days were filled with activity. The nights were barren. He worked until he could no longer see the swirls and patterns of the various prints. He’d finalized his catalog system and put Jason in charge of ensuring that every card was in its proper position. Each person’s prints were not only listed in the catalog by name, location taken, and occupation, but by significant features of the print itself. This way, he had a way of cross-referencing the print.

  He kept himself frenetically busy, to the extent that he accomplished what he’d planned for the next two years. He met with members of the Scottish Society who lived in Edinburgh and attended lectures. He avoided social occasions for two reasons: he didn’t enjoy socializing all that much, and news of his wedding had probably leaked out. He didn’t want to explain why he was in Edinburgh and his wife was at Blackhall. Lorna didn’t deserve the gossip.

  Nor did she deserve a husband who was acting the fool.

  His mother hadn’t come out and called him a coward but that’s exactly how he was behaving.

  Lorna hadn’t written him. He hadn’t heard from her in all the time he’d been away from Blackhall. He’d only known her a month. A month and one night. Not long enough to affect him in this way.

  He might as well be invisible to her.

  That thought was, at first, oddly painful, then simply annoying.

  Nor had his mother sent him a note. It was as if he’d dropped off the face of the earth and the two women couldn’t be bothered.

  He didn’t know what was more irritating: that no one seemed to notice he was gone or that his conscience was telling him that’s exactly what he’d wanted.

  Matthews was even hinting at going home, and Edinburgh was a joy to his valet. There were countless shops from which to purchase innumerable items Alex didn’t need, as well as tailors to visit and hold out the carrot of the Duke of Kinross’s trade.

  The Edinburgh house was exceedingly comfortable, the staff excellent in the execution of their duties. He did the same thing he’d done in Inverness, finding himself studying the maids, of all things, and wondering at their lives. He addressed the housekeeper in Edinburgh just as he had in Inverness, no doubt surprising both women with his sudden interest in the servants. Were any of them suffering any hardships? Were their wages enough? Could he have a list of their names?

  He’d even taken to nodding to each servant as he passed and addressing them when they met. After the first few times, when they only curtsied, wide-eyed, they’d always responded with a smile and a greeting.

  About damn time he started noticing things.

  Matthews was an exception. Alex tried to turn a deaf ear to his valet and his gossip most of the time, but one morning he found himself acutely interested in what Matthews had to say.

  “I’ve heard from Miss Taylor, Your Grace. A great many things are changing at the castle. Your mother continues to dote on your son.”

  Matthews watched him carefully as he delivered that news. Alex closed his eyes, wished the man would finish shaving him silently but knew that would be too much to ask.

  “Since when does my sister-in-law correspond with you, Matthews?”

  “Miss Taylor wrote me to ask if I would purchase a few items for her.”

  “How did she know we’d moved on to Edinburgh?”

  When the valet remained uncharacteristically quiet, he opened his eyes and stared at Matthews.

  “I might have dropped her a note to let her know, just in case the Dowager Duchess needed to reach you, Your Grace.”

  “You are neither my secretary nor my confidant, Matthews. I’m capable of informing my mother of my whereabouts. I don’t need you doing so.”

  Matthews bowed stiffly. “Yes, Your Grace.”

  “What else did Mary write?”

  Matthews smiled, and Alex knew he’d fallen into the valet’s trap. He closed his eyes again and vowed not to react to the man’s further news.

  “Your wife refuses to use the seamstress who served the previous duchess, Your Grace. Evidently, the seamstress doesn’t approve of your wife’s taste.”

  He noticed that Matthews was careful not to call Lorna “duchess.” Did the man think she didn’t deserve the title? His valet was a snob, not the first time Alex had made that assessment.

  “Your suite smells of nappies, Your Grace. And I understand your new wife has washed out baby garments in the bathing chamber and hung them in the dressing room. When Miss Taylor suggested that the laundress would be better suited to care for the child’s garments, she was rebuffed by that woman your wife chose as a lady’s maid. She’s ill-prepared for the position, sir. She has no training, and scorched a dress when she tried to press it.”

  Alex remained silent, not giving Matthews any encouragement.

  “Your wife has been exceptionally rude to Miss Taylor, sir. In addition, the poor woman has been ignored by the Dowager Duchess, who seems to have forgotten their earlier friendship. Well, what can you expect?”

  He sat up abruptly. “Are you finished?”

  “For the most part, sir, but—”

  He cut Matthews off with a glance, grabbed the towel from the man’s hand and wiped his face.

  Mary was an annoying harridan who constantly repaid his generosity by gossiping behind his back. Unfortunately, she’d found a kindred soul in Matthews. The two of them would make Lorna’s life miserable if they could.

  His behavior had, no doubt, given Mary the idea that she could tell tales about his wife with impunity. Had the rest of the staff gotten the same impression?

  Damned time he returned.

  Why was he suddenly pleased by his decision?

  Lorna discovered that being a duchess was a great deal more difficult than anything she’d assumed. A duchess had duties just like the staff, some more onerous than others.

  Her mother-in-law had turned over Blackhall’s ledgers to her when Robbie was two and a half months old.

