The Book of Love (Books 1-3): A Regency Romance Collection

by Meara Platt

  Caithness liked him, he knew that much.

  But what of Hume?

  The man was a stranger to him, so what was his motive in coming here? Although Thad was the earl’s grandson, their blood tie was through his daughter. Surely, this would put him out of the Hume line of succession. A son inheriting through his mother? It was not unheard of in Scottish title grants. Had there been the glimmer of a chance he’d assume the earldom, that Lowlander bastard would have had his claws in him years ago.

  The little man was still smirking at him disdainfully. Thad’s heart felt ready to explode with grief, fearing the worst for his brother and cousins. But he wasn’t going to show his feelings to Castlereagh’s official arse-wiper.

  Why hadn’t either earl thought to write to him, or call upon him at Sherbourne to report the news? He deserved to hear something, be it good or dire. Instead, he’d been dangled and played like a marionette on strings, ordered after Waterloo to return on the first ship back to England. Then ordered to Plymouth to await his regiment’s return. Then left without orders other than to remain within a day’s ride of Plymouth. Then ordered to remain within a day’s ride of London. Then back to Plymouth. London. Plymouth.

  And finally, back to London.

  What in bloody blazes was going on?

  They finally reached Lord Castlereagh’s dining hall. Officious Clerk, as Thad had taken to thinking of the little arse, opened the door and instructed him to go in. He didn’t follow Thad in, merely closed the door behind him once Thad entered.

  Well, this is going to be a jolly party.

  Lord Castlereagh was standing beside a massive fireplace, his back to the hearth and his gaze on the door, so he was the first to notice Thad’s arrival. Two other men were standing beside him with their backs to Thad.

  All three had drinks in hand.

  “Good evening, lad. We’ve been expecting you,” Castlereagh said, raising his glass in greeting. The other two men frowned as they turned to stare at him.

  “Good evening, Uncle Caithness.” He then nodded to the stern, white-haired gentleman who could only be the Earl of Hume. Gad, he resembled the man. Eyes, nose, stubborn set to his jaw. That irked him to no end. “Are ye both going to stand there gawking at me?” Thad frowned back at them. “Or will one of ye finally deign to tell me what’s been going on?” He only wished to know the fate of his kinsmen. Were they alive? That’s all he cared about. Just let them be alive.

  Castlereagh motioned for a footman to bring Thad a brandy before he responded to the question. “Do join us, Captain MacLauren.”

  Thad came forward to stand between the two earls. He wasn’t going to show any weakness to these old men.

  Caithness gave him a friendly pat on the back. “It’s good to see ye, lad.”

  “Good to see ye as well, Uncle. How have ye been?”

  “Well, my boy. Quite well. We were all pleased to learn of yer safe return.”

  Yet, he’d made no effort to contact Thad. “My last orders were to meet the regimental ship at Plymouth. Do ye know when it’s due to arrive?”

  “Aye, lad,” Caithness said. “It’ll arrive tomorrow, but in Weymouth. Yer cousins will be on it. They’ll be taking over the duty of escorting home the bodies of our fallen kinsmen and those too injured to remain with the regiment.”

  “And my brother?” Thad’s heart was in his throat. His cousins were alive and that relieved him greatly, but what of Augustus? They were brothers of the half blood, having different mothers. Although Augustus was eight years older, they’d still formed a brotherly bond that all their years apart could not diminish.

  Serving together in the Greys had made their bond unbreakable.

  “He’s been placed in charge of the Greys for now,” Castlereagh said. “We’re keeping the regiment on the Continent until further notice.”

  Thad didn’t care about the rest of what would be discussed this evening. His brother and cousins were alive. So many of their kinsmen had fallen in battle. That Augustus, Malcolm, and Robbie were spared was a miracle. “My brother is an able man,” he said with a nod, allowing his heart to soar, but taking care not to show his feelings to these men as they continued to stare at him. “Will I be sent back to serve under him?”

  “Nay, lad,” the Earl of Hume said with a deepening frown. “The notion of a Hume serving under a Caithness? Preposterous.” He hadn’t stopped frowning since the moment Thad strode in. “Ye were the commanding officer and commended yerself well. If ye were to be sent back, ye’d be in charge of the regiment and yer brother would serve under you. But ye’re more important to us here.”

