by Julia London
She choked on a sob.
Hamlin reached for her, but she slapped him away and put her back to him.
“I didna turn her out,” he said as evenly as he could, but his heart was pounding so hard as to make him breathless. “I tried all that I knew to keep her at Blackthorn Hall, on my word I did. But the truth, Catriona, is that she left me. She and her lover—”
Catriona whirled about, wide-eyed. Her chest was rising with each tortured breath, her eyes wide and searching. “What?”
He shrugged. “I told you the truth, aye? The Lady Montrose was never happy in her marriage. She sought happiness elsewhere.”
She could only stare at him, clearly dumbstruck.
“At her request, I divorced her,” he said, his voice going lower, filling with shame.
“Divorce,” she whispered, her eyes going wide. “You divorced her?”
“Aye. She begged me to, she did. She’d no’ have a prayer of gaining one on her own.”
“Does Eula know?”
He sighed. That was more complicated. “No’ everything. No one knows, save three people.”
“But why? Why pretend, why no’ be truthful?”
“The seat,” he said morosely. “The bloody seat.”
“I donna understand.”
He thought how to explain it. “The Duke of Perth was my father’s closest friend and ally, and he has long since been the one I turn to for advice, aye? It was his advice...” He paused to drag his fingers through his hair. “He advised me that men would understand if I’d sent away an unruly wife. But that those same men would think less of me had I’d been cuckolded. Which I had. And I know it to be true.”
Catriona looked at the floor, then at the ceiling. Her hands found her hips again, and she chewed on her bottom lip. And then, without a word, she turned away, went to the sideboard and poured two whiskies. She handed him one. “You best tell me all, then.”
So he did. They sat together on the settee, and he told her about Glenna’s unhappiness, which she’d expressed to him only after the vows had been said.
“Aye, of course,” Catriona said darkly. “Better to wed a duke than to love him.”
“I suppose,” he said, without emotion. He’d long come to grips with the idea that he’d been duped. He explained that he could never find the path that would make her happy. How Eula had come, and the responsibility to see after her cousin’s only surviving child was an annoyance to her. How she’d finally left and had begged him to set her free. That, he’d done without regard for the seat in the House of Lords—he’d wanted nothing to do with Glenna, either.
“How wretched that must have been for you,” Catriona said softly.
It was wretched, all right. He told Catriona how he’d sought the advice of the elderly duke, and how he’d taken his advice. “It was easy to do,” he said. “I wanted the seat. And no one questioned me. I was no’ forced to explain what had happened, which, I will admit, was to my liking. But I never assumed the rumors would grow into such monstrous accusations against me.”
“Why did you no’ tell me?” she asked. “I would no’ have judged you.”
He looked at her solemn face and wished he could go back in time and tell her everything. “Aye, you would no’ have judged me, I know.” He pressed his palm to her cheek. “I was selfish. When I was with you, Catriona, I didna think of her. I didna want to think of her, and it never seemed imperative.”
She turned her face and kissed his palm, then moved slightly. “When would it have seemed imperative?”
It was a fair question. “I canna rightly say. The only thing that matters to me is how happy you’ve made me these last few weeks, leannan. It has been a joy, a pleasure beyond my wildest imagining, aye? It never occurred to me that she’d come back into my life and try to extort money from me or threaten to expose the truth.”
“What will you do?”
He shrugged and leaned forward to kiss her forehead. “No’ a thing, aye? She can say of me what she likes. None of it is as damning as what’s been rumored.”
“But what of the seat? The vote is within the fortnight.”
“It’s a seat,” he said. “The only thing that matters to me is you.”
Catriona studied him a moment. She turned and pushed him backward, kept pushing until he was lying on his back on the settee. “I donna care about her,” she whispered, and lifted her skirts to straddle his lap. She took his head in her hands and kissed him.
Hamlin groaned. He caught her shoulders and pushed her away. “Donna do this, no’ here. Someone will come.”
