by Julia London
Catriona was in such a state of shock at what was happening before her eyes that she couldn’t think to even curtsy. Uncle Knox moved forward with her, exchanged the pleasantries for her. The woman, who was currently hugging Mrs. Weaver to her, was not introduced.
Why was she here? It made no sense—she had returned to Blackthorn Hall like a long-lost, prodigal daughter.
“Stuart, have you anything I might eat?” she asked as she unfastened her cloak. “I’ve traveled all day and I’m famished. And some wine, Stuart. Eula, darling, will you not join me?”
Hamlin gave Mr. Bain a blistering look. Mr. Bain instantly took Lady Montrose by the arm and led her in the opposite direction of the dining room. Lord Perth glanced at Hamlin as he followed, his gaze questioning.
“I’ll be along,” Hamlin said quietly, and watched the older man follow after Lady Montrose and Mr. Bain. Then he turned toward Eula and motioned her forward. Eula ran to him, throwing her arms around his waist and burying her face in his belly. Hamlin squatted down beside her, put his arms around her and whispered in her ear. When he stood again, he handed her over to a startled Miss Burns, who had only just arrived into the excitement.
Then he turned to Catriona. “I beg your pardon, Catriona,” he said. “I was no’ expecting—”
“No, of course you were not,” Uncle Knox said. “We understand, do we not, Cat, darling?”
No, she didn’t understand. She was swimming in a sea of confusion and hurt and didn’t understand anything other than the woman he’d divorced had returned to Blackthorn Hall as if she were queen here.
Hamlin suddenly took her hand and bent over it, his lips lingering on her knuckles, heedless of Uncle Knox, who abruptly walked away and pretended to examine a painting. “I’ll send word to you as soon as I am able, aye?” He leaned in and kissed her cheek. And then he stepped back, his face shuttering, the aloof, distant duke returning. “Thank you, my lord,” he said to her uncle.
Uncle Knox turned about and moved instantly, catching Catriona’s wrist, pulling her close to him so that he could put his arm around her and keep her close. “Thank you, your grace, for a lovely evening.”
Hamlin nodded, and with his hands clasped behind his back, he watched them walk out the door, and kept watching until a footman had closed the door behind them.
In the cabriolet, Uncle Knox pulled the curtain between them and the groom, and sank against the squabs. “What in God’s name has happened this evening?”
“It was his wife,” Catriona said.
“She’s alive, then, is she?”
Catriona smiled bitterly. “Aye, she is. She...she took a lover and left him, and he divorced her.”
“Well, then,” Uncle Knox said. “I suppose that’s a bit more palatable than murder, but he can’t be happy to see her returned. One wonders why she has. Why now? It has to do with the vote, I should think.”
Catriona didn’t know, and at that moment, she didn’t care. She felt an unbearable weight in her chest, squeezing the breath from her. She hadn’t imagined how her love would end, but she would never have guessed it would be like this. She could not keep the tears from sliding down her cheeks. She bent over her lap trying desperately not to cry. She had no right to cry; she’d known from the beginning what this was. But that didn’t make it hurt any less.
“Oh, my love,” Uncle Knox cooed, and put his arm around her shoulders and pulled her into his side. “My poor dear girl,” he said, and Catriona turned her face into his coat and sobbed.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
HAMLIN WAS LIVID. How dare Bain seek Glenna out and bring her here? How dare Perth abet him in that? He strode down the hallway to his study and slammed the door behind with fury once he entered. Glenna jumped and looked nervously to Perth and Bain. But the two men returned Hamlin’s heated gaze with stoic determination.
“Is this your doing, then?” Hamlin accused Bain as he gestured to Glenna.
“You gave me leave to put the situation to rights, your grace,” he said with his bloody untroubled demeanor.
“This is no’ to rights, sir. This is blackmail!”
“I donna care for it any more than you,” Glenna said haughtily, as if, by some incomprehensible measure, she was the injured party. “Do you think I wanted to come back to this mausoleum? And why are you dressed like that, as if you live in a Highland cave?”
“If I may,” Lord Perth said.
