Suffering The Scot (Brotherhood 0f The Black Tartan Book 1)

by Nichole Van

  Kieran chuckled. “Sounds like an English aristocrat, if ye ask me. Sneaky, conniving bastards.”

  Rafe snorted. “Kieran isn’t far off the mark. It does sound like something a man of power would put in motion. But to what end?”

  More silence.

  “Whoever they are, they are still my business partner.” Andrew gritted his teeth. “I can’t buy out shares from a person who remains in hiding.”

  “Can they harm you through that?”

  Andrew shrugged. “Not without stepping into the light. I have frozen all monies attached to the shares.” He let out a long breath. “Our best hope at this point is the solicitor Madsen mentioned, a Smith with offices in London—”

  “Bah! Do you know how many solicitors there are in London with the surname of Smith?”

  “True. But this solicitor would surely know the name of his client—”

  “If he is willing to tell us.”

  “That’s why we’ll hire another Runner to ferret it out. Find this Smith fellow and see what he knows.”

  “Good idea,” Kieran nodded. “I’ll let Ewan and Alex know what has happened. Mayhap they have some ideas, too.”

  “Thank you,” Andrew said.

  The next morning, Andrew rode into London proper, turning the facts over and over in his mind.

  Aside from Peter, and possibly the old earl, who would benefit from his death?

  Lady Hadley and other English step-relatives had no financial incentive. His Scottish mother and grandfather certainly wished him no ill.

  It was a puzzle.

  First, he stopped by the offices in Bow Street and spoke with his Runner. The man would immediately begin a systematic search of all the solicitors in London with the surname Smith.

  Next, Andrew visited his own solicitor. The man had much to report.

  The Committee of Privilege was still stalling on recommending him for a Writ of Summons. The solicitor had begun making quiet inquiries to discover which lords were blocking Andrew’s summons.

  The man also confirmed the current state of the Earldom of Hadley.

  “What happens to the earldom if both Peter and I die without heirs?” Andrew asked his solicitor.

  The man shrugged. “The earldom and its attendant properties revert to the Crown.”

  “And then what?”

  “The Crown usually bestows them on another Peer. Someone close to the Sovereign or someone who has helped the Crown in some way.”

  It was plausible that someone wanted their hands on the earldom. But why? To what end?

  More to the point, aside from Rafe, Andrew knew no one in the peerage. Looking for his enemy within the English aristocracy seemed futile.

  But . . .

  Did someone within the peerage know that Andrew Mackenzie and Andrew Langston were the same person? Andrew had never actively hidden the connection; he simply never spoke of it. A determined man could sleuth it out. Had someone wanted him dead, and Peter too, in order to take over the earldom?

  The idea seemed far-fetched, but given the difficulties he was having with the Chancery and the Committee of Privilege, it was hard to dismiss the possibility entirely. Someone within the peerage clearly wished him ill. He had assumed until now that it was merely a bigoted reaction to his parentage and Scottish heritage. But was there more to it than that?

  Too many questions and not nearly enough answers.

  Andrew left his solicitor and made his way to The Strand.

  He had one more stop to make, this one having nothing to do with Madsen. He smiled when Mrs. Mawe’s mineralogy shop came into view.

  23

  I cannot marry Wanleigh, Peter. It is insupportable.” Jane set down her embroidery, pressing a hand to her forehead, before raising her eyes to her brother.

  Peter lounged in the chair opposite, legs loose-limbed, hair tousled. The afternoon sun streamed through the mullioned oriel window to one side of the drawing room. Lady Hadley had taken to her room with a headache, leaving Jane to stew over Montacute’s missive and her mother’s harsh words.

  Desperation is not the same thing as love.

  Was that truly why she found herself falling for Andrew? Because she saw him as a lifeline out of her current situation with Wanleigh?

  Worse, she couldn’t say for sure that the idea did not influence her emotions. Jane had pondered it over and over until she had induced a headache to go along with her heartache.

