Too Scot to Handle

by Grace Burrowes

  “He did,” she said, rising as Uncle Percival held her chair. “Mr. Montague implied Lord Colin would take Mr. Montague’s place on the board directly. Let’s show His Grace the strongbox, shall we? I assume you brought your key, Mr. Montague?”

  Hitchings struggled to his feet, his gaze bouncing from Anwen to Montague. “I have my key,” he said when Montague maintained an affronted silence.

  “Then let’s be about it,” Uncle Percival said. “If Montague is determined to lay information against Lord Colin, to bring scandal down on this fine institution, and announce his own incompetence as a chairman to all of polite society, I’m not in a position to stop him.”

  Uncle Percival was trying, and for that Anwen could not love him more. Montague looked far from defeated, however.

  “The chairman’s office is this way,” Hitchings said, “though we don’t normally keep it locked. No point locking it now, is there?”

  Of course there was a point. Somebody could lift the entire strongbox and walk away with it, though Uncle Percival would figure that out for himself.

  Hitchings swung the door open. Anwen was prepared to see the same, dreary, dusty office she’d seen many times before, complete with a strongbox sitting square on the chairman’s desk.

  Colin sat at the chairman’s desk, a sheet of paper before him, a quill pen in his hand, and an ink bottle open on the blotter. Scattered around on the blotter were also neat stacks of bills and piles of coins.

  “Good morning,” he said, rising. “Your Grace, Miss Anwen, a pleasure. Hitchings, Montague, I’m not quite done with the tally, but my closest estimation is that every penny previously reported missing is present and accounted for.”

  What on earth?

  Colin’s demeanor gave away nothing. He was attired all in dark clothing, his face was lined with fatigue, and his blue eyes had the flat, emotionless gaze of a man pushed beyond endurance.

  “Montague,” His Grace said. “You have apparently developed a taste for brewing tempests in teapots—or strongboxes. I am not amused, and I doubt Her Grace will be either. What have you to say for yourself?”

  Uncle Percival was very much on his dignity, so much so that Hitchings shrank back against the door.

  “That money was stolen,” Montague said. “The money was stolen, all of it gone. Hitchings said so.”

  “Hitchings was right,” Colin said, “but I didn’t take it, and neither, it turns out, did you.”

  Chapter Twenty

  Colin wanted nothing more than to scoop Anwen up and spin her around until they fell in a happy, relieved heap, but there stood Moreland, looking like the wrath of Mayfair. Next to him, Winthrop Montague was trying to hold on to an air of outraged dignity.

  “Of course I didn’t take the money,” Montague snapped. “Only the most vile, selfish, outrageous, contemptible excuse for a mongrel cur would steal from a lot of wretched children. I should call you out for the very implication.”

  Moreland studied the golden lion’s head at the top of his walking stick. “Montague, there is a lady present.”

  “Thank you, Your Grace,” Anwen said. “I am pleased to find the money where it belongs, but would like to hear what Lord Colin has to say.”

  “Nothing he has to say could possibly interest me,” Montague said. “I resign from my position as chairman effective immediately, and will take my leave of this dashed place once and for all.”

  Colin pulled out a chair from the conference table. “Sit, else I will ruin you as you planned so cheerfully to ruin me.”

  Anwen looked pleased with that threat—except it wasn’t a threat, it was a vow.

  “Do take a seat, Mr. Montague,” she said. “As best I can recall the policies and procedures with my feeble female memory, no resignation is effective unless tendered to two other directors who accept same in writing.”

  Moreland settled into a chair. “Best do as she says, Montague. Wouldn’t want to add rudeness to a lady to your other transgressions.”

  Montague flounced into a seat, and for half an instant, Colin nearly felt sorry for him. Then he recalled four boys, holding vigil with him through a long and disappointing night, and wished there were no witnesses in the room.

  Colin remained on his feet. “The funds were discovered missing yesterday morning. Somebody who had access to the property between about three o’clock and ten o’clock in the morning took them. Those parties included myself, Mr. Montague, Hitchings, MacDeever, the boys, and the staff.”

  “And Miss Anwen,” Montague said. “Don’t deny it.”

  “Mr. Montague, tread lightly,” Moreland murmured. “Very, very lightly.”

  “Montague is right,” Colin said. “Anwen was here to inform the boys of the card party’s success, and Lady Rosalyn was with her.”

  Comprehension lit in Anwen’s eyes, while Montague fluffed his cravat. “What of it? Poor Rosalyn has cut her ties with this place and not a moment too soon. I rue the day I dragged her onto Miss Anwen’s dratted committee.”

  His Grace sat back. “Young man, I account your father a parliamentary associate, else I should call you out myself.”

  “If I recall aright,” Colin said, “Mr. Montague noted that only the most vile, selfish, outrageous, contemptible excuse for a mongrel cur would steal from a lot of wretched children. The thief is his own sister, Lady Rosalyn Montague.”

  Colin expected Montague to explode across the table, reel with righteous denials, or otherwise defend his sister’s honor. Anwen’s expression was merely curious, while Moreland was scowling.

  “Explain yourself,” His Grace said, “for Mr. Montague’s powers of speech seem to have deserted him.”

  Montague sat unmoving on his side of the table, his expression blank. “Rosalyn took the money?”

  The poor sod hadn’t figured it out, which meant he’d been willing to stick Colin’s neck in a noose for the sheer hell of it, not even to keep his sister from going to prison.