  “How so?” If that were true, why did they leave him dangling like a fish on a hook these past two months?

  “No sense being polite about it and parsing one’s words. Here’s the situation.” Hume cleared his throat. “It has become apparent to me that neither of my sons will ever sire heirs. One was left…without ammunition, so to speak, after an illness. He’s gone through two wives and has no children. The other son is a bloody idiot.”

  Thad arched an eyebrow. “There are plenty of titled idiots who have sired heirs. What makes your second son any different?”

  Hume shifted uncomfortably. “He always was a strange lad. Claims to have seen a vision on his way home one evening. He was sixteen at the time, no doubt making his way home drunk after a night of debauchery. Whatever he thought he saw, changed him. Vision, my arse. He was too foxed to see clearly. But he joined an order of Cistercian monks against my wishes shortly afterward, and has since pledged himself to serve God.”

  “Cistercian order?”

  Hume nodded. “He’s taken his vow of poverty…and of celibacy.”

  Thad wanted to laugh out loud, but knew Castlereagh would lock him up if he did. “He may change his mind,” he said instead. “Wealth and power have a way of enticing a man from the path of piety.”

  “If ye knew yer uncle–”

  “Which I don’t since ye cut me off from all of ye the day I was born.” He knew he was being tactless. Thoughtless and irreverent. Lord, it felt good to get the anger out. It was a mild outburst compared to what he really wished to do or say to his grandfather.

  “Ye have yer mother’s stubbornness.”

  “I would not know since ye’ve both seen fit to tell me nothing of her.” He set down his drink and folded his arms across his chest. “Lord Castlereagh, with all due respect, I think this meeting is a bad idea. If you’ll excuse me, I’ll–”

  “Captain MacLauren, you are not excused.” Castlereagh’s tone was no longer indulgent.

  Thad supposed he was behaving as badly as the earls, but didn’t he have a right after all these years?

  Hume spoke up, his voice so low at first, Thad had to strain to hear him. “My eldest son is dying. I doubt he’ll be with us by this upcoming Christmastide. And as I’ve already mentioned, there will be no heirs from him. My other son will abdicate the title as soon as I’m dead. The Hume lairds will see that he keeps to his promise. None of them will pledge fealty to him.”

  “And how is any of this relevant to me? I’m yer daughter’s son.”

  “Unlike the English, the grants to our Scottish titles on occasion will allow inheritance to pass through the female line. Mine is such. As my grandson, ye’re my next closest blood kin. Ye will inherit the title. So, I’ve made arrangements to secure a smooth transition when the time comes.”

  The little hairs on the back of Thad’s neck began to tingle. “What sort of arrangements?”

  “The proper succession documents are all in place. The clan leaders have all been apprised of the situation.” But his grandfather was fidgeting and seemed hesitant to look him in the eyes. “Since a man in yer position must set a proper example… I’ve taken the liberty of…I’ve indicated my consent to a betrothal between you and the Duke of Ashington’s daughter.”

  “Over my dead body,” he and Caithness said at the same time.

  “A Lowlander?” Caithne
ss remarked with obvious disgust. “If he’s to marry, it will be to one of us.” He turned to Thad, his chest puffed out in Highland pride. “The Duke of Braemer’s daughter is–”

  “I’ll no’ be taking any bride from either of ye. When I marry, it will be to a lass of my own choosing.”

  “The hell, ye say.” Hume was having none of it. “It’s all arranged…well, almost. We’ll sign the betrothal contracts upon our return to Coldstream Castle.”

  “Ashington’s a cowardly toadie.” Caithness shot him a look of utter disgust. “He was awarded the dukedom because he turned traitor to the Scottish cause. Ye’ll never breed fine sons from that clan, lad. Do as I say. Marry Braemer’s daughter. That’s the betrothal contract we’ll sign.”

  To emphasize his point, Caithness pounded on the dining table, causing the neatly laid out china plate settings and silverware to clatter and clink against each other.