  Peter sighed at her words. “Jane, I cannot see how you can avoid it, to be honest.”

  “I had hoped you would be supportive.” Jane stabbed her needle through the fabric. She was feeling decidedly stabby today.

  “Jane, you know this isn’t how the world works. I haven’t liked the fact that I must work alongside Hadley to earn my keep—”

  “Please. Working on the estate is hardly the same thing as being forced to marry a man old enough to be your grandfather. Besides, you seem to have settled into it. To be very honest, I think you enjoy it.”

  Jane struggled not to dwell on the unfairness of it.

  Stab, stab.

  Peter shrugged. “I grant you that Hadley isn’t as horrid as we both supposed.”

  Ugh.

  More than not horrid.

  She did like him for himself. She did. She was quite sure of it.

  Kind, funny, generous, clever, with lips that—

  Grrrr.

  Stab, stab.

  She was not driven by desperation. She was not.

  “You will be permitted to marry where you will,” she said through gritted teeth.

  Her brother groaned in frustration. “Jane, you have to marry well. That is hardly a surprise.”

  She pulled her thread through with more force than necessary. She couldn’t open her mouth to reply without screaming.

  Stab, stab, stab.

  “Is Wanleigh really so bad?” Peter continued. “He isn’t long for this world, and if the marriage settlement were generous—”

  “Honestly, Peter?!”

  Jane didn’t anticipate him supporting her in everything. But when something was truly this important, she did expect Peter to take a stand with her.

  His caving was demoralizing in the extreme. It pointed to how dire her situation truly was.

  “I have options,” Jane replied.

  One always had options. No one was without a choice.

  Even if that choice was simply to live or die.

  “Do you? Hadley himself, perhaps?” he asked. “None of us are blind to the looks you two exchange—”

  “Peter.” Her tone a stern warning.

  “—all doe-eyed and longing. It’s obvious the man courts you. Do you intend to encourage him further when he returns?”

  Jane said nothing, stabbing again with unnecessary force.

  Andrew had been gone for three days, but they expected him shortly. She hoped that, for his sake, he had been able to locate Madsen and receive the answers he sought.

  And then returned to her as soon as possible.

  Jane bent over her embroidery. “Hadley is not a poor choice—”

  “This is all quite sudden, Jane,” Peter continued. “You couldn’t tolerate the man just a month ago, and now you are suddenly contemplating encouraging his attentions. It is quite appalling, to be honest. Are you sure you like Hadley for all the right reasons?” Her brother shook his head. “It smacks of desperation to me, grasping at straws.”

  Bloody hell.

  Et tu, Peter?

  Jane clenched her jaw.

  “If I ask you to support me against Montacute, will you?” She had to know.

  “Jane, why are you harping on thi—”

  A knock sounded at the door before it opened.

  “Lord Wanleigh, to see you madam,” the butler intoned.

  Oh, no.

  Please, no.

  Jane shot Peter a look. Don’t you dare leave me.

  “Please show him up, Barnsley,” she said.

  Peter s
norted but he didn’t leave her alone.

  Thank goodness.

  Lord Wanleigh was no better in daylight than he had been three nights ago at the ball. His girth strained the buttons of his waistcoat, and he clearly wore a corset which creaked as he bowed over Jane’s hand.

  “To what do I owe this visit, Lord Wanleigh?” Jane asked, lips pressed, gesturing for Wanleigh to be seated.

  “Why the pleasure of your company, of course.” He smiled, easing himself down onto the sofa, his knees cracking. “Or more precisely, I wished to enjoy the refreshing elegance of your refined manners, Lady Jane, without the unruly stench of a certain Scot clouding the air.”

  Oh, heavens!

  Jane froze, Wanleigh’s words having utterly stolen her breath.

  Peter, noting her wide eyes, rescued her.

  “You are too kind, my lord,” he said.

  Silence descended.

  She knew she should fawn over Wanleigh. She should be polite and simpering. But she just couldn’t do it. She couldn’t make her tongue form the words.