“They’ll no’ come.” She kissed his eyes, his cheeks, his mouth.
He groaned again, full of longing and raw need. “’Tis no’ wise,” he muttered.
“It was never wise, mo chridhe,” she murmured.
She’d never called him a term of endearment. He didn’t know Gaelic save a few phrases, but he thought she’d called him her heart. Her heart. His heart fluttered—he had believed he’d never know this depth of emotion, and as she began to move against him, tantalizing him, making him hard, he could feel something in him protesting. She’d called him her heart and he...he was weak, that was what. Bloody well weak. “Donna go home to Balhaire,” he said. “No’ yet.”
“Donna speak of it, no’ now,” she whispered, and bit his lip, then lifted her hips and, with a bit of help from him, slid down onto his shaft.
Hamlin didn’t speak of it. He didn’t think of it. He was lost.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
OVER THE COURSE of the next two days, Catriona spent as much time as she could in Hamlin’s company. She met him at the ruins, where he’d been followed by his hunting dogs. They laughed at the antics of the two when they tussled over a stick. They made love under the yew, and Catriona was happy and sated and in love. She had learned every inch of Hamlin, from the stubborn curl of hair that escaped his bob, to the curious tattoo on one shoulder, which he laughingly told her had been acquired one drunken night during his Grand Tour of the continent as a young man. She knew the soft patch of skin in the crease of his elbow, the small scar above his knee. She knew that a flick of tongue behind his earlobe drove him mad and that he rarely hunted because his vision blurred the farther away his prey was.
She didn’t think about anything but being with him when she was with him, but at night...well, at night, alone in her bed, the veil on her fantasy was lifted, and she lay restlessly, watching her life float by in a series of images.
She wondered when it would have become imperative for him to tell her about his divorce? He had never really answered her about that. Catriona was also at turns angry and maudlin about his secret. She’d known from the beginning that their affair was temporary, a summer she’d never forget, and that he owed her no explanation. And yet, there was much more to her feelings. Perhaps she ought to have pressed him, to demand to know when, if ever, he would have told her about his former marriage. But to what end? Had she not been warned that nothing could come of this? Did she think Hamlin would jeopardize his reputation or his potential seat in the House of Lords for her? And would she not return to Balhaire as she’d planned all along, and really, sooner rather than later? Did she not have her promise to Zelda to see after the abbey? Had that not become more imperative after her trip to Edinburgh?
Her audience with the Lord Advocate had not been terribly encouraging. Having heard the reason for their call, he’d shaken his head before Uncle Knox could even make his plea on her behalf. As she’d explained it to Hamlin that afternoon in the ruins, “He said there was no goodwill for Scotland in London. That the land where the abbey sits would be better used for sheep, and there were enough English lords who desired a foothold for that verra purpose.”
“Is there nothing that can be done?” Hamlin had asked.
“He promised to bring up our case with the kin
g, but that he believed it would come to naught. But he granted another six months to vacate the abbey. He said I would be wise to prepare myself for the worst.”
Hamlin hadn’t said much, and Catriona assumed that he thought much like Uncle Knox had thought about it—when Catriona had asked her uncle his opinion on the return to Dungotty, he’d thought a long time and then had said, “I think that Zelda’s heart was bigger than practical. It was always a costly proposition, was it not?”
“You think I ought to let it go, then,” she’d said dejectedly.
Her uncle had patted her knee. “I think it not sustainable.”
Catriona had been perturbed that her uncle didn’t share her view of the necessity to fight for Kishorn. But even still, she had known in some part of her soul that he was right. The abbey was in disrepair, they were entirely dependent on the charity of others and the abbey was so remote that the women and their children were removed from society and gainful employment. It was not a true solution for the plight of those women and children.
“What do you mean to do, then?” Hamlin asked her that afternoon when she explained the Lord Advocate’s answer to him.
