Eric followed him out. Stratton had been right about one thing: It was time to come to terms with Miss MacCallum.
* * *
The dust in the chamber lay densely on the records and tomes, and every movement sent it flying like tiny snowflakes. Whenever Davina turned a page, a thin cloud formed in front of the window.
“It should be here.” Mr. Hume’s thin, long finger slid down the page. “Ah. There he is.”
His finger stopped at a name in a list of those who died at Culloden. Her great-grandfather’s name, Michael MacCallum.
“It does not refer to him as a baron,” she said while she stifled a sneeze. “It could be any Michael MacCallum.”
“Only one died there. I checked.”
“You have done this before?”
“I took it upon myself to do so, lest someone say even the source of your claim was false. Had another Michael MacCallum perished that day, someone might say you are that one’s great-granddaughter.”
“If you had told me what you found, I would have trusted you and been spared all this heavy air.” She also would have been spared the way Mr. Hume leaned in close while they examined the huge bound manuscript. He still hovered too closely, increasing her discomfort. She considered allowing the sneezes to erupt right in his face.
“Let us go, then, so your health is not affected.”
They left the War Office and began the walk home. Mr. Hume did not like to hire carriages. He said nature had given people two legs for a reason. Davina could not disagree with that, but an hour walk in each direction for no purpose did not amuse her.
“I am glad we are having this time together,” Mr. Hume said. “It gives me an opportunity to talk to you about something that has been much on my mind.”
“Is this conversation the true reason for this outing? Because while the records chamber was fascinating, I did not need to visit there.”
“You should see what evidence there is in any direction, so you can say you did when you are questioned.”
“Then perhaps you can find a way for me to see whatever records Parliament also has about that title and estate. I was thinking there may be other information, regarding his family and heir, for example.”
“I can find out if such records exist at the College of Arms. Now, regarding the matter I want to talk about.” He returned to his overture with deliberation. “It has come to my attention that there are suitors attending on you. You almost caused a scene at the theater, where they lined up, and now some are becoming bolder in their attempts to enthrall you.”
“Only two have called, if that is what you mean by bolder. I assumed Mrs. Moffet would inform you about them, but I can’t imagine how you learned about the theater.” Neither caller had been what Davina would describe as enthralling.
“You accepted the introductions at the theater. You received the two who called.”
“Like any woman, I am not opposed to flattery and diversion. Do not be concerned. The calls were after three o’clock and did not interfere with my duties to Nora, nor would I let them.”
“You should not encourage these men. Receive them once and they will return. Keep receiving them and they will form hopes and expectations that will never be realized.” He spoke with surprising force.
“I will take your advice to heart and give it every consideration.”
“Consideration? I am sure you do not entertain the slightest idea of marrying one of them.”
“My dear Mr. Hume, if the notion is as appalling as you seem to believe, I will conclude as much, no doubt. When I consider it.”
Being red-haired, he had snowy white skin. It now flushed a deep pink. “Do you find it amusing to vex me? The notion is beyond consideration. It is impossible. Would you wrest your family lands back from Brentworth only to hand them over to some other Englishman? Would you have yet more tenants answer to a factor who reports to London? Isn’t enough Scottish territory all but annexed to England through the English lords who own it and have absorbed it into their own holdings? With such an inheritance comes a duty, and you must acknowledge yours.”
Davina glanced from side to side to see if anyone was noticing this lecture. Mr. Hume had become the image of a man incensed, and she had become a child being scolded.
“Becalm yourself, sir, or the whole world will know our business,” she hissed. “It is not for you to instruct me, least of all about marriage.”
He caught himself up, looked around, then walked on for five minutes without a word.
“I do not seek to instruct you,” he finally said. “I merely seek to remind you of your duty lest your head be turned by the flatteries, as you put it.”
“My first duty is to my family, past and future. As for marriage, if it gives you any comfort, none of the men who have flattered me are promising in that area. I am not so ignorant as to think their interest is in me.”
He looked relieved. He even smiled.
They walked in silence most of the rest of the way, but Davina felt him there. An energy came from him, one that begged to be released. She feared he would declare himself, or launch another argument, this time about why her duty was to marry him.
“I will part from you here,” she said when they neared Bedford Square. “I have things I must do at the journal.”
“I will accompany you, and wait in the park so you do not have to make your way back on your own.”
“That would not be wise. This could take me some time. I will be back at the house before dusk, so you need not worry.”
He fished in his waistcoat pocket. “Let me give you—”
“That is not necessary. As you said, nature gave us strong legs for a reason.”
Chapter Ten
“This is all very sly,” Langford said. “I promise you will be impressed. You couldn’t have planned it better yourself.”
High praise indeed. Eric idled in a chair in the library while Langford all but rubbed his hands together. There was nothing Langford loved more than a plot afoot.
