by Joan Wolf
“You look fine,” his wife said, and George sighed enviously. Then he cleared his throat. He wanted to get this over with.
“I want you to see this,” he said without preamble and banded the marriage lines to the duke.
There was a long silence, and then Edmund looked up. “Where did you find this?” he asked slowly.
“In a book at home.” George took a deep breath. “It looks as if someone tried to conceal it.”
“But why would anyone do that?” asked Catriona in bewilderment.
Edmund and George exchanged glances.
“It was very good of you to show us this, George,” Edmund said very gravely. “Have you told your wife?”
George shook his head. “No,” he said unhappily. “I haven’t told anyone. I came right here.”
Edmund nodded and frowned. “I was only twelve when Diccon died but I remember it quite well. I remember how bewildered everyone was by his constant references to ‘Flora.’ He was delirious, of course. And then we learned that Flora was a girl he had met in Scotland. And we learned about Catriona.” His brow cleared. “Of course Diccon would have married her,” he said positively. “He was not the kind to seduce innocent young girls. He must have been coming home to tell us.”
“But why didn’t she say anything?” George asked.
“I’m afraid she thought he had deserted her,” Catriona said sadly. “He died, you see, and no one knew of her, so of course she never heard.”
“But if they were legally married, he couldn’t desert her,” George protested.
“The MacIans are all fiercely proud,” said Flora’s daughter. “She would never hold him to a marriage by force. She wouldn’t want him if she had to do that. I’m sure that’s why she never told anyone, not even my grandfather, about the marriage. It was he and not my mother who instituted inquiries when he learned she was having a baby.”
Edmund’s mind appeared to be on another track altogether. “I wonder why he didn’t destroy the marriage record completely.”
“I don’t know,” George said heavily. “Perhaps he couldn’t bring himself to descend to that level. And there would be a record in Scotland as well.”
“True.”
“I would appreciate it if someone would let me know what you two are talking about,” Catriona said indignantly. “Who is this mysterious ‘he?’ “
Edmund looked at George.
“My father,” George said bitterly. “It must have been he.”
“I am afraid it must have been,” Edmund said gently.
“But why!” appealed Catriona.
“It is a matter of inheritance, sweetheart,” said her husband. “Ripon Hall was not entailed, so it would not go to the nearest male heir but to the nearest heir.” He raised the document he still held in his hands. “Which, it now appears, is you.”
“Good heavens,” said Catriona. They had all been standing, and now she collapsed into a chair.
“Yes,” said George bleakly, “precisely.” And he too sat down.
“What shall we do?” Catriona asked after a minute and looked at her husband.
“It is entirely up to you,” he said. “Legally Ripon Hall is yours.”
Catriona sat up straight. “I don’t want Ripon Hall,” she said indignantly. “What am I supposed to do? Disinherit George, who has always thought the Hall was rightfully his? Don’t be ridiculous.” Her mouth looked as severe as it could ever look. “We’d better just tear that up.”
Edmund shook his head. “As George pointed out, there will be a record in the church in Scotland. Do you propose that when next we visit the Lochabers we sneak up to Ardnamurchan and destroy that too?”
“No,” Catriona looked very somber. “I suppose we can’t do that.”
“I think your best course,” Edmund said briskly, “is to sell Ripon Hall to George.”
“Sell it?”
“Of course.” George looked grim. “I don’t have a lot of ready cash, Edmund. But if you’d give me time ...”
“Oh, I think you might come up with five guineas, George, don’t you?”
“Five guineas?” George looked incredulously at his cousin’s face. ‘
“Catriona doesn’t want the Hall. And I am very well able to provide for all my children, however many we may have.” Edmund looked at Catriona. “What do you say to that bargain?” he asked her.
“Oh, I don’t know,” she returned mischievously. “I think we might hold out for ten.”
George stared at his cousins and then broke into a grin. “Ten it is!” he cried. “Never let it be said that I am a nipcheese.”
“Never in my hearing,” said Edmund gravely, and Catriona giggled. “Well, as I am afraid to sit down lest I leave mud all over the chair, I think I will excuse myself,” the duke continued. “You’ll stay to dinner, George?”
“Of course he will,” Catriona said immediately.
“Well, since you put it that way,” George said with an even bigger grin than before, “thank you, I will.”
* * * *
Later that night, after George had left for home, Catriona and Edmund sat together in the library, talking quietly.
“It was very honorable of George to show us that document,” Edmund said. “He must have been greatly tempted simply to tear it up. I was proud of him.”
“Well, he grew up with such a model of rectitude for a guardian,” Catriona teased. “He had to do the right thing.”
“Very funny.” They were sitting together on the sofa in front of the fire. His arm was around her and for a brief moment it tightened. “I was proud of you too,” he said softly. “Ripon Hall would have tempted a great many people.”
Catriona nestled her cheek against his shoulder and closed her eyes. “Not me,” she said. “I’ve already got everything I want.”
There was silence except for the sound of wood cracking in the fireplace. Then Edmund said, “Why don’t we take the boys for a picnic tomorrow? The weather’s turned very fine.”
“Marvelous. It will do you good as well. You’ve been tunneled into this library for almost a month now.”
“I’ve worked out a very interesting formula,” he said. “Poor Catriona. I expect I’ve been a bear to live with.”
“Not a bear,” she said. “Just—rather absent. It’s good to have you back.”
His arm loosened, and he turned to look down into her face. “Catriona,” he said. “There isn’t another woman in the world who would put up with me.”
“That’s true.” She treated him to her most bewitching smile. “Just you remember that, Your Grace.”
“I am never, ever, in any danger of forgetting.” His face was now very close to hers.
She looked up into his narrowed eyes and sighed. “Oh, Edmund.” And then his mouth was on hers. She closed her eyes, sinking into the familiar whirlpool of passion and surrender that his kiss and the promise of what was to follow it always aroused in her.
After a very long minute he raised his head. “Let’s go to bed,” he said huskily.
“That is an excellent idea,” she replied, and hand in hand they went upstairs through the sleeping house.
Copyright © 1984 by Joan Wolf
Originally published by Signet (ISBN 0451154010)
Electronically published in 2009 by Belgrave House/Regency
Reads
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
No portion of this book may be reprinted in whole or in part, by printing, faxing, E-mail, copying electronically or by any other means without permission of the publisher. For more information, contact Belgrave House, 190 Belgrave Avenue, San Francisco, CA 94117-4228
http://www.RegencyReads.com
Electronic sales: [email protected]
This is a work of fiction. All names in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to any person living or dead is coincidental.
nter>