How refreshing that Hamlin didn’t tell her what she ought to do or think, as her brothers or father would have done, as the men who wanted her land would have done. “Uncle Knox thinks it will become an unwelcome complication for my family if I push the Lord Advocate. But what of the women and their children? Where are they to go? What are they to do?”
Hamlin had no answer for her. He stared into the distance, as if contemplating her question.
“I’ve been gone too long,” she said quietly.
Hamlin said nothing.
She’d been gone two months now, and if they would be forced to give it over to the Crown, there was much work to be done. She had to find places for them all. She couldn’t stay at Dungotty forever—even Uncle Knox had announced he planned to return to England before autumn. Catriona had been putting off the inevitable, but time was running out for her and Hamlin.
She wanted to be in every moment of this extraordinary experience, absorbing it, imprinting it into her heart. She didn’t want to think too closely about the secrets they’d kept from each other, or anything that didn’t really matter when one lived in the moment. Those things only mattered when there was more to come of a love affair. Not when time was running out and they were grasping at the last rays of their sunlight.
It hurt her heart to think of leaving him. Aye, her uncle had warned her in the beginning, but Catriona had allowed her heart to swell with love for the duke anyway. She couldn’t help it.
But she wouldn’t think of that now. Not today. Not tomorrow, or the day after that. She had every moment of the rest of her life to nurse her regrets.
* * *
HAMLIN HAD INVITED Catriona and her uncle once again to dine at Blackthorn Hall. “If we canna dine at Blackthorn on the third attempt, I will believe it is cursed,” he’d said with a smile.
On the night they were expected, Catriona dressed in her best gown, a blue silk with embroidered green vines and leaves, a pearly white petticoat with the same vines. They arrived at Blackthorn in the cabriolet and were met by two liveried footmen. Eula, wearing her new evening gown, stood framed in the open door, too excited to receive her guests in the salon as a grand lady might.
Miss Burns had turned the lass out very prettily. Her gown had been fitted, and her hair a wee tower on her head, threaded with pink ribbons that matched those on her gown. She curtsied deeply, her arms spread wide. “You are most welcome,” she said solemnly.
“It is our great honor,” Catriona said, just as solemnly.
Eula giggled. “I’ve learned a new dance,” she said as they followed Stuart to the salon. “Aubin will play the pianoforte so that I may perform. Montrose said I might.”
“Aubin has musical talents in addition to everything else?” Catriona asked with surprise.
“Aubin can do anything, he can,” Eula said. “I mean to marry him when I’m of age.”
“We’ll have no talk of matrimony just yet.” It was Hamlin who spoke as they entered the salon. He was standing at the hearth and was wearing, much to Catriona’s surprise, a tartan plaid and a formal coat. She paused to take him in—of all the men she’d seen in plaids in her life, she had never seen one wear it so well, and it caused her heart to skip a beat or two.
“Your grace, you are a Scotsman indeed,” her uncle said.
“Aye,” he said with a smile. “In honor of our Highland guest,” he said, looking at Catriona.
She could not possibly have loved him more.
“’Twas my idea,” Eula said as she walked a slow circle around the duke. “Aubin said everyone knows the Highland regiments wear them, and Montrose—”
“His grace,” Hamlin murmured.
“His grace had one in his wardrobe.”
“One might inquire what a lass was doing in a gentleman’s wardrobe,” Hamlin said, but he smiled so fondly at Eula that Catriona realized something all at once. He loved Eula. She could see it in the way he looked at her, smiled at her. It was the same way he looked at Catriona and smiled at her.
Hamlin loved her.
They dined on lamb and parsnips cooked to such perfection that Uncle Knox asked for more. The wine flowed freely, thanks to Stuart’s attention, and the four of them laughed as if they were old friends. They toasted Hamlin, who would face the vote for the House of Lords next week. Uncle Knox regaled them all with a story about running from the king’s soldiers as a young man, and sliding into a shed to hide, only to discover the shed housed the family pigs.