  “The steward does the actual entries,” she was told, “but it’s important for you to oversee all the expenses. If something seems outrageous to you, you need to tell him.”

  She’d been speechless at the responsibility, and when she tried to demur, the Dowager Duchess merely smiled and shook her head.

  “It’s something I’ve been waiting to do for ages, my dear. It’s your duty now.”

  She was to meet with the steward every week, plus meet with Mrs. McDermott to adjudicate any disputes among the staff, another duty of which she’d been ignorant. She had to decide upon the meals, any additional positions, and make suggestions for castle repairs that would go to the steward and from him to the duke for final approval.

  Lorna straddled an odd line with the staff. They all seemed friendly but reserved. She wanted to be like the Dowager Duchess, who noticed each person who served her and treated everyone with respect and dignity.

  She couldn’t say more than hello to Abby, for fear the girl would launch into a long-winded conversation. That would lead to the girl being lectured by Mrs. McDermott, requiring her to either intercede—which wouldn’t be wise—or ignore the fact that one of her former friends had been put on probation, an even more difficult choice.

  She had to be very careful, something she’d never before considered.

  Nan was her conduit to the staff and told her anything that went on in the servants’ quarters that she thought Lorna needed to hear.

  It was from Nan that she learned Mary was telling tales again. Alex, Mary said, had found a mistress in Edinburgh, which was w
hy he was gone so long. He didn’t want to return to Blackhall to the woman he’d been forced to marry. He was desperately unhappy that his new wife had been a servant, enough to stay as far away from the castle as he could for as long as possible.

  Unfortunately, since she didn’t know any different, Mary’s gossip hurt, no doubt as it was intended.

  When was Alex coming home?

  “We’re leaving tomorrow,” Alex told Matthews that night.

  Something eased in his chest as he instructed the valet to make arrangements. He’d inform Jason in the morning and do the last of his errands.

  He was going home. About time.

  Sitting on the edge of the bed, he took a few sips of whiskey. The effort to sleep didn’t work very well. Most of the time he lay in his bed, staring up at the ceiling, the events of the last year playing in his mind.

  When he did sleep, he dreamed, scenes he didn’t give himself permission to envision awake.

  Tonight was just like any other night except that he was awakened in the wee hours by a lamp shining in his eyes. “Well, at least you don’t have a woman with you,” Thomas said.

  Alex threw his forearm over his eyes, trying to come to grips with the notion that his uncle was standing in his bedroom.

  “Have you taken to drinking yourself to sleep, then?” Thomas asked, examining the bottle on the bedside table.

  “Why the hell are you here? To chaperone me? To judge my morals? A little ridiculous, coming from you, don’t you think?”

  “I’ve never married,” Thomas said.

  “No, but you have five little Thomases around.”

  “But had I married,” his uncle said, ignoring his comment, “I wouldn’t have left her the minute I married her.”

  A chill raced through him. “Are they all right?” he asked, sitting up.

  Thomas leaned against the door frame, arms folded. “Do you care?”

  “Are they all right, Thomas?”

  “Yes, no thanks to you. Your child is growing. He’ll probably have learned to walk before you return home. He knows me. He even smiles when he sees me. No doubt the first word out of his mouth will be ‘Thomas.’”

  Alex grabbed his robe and put it on. “Is that why you’re here, to regale me with tales of how avuncular you are with my son? What about my wife? Do you charm her, too?”

  “I’m too damn tired to hit you, but just so you know, I want to. I’ve grown to quite like your wife, which is more than you can say.”

  “You don’t understand.”

  “Oh, I do. You’re a damn fool, and I fault myself that I’ve never noticed it before. You were a damn fool with Ruth and you’re a damn fool with Lorna, only for a different reason.”

  Alex grabbed the bottle of whiskey and poured two fingers into the glass on the table.

  “You were a fool to put up with Ruth’s behavior, but I’ll bet you never said a word to her, did you?”

  “What difference would it have made?”

  “Who knows, since you never bothered to try? Sometimes, I wonder if she bedded anything in pants just to get a reaction from you. Something that said you weren’t a cold fish after all.”

  “I’m not a cold fish, damn it.”

  “Evidently not with Lorna, or you wouldn’t have become a father. Maybe you’re right. I don’t understand why you’re doing everything you can to destroy what she feels for you.”

  He took a sip of the whiskey and immediately wished he hadn’t. It burned down his throat. Worse, it reminded him of too many nights of hoping for oblivion, only for it to escape him.

  “She won’t hear a word spoken bad about you. She says that you and she weren’t a love match, that you married her only to give Robbie a name. That she understands why you don’t want to return to Blackhall. I’m glad she does because neither your mother nor I do.”

  He didn’t have anything to say to that, and he should have. He’d expected this confrontation, in a way. Actually, he’d thought it would occur when he returned to Blackhall and that it would be his mother who lectured him. He’d never anticipated that it would be Thomas or that his uncle would seek him out in Edinburgh. That he’d done something even Thomas found reprehensible was almost laughable.

  He wasn’t sure he could explain to either of them. Or even to himself.