  Castlereagh scowled at his granduncle before turning his attention back to Thad. “Sorry, lad. As Hume’s successor, you’ll need to wed, not only for the purpose of breeding heirs. The war has been hard on the Scots in particular. Wherever there’s hardship, there’s bound to be talk of rebellion. The Scots and the English have a long history of it.”

  Thad frowned. “Are ye suggesting we aren’t loyal to the Crown?”

  “I have no doubt about your loyalty, son. But there are others who cannot be trusted. We have to put a quick stop to the treasonous talk that’s been spreading.”

  “And how will my marrying help the situation?”

  “Don’t ask me to explain the reason why these things work, but a wedding is just the thing to cool tempers. You’re young. A nice-looking lad. Heir to an earldom.”

  Thad grunted in displeasure. “I’m a stranger to my own blood kin.”

  His grandfather cracked a smile that looked forced and insincere. “But ye won’t be any longer. Ye’ll return to Coldstream with me. We’ll have a great celebration and I’ll introduce ye to the Humes.”

  “But ye’ll marry the Braemer lass,” Caithness interjected. “Ye’ll no’ lie with a traitorous Ashington while there’s breath left in me. A Highland lass is what ye need to breed proper heirs.”

  “Ye’ll no’ lie with a Braemer while there’s breath left in me,” Hume countered. “I’ll no’ have ye marry a rebel Highlander. The only thing they know how to breed is sheep.”

  “I’ll no’ marry either of them.” Thad stepped between the two men as they raised their fists, prepared to brawl in Castlereagh’s dining room. “Have ye both gone mad? Are ye that filled with hatred for each other that ye’ve lost all reason?”

  “It’s for yer own good, lad,” Hume said, sounding not at all contrite.

  Caithness opened his mouth, prepared to bellow a retort, but Thad’s glower stopped him. “So, if I understand the two of you correctly,” he said, tossing each of them another warning scowl, “I’ll be condemned by my Caithness kinsmen if I marry a Lowlander’s daughter. And I’ll be condemned by my Hume kinsmen if I marry a Highlander’s daughter.”

  Each earl nodded.

  “Fine, then I’ll marry a lass of my own choosing. She won’t be a Highlander or a Lowlander.”

  His grandfather gazed at him in confusion. “Then what’s she to be?”

  “A Sassenach?” Caithness bellowed, quickly grasping his intention. “Ye can’t be serious? Ye’d reject the Duke of Braemer’s daughter for an Englishwoman? Who is she? I forbid it.”

  “So do I,” Hume said with a nod, perhaps the only time the two earls ever agreed on something.

  But their moment of unity was short-lived. The pair turned on each other, accusing the other of neglecting Thad’s proper Scottish education.

  However, Castlereagh’s eyes were alight. “Who’s the girl, lad?”

  “Lady Penelope Sherbourne, sister of the Earl of Welles. I’ve already offered for her hand in marriage.” The lie floated out of his mouth like water down a rushing stream. He didn’t care. No one was going to foist a bride on him. He knew the girl he wanted.

  His heart was Loopy’s forever.

  “And?” Caithness asked, his mouth agape.

  “And what?” He wanted to tell them it was none of their business. But his every move was now important to them. Not only had he suddenly become Hume’s heir, but he also had strong ties to one of the most important Highland clans through Caithness. He hated the politics of it, and also hated that he’d just lied to everyone.

  Mostly, he worried about hurting Loopy.

  He hadn’t proposed to her.

  But Wycke certainly would, for she was beautiful and had shown Wycke none of her spit and fire, behaving like a dull, dutiful debutante at their last meeting. If the man wanted a biddable wife, he was in for a surprise. Loopy was anything but that. Yet Wycke would never know it until it was too late.

  Wycke was not the sort to tease or challenge her. She’d have no reason to show him a little of her temper. Then again, perhaps she would, and he’d be fine with it. He’d likely fall in love with her anyway. How could he not?

  “I’ve proposed, but she may refuse me. I’ve said nothing to her brother yet. No point until I have her answer.” He rubbed a hand across his neck, silently cursing himself not only for blurting the lie in the first place, but for now repeating and embellishing it. Blessed saints. He had to get word to Loopy about this mess of his own creation.

  Would she play along?