They laughed until their bellies ached, and Catriona could look around that table, with the flickering light of the candles, the smell of roasted lamb in the air, a warm fire in the hearth at her back, and imagine what might have been. She could imagine Hamlin on the dais with her family at Balhaire. Or here, with more children around them. A family had always been her greatest desire, and that want had not ebbed with time. If anything, it had only grown. She wanted to matter to someone in a way that transcended sister and daughter.
There was so much laughter that evening, so much warmth. Catriona had never seen Hamlin so relaxed, or Eula so animated with delight. She was feeling soft, thinking how perfect the dinner was to mark the end of the summer, when the sounds of commotion reached them.
“Is it the shutters, then?” Eula asked Montrose.
“I donna know, lass,” he said, and poured more wine.
A moment later, a footman appeared. When he opened the dining room door, they could hear voices, male and female alike, one of them exclaiming over the other.
“Your grace, you are needed,” the footman said.
Hamlin looked at the footman with an expression of sheer apprehension. “If you will excuse me, aye?” he said to his guests, and followed the footman out.
Catriona looked at Eula. The lass, who was so eager for visitors, was staring at her plate. She shifted her gaze to Uncle Knox. He understood her better than anyone at times—and he knew what she was thinking. “Stay,” he said sternly. “’Tis no’ your affair.”
Catriona didn’t stay. She stood up.
“No!” Eula suddenly cried, and tried to lunge for Catriona’s hand. “Stay here, Miss Mackenzie. Please.”
Now Catriona was alarmed. “Donna fear, Miss Guinne. I’ll return straightaway.” She ran her hand over Eula’s shoulder, but Eula grabbed her hand and held tightly.
So Catriona took the lass with her. She stepped into the hall and saw at once that her worst fear had come true. Catriona was stunned—the commotion was the return of the former Lady Montrose. Catriona could feel Uncle Knox at her back, and Eula leaning against her side. Together, the three of them stared at the people down the hall—Hamlin, standing separately from the others. Mr. Bain. An elderly gentleman in a c
oat of superfine and a felt hat Catriona had never seen before. And a woman with ginger hair.
Lady Montrose’s cheeks were flushed and her smile sparkling. The servants of Blackthorn Hall were appearing from everywhere, hastening into the foyer, hugging their former mistress at her invitation. She was speaking to each and every one of them as if they were long-lost friends, reunited at long last.
“It is so good to be returned to Blackthorn Hall!” she said gaily. “I should no’ have left. You must forgive me, all of you.”
Uncle Knox put his hand on Catriona’s shoulder.
Lady Montrose turned and saw them standing in the hall. Her gaze went to Eula, and with a cry of delight, she bent down, her arms wide. “Eula, darling!”
Eula shrank deeper into Catriona’s side.
Lady Montrose laughed. “Donna be shy, lass. Come kiss your cousin, aye?”
“Leave her be,” Hamlin said quietly.
Lady Montrose slashed a look across Hamlin that made Catriona shiver. She looked at Hamlin; his gaze met hers. His eyes had gone cold, and his face was devoid of color. Catriona did not understand what was happening, and she was desperate to understand, but Uncle Knox took her firmly in hand. “Your grace, we will take our leave. You have unexpected guests, and we’ll not be a bother.”
“You are no bother, my lord,” he said gruffly.
“Nevertheless,” he said, and with his hand now gripping Catriona’s elbow, forcing her to let go of Eula’s hand as he propelled her forward.
Catriona looked at Mr. Bain. Had he done this? He steadily returned Catriona’s gaze, but whatever he thought of it, she couldn’t determine. He was expressionless. Utterly expressionless.
“Please, you mustna interrupt your supper for me,” Lady Montrose said. “I’ve come quite unannounced, I have.”
“Why have you come?” Hamlin demanded.
“Perhaps we ought to retire to your study, your grace,” said the elderly man. “There is much to discuss.”
Hamlin gave the man a dark glance. He seemed to remember himself and said, “If I may, my Lord Perth, I should like to introduce Lord Norwood and his niece Miss Mackenzie.”