  Despite her mother’s jaded opinions and Peter’s assumptions, Jane could not stomach such a man as a husband.

  She shot a look at Peter, practically pleading with him to continue to help her.

  Her brother offered a comment on the weather.

  Five minutes later they had covered the spring weather, earlier winter weather, and had now moved on to the upcoming summer weather.

  Jane was floundering for another topic that would not lead to Wanleigh declaring himself when the door cracked open again.

  “Lord Hadley,” the butler announced.

  Jane lurched to her feet, relief rushing through her so quickly, it made her knees weak.

  He has returned.

  Hallelujah!

  Andrew walked into the room, his broad shoulders filling the doorway, the scent of the outdoors and fresh, living things eddying behind him.

  The sheer magnetism of his person stole Jane’s breath.

  This fluttery, happy, anxious feeling could not be desperation. It had to be much more than that. She was quite sure Andrew had ruined her for any other man.

  His eyes snagged hers, and it took every ounce of Jane’s self-control to halt the deep blush threatening to scour her cheeks.

  Andrew was still in his riding breeches, a leather crop and gloves in his hands. He passed them off to the butler before coming forward.

  “Lord Wanleigh, tae what do I owe the pleasure?” He bowed politely to Wanleigh before smiling and repeating the action to Jane. “Lady Jane. Peter.”

  “Hadley,” Wanleigh nodded. He had not, Jane noticed, risen to greet Andrew. It was a small snub and could be overlooked because of Wanleigh’s obvious age.

  But Jane knew better. Wanleigh had stayed seated to make a point—Andrew was not one of them; he did not deserve any sort of deference.

  If Andrew understood the slight, he did not allow it to show.

  Jane sat back down, arranging her skirts carefully. If she looked too long at Andrew, would her heart shine in her eyes? Would everyone know?

  Andrew sat beside Peter. His eyes darted between Jane and Wanleigh, clearly not misunderstanding the intent of the situation.

  Silence descended again. Jane rallied, as any proper hostess should.

  “I trust your journey was well, my lord?” she asked Andrew.

  “Yes, my business was concluded satisfactorily.”

  Jane longed to ask him what that meant. Had he found Madsen then?

  As he spoke, Andrew kept his eyes on Wanleigh. Was he silently warning the man off? Could she ask him to warn off Wanleigh?

  “I understand you are struggling to settle into the role of earl,” Wanleigh said after a small pause. “It must be difficult to manage for a man of your understanding.”

  “Ah,” was Andrew’s terse reply.

  He stared at the older man, the taut line of his shoulders stating that he would not dignify Wanleigh’s comment with a further response.

  A silent battle of wills ensued.

  “I understand you are struggling to receive your Writ of Summons?” Wanleigh said at last. He met Andrew’s gaze, unaffected, completely sure of his position of power and wealth.

  “Aye,” Andrew met the man’s stare with unflinching ease. Steel resided beneath his blue eyes. “Someone has been wanting tae cause a wee bit of trouble.”

  Chills chased Jane’s spine. Here was the true Andrew. This strong, unmoving behemoth. Wanleigh appeared a round slug in comparison.

  Wanleigh smiled, his thin lips stretching in condescension. “A word of advice, Hadley. It can be tempting to want to indulge in the finer things, once you have had a taste of them.” He flicked his eyes to Jane. “But a man must be wary of the danger of reaching too high for something. The tumble from such a height can be . . . unpleasant.”

  Andrew’s eyes narrowed.

  Jane opened her mouth to interrupt before hostilities proceeded, but Peter beat her to it.

  “I say, Hadley—” Peter gave an awkward laugh. “—have you had a look at how we’re coming on in the south field? I had some ideas for improvements.”

  Affection rushed through Jane. Bless Peter.

  His words forced Andrew to break eye contact with Wanleigh.

  “I have. I rode by on my way tae the house. Ye have been busy down there.”

  The men moved on to talking about agriculture, Peter gently nudging the conversation to stay on civilized paths.