  It wasn’t fair to ask her, but he’d make it up to her somehow. She would understand his situation and forgive him, wouldn’t she? He had no desire to turn his search for a wife into a spectacle. The idea of having a string of women paraded before him like show horses roiled his stomach. “Likely she will refuse me.”

  Damn it, the pair were scowling at him again.

  “Why would she refuse ye? Because ye’re an unworthy Scot?” Caithness crossed his arms over his puffed-out chest. “Who does she think she is?”

  “These English aren’t to be trusted. They believe they’re better than all of us.” Hume’s hands were curled into fists. “Why won’t she have ye?”

  “She is better than me. I am unworthy of her.” Thad did not like the direction of the conversation. The only good to come of it was learning his brother and cousins had survived. He didn’t care about the Hume earldom, except it now gave him something to offer Loopy other than merely his heart.

  He could ask her to marry him with his head held high.

  He would not be proposing as a lowly captain in the Greys or laird of a tiny holding in Thurso. He’d come to her as an earl’s heir. A Lowlander earl, but one couldn’t have everything. The Hume seat was in Coldstream, just across the border between England and Scotland.

  Loopy did not want to be separated from her family. Coldstream was about a week’s ride by carriage from Wellesford, but better than the month’s journey it would take to travel there from the Highlands.

  As for her brother’s consent to the marriage, Nathaniel would approve without question. In truth, he would have approved their union if Loopy loved him, no matter what Thad’s situation.

  However, she wanted Wycke.

  “Captain MacLauren,” Castlereagh said, eyeing him like a hawk. “You are now the Earl of Hume’s heir. This is your opportunity to solidify your ties to one of England’s wealthiest and most respected families. Lady Penelope Sherbourne is an excellent choice. Don’t be a fool and muck this up.”

  Hume scowled.

  Caithness grunted in disgust. “I suppose anything’s better than a Lowlander. Ye all sold yer souls to the English long ago anyway.”

  “And what of your bloodline, Caithness?” Castlereagh eyed him sharply. “Thad’s cousin, Malcolm MacLauren, will eventually inherit your title. What will you have him do? Marry a Scottish nobleman’s daughter who’ll bring no more than a flock of sheep to their union as dowry? Or will you see reason and have him make an important connection?”

  His gaze took in the three Scots standing
before him. “This is a historic moment, gentlemen. Will you meet the challenge? Unite England and Scotland through marriages that will ensure a lasting peace?”

  “Why should you care, Castlereagh? You’re an Irishman, and we all know the Irish have no love for the English.” Caithness appeared unmoved.

  “Do ye think the Crown will reward ye for all yer work? They’ll toss ye aside once they don’t need ye anymore,” Hume muttered.

  Thad took a deep breath, knowing he was about to step deeper into the mire of his own creation. But he was sick of war, as were most of the men who’d fought in the many brutal campaigns over the years. Thousands had died fighting Napoleon. Tens of thousands. And these two old goats were still bickering and ready to commit their clans to more fighting.

  He wasn’t certain how his betrothal to an Englishwoman would help matters, but he loved Penelope. He’d thought she would be better off with Wycke. However, this conversation had changed his perspective.

  Castlereagh was eager for the match.

  Indeed, if the old Irishman was to be believed, the fate of Scotland and England rested upon his shoulders.

  He was a failure as her test frog.

  But he’d do his best to make her a good husband.

  Did he have a chance to win her heart?

  He hoped so, for he was going courting…Scottish style.

  Chapter Eight

  “Thad, dear boy,” Matilda cried, lumbering down the stairs and calling to him as he was about to leave for Weymouth. She clutched the bannister with one hand and held the note he’d left for her in the other. She was still in her bedclothes, a robe hastily tossed on-of finest silk, of course-and matching mob cap perched atop her head.

  He hadn’t expected her to be awake, for it was barely break of day. “I didn’t mean to get ye out of bed, Your Grace.”

  “I know, but I was worried about your meeting last night with those hot-tempered kinsmen of yours. How did it go?”

  Thad wanted to be on his way. Thor was now saddled and standing in the street in front of Beast’s townhouse. His travel bags had already been brought down and strapped onto Thor. “It went fine. Apparently, I’m somebody now.”