  He wasn’t the same person around Lorna that he’d always known himself to be. He had no control, witness what had happened the first time he kissed her. And he found himself wanting to kiss her whenever he saw her.

  He’d lost his focus. Every time he took someone’s fingerprints, he found himself trying to recall the day Lorna had sat before him encapsulated by sunlight. He didn’t know if he was remembering or forming a picture in his mind of what it had been like, the bright rays finding the gold threads in her hair, her glorious brown eyes enlivened by humor. Her cheeks had turned pink as he regarded her and then held her hand as he’d taken her fingerprints.

  No, he was certain no one would understand.

  Time hadn’t made the situation easier. Nor had distance. The longer he stayed away, the worse his affliction became. Even whiskey couldn’t take her image away. Or make him stop wondering about her and Robbie.

  She wasn’t the first woman he’d ever bedded, even though that one and only occasion with her had been . . . What could he call it? Incredible? Spectacular? Memorable? Every minute of that night was emblazoned on his memory.

  Did she miss him? Had she missed him all these months? He’d counted the days, tried to keep himself occupied, took over six hundred fingerprints, studied what they’d amassed, and checked the clock at least a dozen times an hour.

  No time had ever passed as slowly.

  “It’s time you came home,” Thomas said.

  “Yes.”

  Let Thomas think it was his powers of persuasion that had convinced him. No need for his uncle to know that his valises were packed and the coachman had already been alerted to be ready at dawn for their departure.

  All that awaited him was his arrival at Blackhall.

  He would be calm and unexcited when entering his suite. If she asked him why he’d remained away for so long, he would be vague.

  Perhaps she wouldn’t ask.

  Perhaps she hadn’t cared.

  Perhaps—and this was a thought that chilled him—she appreciated his absence and would dread his return.

  She was, after all, Lorna, and she’d made no secret of her thoughts about him.

  She’d looked straight at him in the midst of labor, gritted her teeth and exchanged vows, all the while leaving no doubt that she did so only for the sake of her child. Earlier, she’d imperiously pointed to the door of her pitiful room, demanding he depart when it was all too evident she needed help.

  She didn’t want him.

  He’d never before been at the mercy of another human being. She could smile at him and ease his heart. Or act as if she hadn’t noticed he was gone.

  The problem was, he didn’t know which it would be or how he would respond. No, he was definitely not himself. Nor had he been ever since meeting her.

  Chapter 23

  Matthews was sullen yet obsequious all the way back to Blackhall. What his valet didn’t realize was that of all the servants at the castle, he was perhaps the most expendable. Alex could shave himself and didn’t need someone to care for his garments or to dress him, and Matthews’s increasing penchant for gossiping was annoying.

  His arrival was without ceremony, or welcome, for that matter. He entered the foyer of the castle, taking in the soaring space, the staircase, the rooms jutting off to the left and right.

  A uniformed maid bobbed a curtsy in his direction. He made a note of her face, met her eyes, and nodded back to her. Mrs. McDermott’s wishes be damned, he was going to pay attention to Blackhall’s staff.

  He walked into his sitting room to find that it didn’t smell of nappies at all. Instead, he could detect a hint of cinnamon and something floral. He dispensed with his coat, h
at, and gloves, tossing them onto the settee.

  “She doesn’t seem to be here, Your Grace.”

  He stopped and turned, gathering up his patience before he spoke to his valet.

  “My wife isn’t to be referred to as ‘she,’ Matthews. Nor is she to be called ‘your wife,’ especially not in that tone. When you refer to her, you will do so as ‘the duchess,’ do you understand?”

  Matthews drew himself up, his shoulders rigid beneath his spotless black jacket.

  “Your Grace,” he said, bowing slightly and gathering up the coat, hat, and gloves. The gesture wasn’t an admission of error as much as a faux gesture of humility.

  Alex wasn’t fooled.

  He waved his hand in Matthews’s direction, a sign that he wasn’t to be followed, and strode to the bedroom door.

  Nan was sitting before the fireplace, stitching a garment. Her face was a study in concentration, her lips pursed together and eyes intent on her task.

  The cradle sat beside her, far enough from the fire to be safe but close enough that his son wouldn’t be cold. Although it was May, spring came grudgingly to the Highlands, keeping a chill to the air.

  Nan glanced up as he entered. Her smile was instant and welcoming. He wanted, in an odd way, to thank her for that.

  “Is he sleeping?” he asked, softening his voice as he approached.

  “At the moment, no, Your Grace. He’s trying to decide whether or not to chew his hands or examine his feet.”

  His son’s cradle had been replaced by a larger version. So, too, had the newborn he’d last seen. Robbie had doubled in size. The baby’s eyes fixed on him, investigating him; his face crumpled then smoothed out, almost as if he changed his mind about crying about this strange man standing over his bed.

  Nan gestured toward the other chair. “If you’ll sit, I’ll get him.”

  He was perfectly capable of taking his own son from his cradle, but he did as she asked.

  “He’s grown,” he said after she placed Robbie in his arms.

  “That he has,” she said. “He’s a big eater, is our Robbie. He has the appetite of a Highlander. At least that’s what Lorna says.”