No, you may not. But Hamlin owed the man his respect and debt of gratitude for having advised him so unselfishly after his father died. He clenched his jaw, gave him a curt nod.
“If I may have your leave, your grace, I’ll sit,” Perth said, and gingerly lowered himself onto a leather armchair. “I’m no’ a young man who might stand for hours.” He settled into his seat, crossed his hand over his belly and said, “Now, then. Lady Montrose—”
“She is no’ Lady Montrose,” Hamlin said acidly.
Glenna rolled her eyes.
“Quite right,” Perth conceded. “The former Mrs. Graham is in dire straits, your grace. She hasn’t a farthing to her name, aye?”
“That is no’ true,” Hamlin said. “She managed to extort fifty pounds from my solicitor.”
“I gave it to Charlie,” she said.
The blood in Hamlin’s veins roiled at the mention of her lover.
“But it wasna enough. I told you it wasna enough. Now he’s had to go to Glasgow to find work, he has, and I—”
“Mrs. Graham,” Lord Perth said curtly.
She pressed her lips together and sat on the edge of a chair beside Perth, her head down, like a disobedient child.
Lord Perth shifted his gaze to Hamlin. He looked rather sad, really. “Your former wife and I have come to an agreement. In exchange for her cooperation, I shall grant her a handsome sum to take herself and—” he paused to look at Glenna “—and Charlie away, aye?”
Hamlin gaped at him. “You’ve what? No, your grace, there is no need for you to do so.”
“There is every need, Montrose. It is my desire to see you in the House of Lords. The reappearance of your wife will put to bed the rumors about you. Naturally, people will assume you had a lover’s tiff and are reconciled. Once the vote is taken, you may trundle off to London, and she will trundle off to God knows wherever a thousand pounds will take her. You may say whatever you like about the dissolution of your marriage then, aye? Whatever you say will no’ be contradicted by the former Mrs. Graham, lest she’d like to see her lover accused of infidelity and kidnapping and live without a farthing.”
Hamlin couldn’t believe what he was hearing. He looked at the three of them, staring up at him as if this were a perfectly reasonable thing to do. “No,” he said with great indignation.
“For God’s sake, Hamlin,” Glenna complained. “I’ve said I’ll do what I must. What more do you want?”
“What do I want? I want to go back to the day I met you, madam, and start all again. I’ll no’ pretend,” he said flatly. “I’ll no’ lay claim to a version of events that is no’ true. I’ll no’ pretend to have reconciled!”
“Your grace,” Bain interjected, “might I have a word?”
Hamlin swung a dark gaze to his secretary. Or rather, his former secretary as of this moment. “What?”
“Privately, if you please, aye?” He gestured to the other end of the room.
“What is it?” Glenna said, looking at Bain, then at Hamlin. “What secrets are you sharing?”
“Mrs. Graham, you will fare far better if you keep your mouth shut,” Perth advised.
Hamlin stalked to the other end of the room. Bain followed along as if they were out for a stroll. When they were out of earshot, Hamlin said, “You’ve disappointed me, Nichol. I trusted you, and you have bloody well betrayed me.”
“I understand,” he said simply.
H
amlin’s rage flared. “Do you, indeed? Then understand this, lad—I’ve no bloody use for you now.”
“I would have been surprised at any other outcome, your grace. However, we have an agreement I will see you through the vote. If I may speak to that?”
The man had so much gall it was a wonder no one had shot him before now. Hamlin gestured impatiently for him to speak.
“You bear a great deal of affection for Miss Mackenzie,” he said.
Hamlin’s heart lurched in his chest. “Mind yourself,” he said low, seething. “’Tis none of your affair.”
“Indeed it is no’,” he agreed so bloody calmly. “But it has no’ gone unnoticed by others. Will you no’ be of better service to her from a position in the Lords?”
Hamlin glared at him. Catriona had nothing to do with the House of Lords, and he didn’t care if others had noticed.
As if reading his mind, Bain said, “I am thinking specifically of the abbey at Kishorn.”