  Jane was buoyed. Peter perhaps couldn’t say so in as many words, but he loved her. He supported her.

  Peter wouldn’t leave her to go at this alone.

  Andrew pulled out another drawer, setting it on his desk. Notebooks sat helter-skelter on top of each other. Correspondence was tied into loose bundles along one side.

  The estate’s bookkeeping might be neat and tidy, thanks to his steward.

  The late earl’s personal correspondence and records . . . not so much.

  He sighed, running a hand over his face. A clock chimed the hour on the mantelpiece of his study.

  This was the fifth drawer like this.

  And so far, nothing—

  A polite knock on the door interrupted his thoughts.

  “Come,” he said.

  Lady Jane pushed the door open, peeking her head into his study.

  “Lady Jane,” he smiled, rising to his feet. “Come tae assist me in my woes?”

  He hadn’t seen much of her since returning yesterday afternoon. After their tête-à-tête with Wanleigh in the drawing room, her mother had summoned Jane away, both of them taking supper in her bedchamber. Likely attempting to keep Jane from spending too much time in Andrew’s company.

  So today, Jane was a welcome sight.

  Matching his smile, she entered the room, but left the door open for propriety’s sake. As usual, she was dressed to perfection in a blue muslin day dress dotted with small orange flowers. A matching blue silk ribbon threaded through her auburn hair, the color bringing out the amber highlights of her curls.

  The soft grin on her face lit her gray eyes, chasing away the stern shadows that often haunted her.

  Ah, there she was. There was his Jane.

  Achingly beautiful and tenderly brave. Life dancing in her eyes.

  His heart thundered at the sight, emotion banding his chest.

  Andrew swallowed.

  Despite having hours upon hours of travel time to ponder this moment, he honestly hadn’t contemplated how he would proceed.

  The uncertainty of it hit him like a cricket bat to the skull. He was abruptly nervous and oddly . . . bashful.

  It was not pleasant. In fact, the entire experience was bizarrely revolutionary.

  Was this love, then?

  If so, no wonder poets bemoaned and described this feeling as a curse.

  It was decidedly uncomfortable.

  The uncertainty of it nearly unmanned him.

  He had never courted anyone before. He had
never found anyone who captivated him so thoroughly. He certainly had never pursued a lady as loftily-born as Lady Jane.

  But . . .

  This was Jane, and he liked her far too well to allow a few jittery nerves to stand between them.

  “I hope I am not interrupting,” she said, noting the scattered drawers and piles of correspondence strewn about.

  “Not at all. Please, join me.” He motioned for her to come in and be seated.

  Still smiling, Jane glanced at the doorway before venturing farther into his study. They both knew that Lady Hadley would ring a peal over Jane’s head for spending time with him like this.

  Vividly, their last private encounter rose to his memory. The shattering revelation of her kiss.

  He knew, as a gentleman, he should say nothing about it. But as he greatly wished a repeat of said kiss, it was difficult to keep quiet. She approached his desk and the ledgers he was currently examining.

  “I wish to thank you for your interference yesterday.” She moved a bundle of letters off a chair beside his desk and sat down, her body elegantly perched on the edge of the chair, hands clasped in her lap. “Wanleigh’s presence was unexpected.”

  “I gathered as much,” he said, sitting back down.

  More to the point, Andrew was more than happy to interrupt any intentions that the Marquess of Wanleigh had upon Jane.

  “How fared your trip to London? Did you discover what you needed to know?”

  “Aye,” he said. “We found Madsen aboard the prison hulk in Sheerness.”

  “That’s good.”

  “Aye, but he only muddied the waters, not clarified them.”

  “How is that possible?”

  Andrew sighed, leaning forward on his forearms. “Because it would appear that Madsen had been hired tae see to my demise.”

  “Pardon?” Her eyes widened in alarm.

  Andrew found it most gratifying.

  In a low voice—mindful of the open door—he repeated what they had discovered from Madsen, though he omitted discussing his deeper business ventures as Andrew Mackenzie.