This plot was a very small one. In order to speak with Miss MacCallum alone, he had to see her outside Hume’s house. Either he needed to follow her when she left the house and accidentally come upon her on the street, or he needed to arrange to accidentally come upon her somewhere else. Like Langford’s home.
“Your wife is aware, I assume.” Once married, a man’s discretion went to hell, at least when it came to his spouse, and this friend had never been discreet to begin with. Eric pictured Langford and his duchess chatting about everyone’s business over dinner, in bed, in the carriage—all the time, in other words.
“She is. Don’t worry. She can play her role. She and the ladies believe that if you come to know Miss MacCallum better, you will be sympathetic, so she thinks this is a splendid idea.”
Eric wondered who the ladies were. The two duchesses, of course. Others who were involved with that journal perhaps. Stratton said there was a club of some sort at Clara’s house on Bedford Square, though. There might be dozens of ladies offering opinions.
It was exactly the kind of public airing of his affairs that he had avoided over many years. Now, thanks to the king, he could not avoid it.
Langford walked to the garden doors and spied out. “They are coming. Time for the plan.” He opened the door a bit.
Eric pulled himself up and followed Langford over to one of the cases on the wall. Like many town libraries, it replaced some breadth with height. The books near the ceiling could be accessed by one of the ladders that ran on a railing three feet below the top of the cases.
Langford climbed one ladder. He grabbed four heavy tomes and dropped them to the floor. “Damnation!” he shouted while he scrambled down and threw himself on the floor amid the books.
Eric looked down at him. He had been promised a clever plan, not these histrionics.
“Oh, no! What happened, darling?” The duchess rushed in, her face a mask of worry and shock. She fell to her knees beside him. “You fell! Ar
e you all right? Is anything broken?”
Langford sat up and rubbed his shoulder. “The weight of the books unbalanced me. Stupid to go for them all at once. Help me get to that divan over there, Brentworth.”
“Should you even try to move on your own? Maybe I should call for several footmen to help me lift and carry you,” Eric said dryly.
Langford glared at him. “No, no. I think I can manage it with only a bit of help from you.”
With much fussing on the duchess’s part, and tentative moves and a few groans on Langford’s, Eric moved his friend to the divan. While he did so, he noticed Miss MacCallum angling her head to read the title on the front of one of the books on the floor.
“It is a good thing you are here, Brentworth. Davina and I were just taking a turn in the garden, and if we had been by the back portal we might never have been aware of Gabriel’s accident.” The duchess fussed more, this time over that shoulder. Or maybe it was the other one.
Eric could not remember which one had been injured.
“If you would allow me, I could tell you whether you need to send for a physician or surgeon,” Davina said.
“Surgeon!” The duchess gave her husband a desperate look.
“If a shoulder breaks, it is very serious. All breaks are,” Davina said. “Will you permit me to see if there are any?”
Langford and his wife shared an unfathomable look. Langford shrugged. With the hurt shoulder. His wife stood aside. Eric folded his arms to watch Act Two.
Davina advanced on the divan. She placed her hands on the injured shoulder. She made a series of firm presses, each time waiting for something. Probably for Langford to howl in pain, which he neglected to do. Indeed his lack of reaction was such that by the last press Miss MacCallum wore a frown.
“Please raise your arm straight out in front of you.”
Langford obeyed.
“Now to the side, then above you.”
Out the arm went. Then up.
Miss MacCallum stood back. “After the way you cursed and cried out, I feared you were seriously hurt. Instead, I doubt you will even have a bruise in the morning.”
“Perhaps you had hoped for more damage. I am sorry to disappoint you. That was a far enough fall for me.”
“Why, the shock alone would make a man curse,” the duchess said. “Isn’t that so, Brentworth?”
“Apparently so.”
“I think I will forgo our outing,” Langford said to him. He rubbed his shoulder again for good measure. “It may not be broken, but I am quite sore.”
The duchess sat beside him and rubbed the shoulder too. She ruffled the dark curls on his head in reassurance. Rather suddenly, no one else existed for the two of them.
“Miss MacCallum, I have my carriage here. I will take you back to the City,” Eric said. “I was going in that direction myself.”
The duchess heard. “Oh, would you, please? I invited Davina to go with me to some warehouses, but now, with Gabriel injured—” All her attention returned to Langford, who somehow managed to appear pale but stoical.
“I suppose I can take advantage of your offer.”
“Let us go, then, so Langford can rest.”
* * *
As soon as the door closed behind them, Miss MacCallum smiled to herself. By the time he handed her into the carriage, she was grinning.
“Are you going to tell me the reason for that farce?” she asked after he settled across from her. “You were there, so you must know he did not fall, let alone from the top of that ladder. That would be a good fifteen feet, and I assure you, had he done so and landed on his shoulder, he would not easily move it, let alone hold it straight out to his side.”
“Well, as you said, it was not broken.”
“Even if it were not broken. Nor was he in pain. Not really. He did not flinch at all when I examined him.”
“He is very fit. And uncommonly brave.”