Hamlin arched a brow above the other. “How in God’s name do you know of that?”
“There is talk around Crieff, aye? None of the English or Russians could be trusted to keep the slightest secret. I am given to understand that she is quite passionate about the wards there and I should think, for the span of a few days, you might bear your former wife’s presence if only with the eye toward helping Miss Mackenzie in her cause in the future.”
Hamlin pointed a finger into Bain’s face. “Stay out of it,” he said sharply. “And stay away from Miss Mackenzie.”
“I’ve no intention of approaching her, your grace. But I will submit that I think you can be of better use to the abbey and its friends if you are in the House of Lords. You can be of no use to her at all if you are disgraced.”
“Disgraced?” He was once again appalled by Bain’s audacity.
Bain shrugged. “It does no’ give me pleasure to say it, but if you allow the former Mrs. Graham to say what she pleases, you will be disgraced and live on in solitude. Further...” He paused, glanced down for a moment. “Further, it is entirely possible that if you fail to follow Lord Perth’s advice in this, your affair with Miss Mackenzie could be exposed, aye?”
Hamlin found it outrageous that this man, in such bald-faced manner, would say such a thing. “Do you threaten me, Bain?” he asked incredulously.
“No’ for a moment. But you must keep in mind that Mrs. Graham has seen her. Eula has seen her many times at Blackthorn Hall. So have others. It would no’ take more than a wee bit of gossip and bit of brain to put the pieces together, aye?”
Hamlin was stunned. He seethed with rage and betrayal and worse, the knowledge that what Bain said was entirely possible. But to pretend? “Have you no’ gathered by now that I am an honest man, Mr. Bain?” he asked, his rage barely contained.
“Aye, that you are, your grace, beyond compare. No one will fault you for this extraordinary turn of events, as Mrs. Graham is prepared to assign all blame to herself. The men who cast their votes will think you noble, aye? A man who has no’ uttered a single ill word about his wife when he had every reason to do so. MacLaren, in particular, will be moved by it. Moreover, no’ a word of what I’ve just said is untrue. You’ve no’ said a public word against her. She is to blame for the failure of your marriage.”
“Get out of my sight,” Hamlin bit out. “Before I wrap my hands around your bloody throat, aye?”
Bain nodded as if he’d just been wished a good day, and returned to the others.
Hamlin clenched his fists, took several breaths. This was beyond comprehension—he had to find his bearings, he had to think rationally. But something Bain said kept ringing in his ears. Live on in solitude. He’d found happiness. After so many years of longing for it, he had it in his hand, and he was desperately loath to lose it.
He was just as desperate not to expose Catriona to disgrace.
After several moments, he turned and looked at the others.
Perth watched him closely, his eyes narrowed. Glenna was staring at the floor, looking as unmoored as Hamlin felt. And Bain, naturally, stood behind them, his hands clasped at his back, his expression serene. Hamlin could tell them all to go to hell, but Bain was right—if he did that, the world would turn against him. Glenna would make certain of it. And Eula? What of the lass? Anything he did would affect her, as well. He saw no good options for Eula, either, except for the path that Bain had laid out. Pretend to be reconciled until the vote, for the sake of appearances. For the sake of keeping the roof on the house he’d built with Eula and Catriona.
Catriona. What in God’s name would he tell her? Bain was right that he could help her save the abbey if he was in the House of Lords, or at least find some options that would accommodate her wards. It was the most he could do, and yet Hamlin would rather tell her anything but what had happened here tonight. Because he loved Catriona, and he would walk on fire-red coals rather than hurt her. He wanted to be with her, but Glenna had made that impossible.
The servants loved Glenna. Bain was right there, too—Hamlin was a fool if he believed only Bain suspected. Someone would say just enough to expose his affair with Catriona, and Glenna would not hesitate to use that knowledge to extort something from him.
With his fists clenched, Hamlin approached the other end of the room. “I’ve two demands,” he said flatly.
“Aye?” Perth asked.
“Eula Guinne remains with me.” He looked at Glenna.
Glenna snorted. “Is that all? Aye, of course. I’ve no place for her.”