“The books on the floor dealt with agricultural practices. They looked to be at least a hundred years old, so not modern agricultural practices. Did you and he have some argument over how barley was harvested in the last century and he needed to consult the authorities of the time?”
“You are too clever for the average ruse, I can see.”
“Please do not forget that.”
“I was not consulted about the how of it, but the goal was to arrange for me to see you without having to call at Hume’s house. It appears the plot, even with your excessive cleverness, succeeded, because here we are.”
She barely reacted. “Why not simply write and ask to meet me in a park? That is what Haversham did.”
“Would you have come?”
“Of course. Curiosity would have bested any sense that said not to.”
“What did Haversham want?”
“He merely wanted to apprise me of the efforts being taken on my behalf.”
“He needed to meet you in a park for that? At least he did not declare himself another suitor. There are enough of those already.”
“I could do worse than Mr. Haversham. After all, he has the king’s ear all day long. With some persuasion, I might have all I seek.”
He assessed her in that light, as if he never had before. He pictured her working her woman’s wiles on such as the king’s lackey. “I expect you could be most persuasive if you chose. Poor Haversham would not stand a chance. Speaking of suitors, has Hume proposed yet?” It was none of his business but he wanted to know.
“Is this why you wanted to speak with me? To find out Mr. Hume’s intentions and to make sport of those suitors? If so, I am dismayed a peer has time for such childishness. I assumed such as you were engaged most days with important governmental issues.”
He almost colored himself but managed to keep his face acceptably cool. That he needed to fight that battle, let alone because a woman had dared scold him, was so unusual as to fascinate him. “I wanted to speak with you about documents and evidence. I am told you and Hume visited the War Office.”
“You know about that? Have you set spies on me?”
“Miss MacCallum, when the world knows your business, the world sticks its nose into your business. I do not need spies because anyone with information is gleeful to tell me everything. Did you and Hume find anything useful?”
“Why should I tell you?”
“To add to the evidence on your side of our dispute. There is no point in finding more if you keep it a secret.”
She came as close to pouting as he guessed she ever did, but soon gave it up. Which was too bad because it turned out she had the perfect mouth for pouting and she looked adorable.
“Unfortunately, I found no new evidence, only my great-grandfather’s name in the lists of the deceased. Mr. Hume said there are also records kept by Parliament regarding the lords, but he can’t get me in to see them.”
“I can.”
Her gaze turned quizzical. “Would you?”
“We will go there now, if you want, and examine any record pertaining to him together. However, it is not Parliament we must visit, but the College of Arms.”
“This is very good of you to explain and help. Suspiciously so.”
“Not at all. The sooner I convince you there is no evidence, the better.”
* * *
It was an understatement to say that doors opened for Brentworth. They swung wide as he approached. Davina looked for peepholes or windows that might be used to identify visitors before they arrived so appropriate deference could be shown to a duke.
No one questioned why he brought a companion. She assumed they didn’t dare. Even the most supercilious functionary would be intimidated by the arrogance that Brentworth wore even more comfortably than his coats, and his garments fit him very well indeed.
They made their way to a gentleman prepared to assist them. Brentworth explained that they wanted to examine the records regarding inheritances. “Scottish peers,” he added.
“We have a copy of the records from the Lord
Lyon. I will bring them.”
Ten minutes later, Davina stood by his side while he paged through a large book of bound sheets of parchment on which were written the history of various titles down through time.
Some had next to the last name listed Title in abeyance or Title attainted or Title extinct.
“Here it is,” Brentworth said.
Davina read the row of names. She’d had no idea the title was four hundred years old, or that the first baron had come from the Highlands. Around two hundred years ago, a MacCallum had purchased the estate, and hence the barony, as could be done in Scotland. The ancestors of the last baron ran down the page. Below his name, someone had written predeceased by James, his son and heir, who died in 1745, recorded and buried St. Thomas Church.
“That is the parish church near Teyhill,” Brentworth said.
“That must refer to my grandfather.”
“It says his death was recorded by the church.”
She battled the disappointment dragging down her heart. “I don’t think that means much. It was put out that he died. It may have been recorded that way, so the story made sense.”
“It says there is a grave.”
His tone, almost gentle, caused her to look from the page to his face. Their joint examination of the tome meant they stood very close to each other, and now she noticed how he warmed her side. His expression arrested her attention. Not so hard now. Not triumphant. He almost appeared disappointed too.
She gazed again at the page in order to break the peculiar connection she felt with him. What an odd moment for that little bridge to appear, in this dusty chamber of all places, while searching out evidence to disprove each other. Yet she could not deny that for a few moments she had experienced his presence like that of a friend. And also something else. The short span of air between them trembled with a rare vitality.
“It is odd he was buried at the church. There is a family graveyard on the property,” she said.
“You know that, do you? Have you been there?”
It had been an unfortunate slip. “Once. With my father. We were nearby and ventured to see what it was.”
Never Deny a Duke Page 9