“The other demand?” Perth asked.
“As soon as I depart for Edinburgh for the vote, she must leave,” he said, nodding at Glenna.
“With pleasure,” Glenna said. She stood up. “Is there anything to eat, then? I’ve a wretched headache.” She walked out of the library as if she still lived here, as if she were still duchess.
Hamlin’s stomach turned. He thought of Eula, of how the lass would take the news. He thought of Catriona. Catriona, Catriona...
He’d known from the beginning that theirs was a love story that was not meant to be. But he hadn’t imagined it to be so bloody painful in the end.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
WORD TRAVELED QUICKLY—Lady Montrose had returned, and everyone, down to the lad who fed the pigs, was jubilant. “She’s a true lady, that she is,” the lad said to Catriona when she walked down to the stables the following afternoon for a mount. She happened to overhear a groom and the lad speaking about it. The groom had been the one to drive the coach she and Uncle Knox had left Blackthorn Hall in that night, and, naturally, had seen the commotion of the returning duchess.
“Have I interrupted?” she asked curtly when neither young man noticed her.
“No’ at all, madam,” the lad said. “Have you heard, then, that the Lady Montrose has returned?”
Oh, aye. She’d heard.
In the days that followed, it didn’t seem to matter that Hamlin’s former wife confessed, to anyone who would listen, that she had left of her own accord, that she’d needed time to think and that her husband, her dear husband, the duke, had been gracious during that uncomfortable time. Catriona heard nothing but happy curiosity that she’d returned, unharmed.
Mrs. MacLaren told Catriona the entire tale through breathless gulps of tea one afternoon. She and her husband had called with the news, unaware that Catriona and her uncle already knew that the world had collapsed. “You were right all along, Miss Mackenzie—the duke would no’ have harmed a single hair on his bonny wife’s head. How dreadful that anyone believed it of him!”
Funny she was so quick to say so now.
“It’s most extraordinary, really. You canna imagine my great surprise when the duchess walked into the public room at the inn. She was in the company of my dearest friend, Mrs. MacGill, she was, and the two of them talking as if she’d no’ been gone th
is long year! The duchess greeted me warmly and asked after my husband, and my sister, who passed months ago, and said she was so verra sorry she’d no’ been at Blackthorn Hall to offer proper condolences. She seemed to want to say more, did she no’, darling?” she said, directing this question to her husband. “Naturally, we invited her to join us.”
“Naturally, she was delighted to do so, aye?” Catriona drawled.
“Indeed she was! Now, then, you are no’ acquainted with Mrs. MacGill, but she is no’ the sort of woman to let questions go unasked—”
“She’s a busybody, she is,” Mr. MacLaren interjected. “Sticks her nose in all the places it doesna belong.”
“Mrs. MacGill inquired, without the slightest hesitation, where the duchess had been all this time, and, Miss Mackenzie, you’d no’ believe the tale.”
“She might,” Uncle Knox said, although the MacLarens didn’t seem to hear him.
“She was verra frank, really, and said that it was all her doing. She accepted the duke’s offer of marriage when she was so verra young, as we all do.” She paused there, realizing what she said, blinking like a lamb. “I didna mean—”
“I didna take offense,” Catriona said, perhaps a wee bit curtly.
“She was young, and she didna think of it properly. She didna consider all that marriage was, really, and—”
“And Mrs. MacGill interjected, quite rudely, if you ask me, ‘What was there to think about then? You were a duchess,’” Mr. MacLaren said, mimicking a woman’s voice.
“Aye, she did,” Mrs. MacLaren said, shooting a look at her husband. “’Twas a fair question, was it no’? No matter, the duchess said—and this I understand quite utterly—that she couldna help wonder if perhaps she’d missed something in agreeing to marriage at such a young age.”
“What do you mean, you utterly understand it?” Mr. MacLaren blustered.
Mrs. MacLaren waved an impatient hand at him. “She said that while she and the duke were perfectly compatible, theirs was no’ a love match, and she wondered if she’d no’ missed her opportunity for love, do you see?”