  “Rosalyn stole every penny,” Colin said. “She came here yesterday morning with Anwen, got halfway up the stairs before pleading a headache, and told Anwen she’d wait in the coach. Anwen went in search of the boys, and Rosalyn went to the chairman’s office thinking to break into the strongbox. She had the combination, which I’ve occasion to know has been conveniently jotted down in your daybook.”

  Anwen’s gaze went to the strongbox. “But she didn’t even have to open the strongbox, because Hitchings had locked only the office door, if that—Rosalyn would need a mere hairpin if he had—and left the money lying in an unlocked drawer.”

  “Rosalyn took the money?” Montague said again. “This is terrible.”

  “Mr. Montague,” Anwen said, rising and leaning across the table. “The fate your sister faces for having committed a heinous crime is no worse than the fate you had planned for an innocent man. You are a disgrace and a scoundrel who deserves every bit as much condemnation as your sister.”

  “Couldn’t have said it better myself,” Moreland added. “I might call you out after all.”

  Moreland’s duchess would never forgive Colin if a duel ensued, and more to the point, Anwen would never forgive him if the orphanage was associated with a duel.

  “I wish you wouldn’t, Your Grace,” Colin said. “We honestly can’t have the scandal, else I would be at Bow Street laying information against her ladyship right now.”

  “Why aren’t you?” Montague asked. “If you can’t prove your accusations, you’ve no business making them.”

  “Montague,” His Grace said, “you are a fool. One cannot repair such a lack with any amount of education, fine fashion, or training. Your father has my deepest pity.”

  “I have proof,” Colin said. “I entered the Montague household and informed the porter I’d forgotten a pair of gloves abovestairs, which as it happens, I did. I was admitted to the premises without protest and invited to retrieve my gloves, and by inadvertence opened the wrong door. The very bag in which the cash had been taken fro
m the Moreland townhouse to the orphanage sat on Lady Rosalyn’s escritoire. A cursory examination revealed the missing funds within.”

  “You have witnesses?” His Grace asked.

  Montague had gone as pale as nursery pudding.

  “I asked Lord Rosecroft to drive me to the Montague townhouse, Your Grace. He saw me enter the premises without the funds, and exit with them in hand. I then asked him to join me and Lady Rosalyn inside, and he heard her confession with me, as did Lord Monthaven. Montague, your sister has a collection of fans, gloves, even some reticules that do not belong to her. Half of Mayfair’s debutantes have probably lost property to her, and they will not be kind should her misdeeds come to light.”

  “My knitting needles,” Anwen said. “She took a pair of my knitting needles, and stashed them into one of those embroidered sacks she carries everywhere. She probably took Lady Dremel’s fan, Flora Stanbridge’s pearl gloves…”

  “She steals?” Montague murmured. “My Rosalyn steals? But she’s…she’s a paragon, a diamond of the first water, an incomparable, the daughter of the Earl of Monthaven. She wouldn’t—”

  “She steals from you,” Colin said. “All the vowels you’ve misplaced, the coins that you were sure you left on your vanity. She sneaks into your room, a thief in the night.”

  “Sounds as if she’s a thief at all hours,” His Grace said, rising. “I trust, Lord Colin, that you will resolve this matter discreetly and within the requirements of justice. My duchess will want a full report. See Anwen home, please.”

  “Of course, Your Grace.”

  “I’ll just be getting back to my ledgers,” Hitchings said. “Lord Colin, my thanks. On my behalf and on behalf of the boys. My sincere, unending thanks.”

  Hitchings left the door open, but Colin closed it behind him.

  Montague kept to his seat, and even his lips had gone pale. “What are your intentions? My father will not take kindly to you putting yourself above the law, MacHugh.”

  Colin leaned across the table as Anwen had. “That’s Lord Colin to you. I’ve consulted with those directly affected by Lady Rosalyn’s felonious behavior, and they advise me to do unto you as you were prepared to do to me.”

  “You’ll see him hanged?” Anwen said, wrinkling her nose.

  “I will give him a choice,” Colin said. “The same choice he claimed to be offering me. Escort your sister for an extended stay in Italy with your aunt, or be investigated for forging my signature on bills at the clubs—clubs that are suspending your membership indefinitely, because forgery is a felony. You broke the rules, Montague. The rules of human decency, the rules of law, and even the rules of your silly little clubs. The consequences won’t be silly at all, and the scandal, I can assure you, from both your bad behavior and your sister’s crimes, will be endless.”

  “That’s what the boys said to do?” Anwen asked. “A vacation in Italy or ruin? They are being far too merciful, if you ask me.”

  “The boys agreed that I should take one precaution.” They’d gone so far as to admit Colin’s suggestion was brilliant, for a mere beginner. “A distinctive pair of antique rings have been secreted at the Monthaven townhouse, one ring in Lady Rosalyn’s apartments, one in Montague’s. I will inform the authorities of the suspected whereabouts of these rings, if Montague should refuse the clemency the boys are showing him and Lady Rosalyn.

  “They are gentlemen,” Colin went on, “and they show compassion to their inferiors. Have your sister on a ship for Rome by Tuesday, Montague, or prepare to face ruin, prosecution, and scandal. Now get out, and leave me some privacy with my intended.”

  Montague rose and looked as if he wanted to say something to Anwen.

  She pointed to the door. “You heard his lordship. Leave now, and stay permanently gone. I won’t be half so forgiving as the children whom you and she have wronged, or as Lord Colin is being.”

  He bowed—quite low—and left without another word.

  * * *

  Anwen was in Colin’s arms without knowing how she got there. “I was so frightened, and so angry, and I’m so relieved.”

  “I had some bad moments too,” Colin said, “but Montague is a problem solved. His father won’t leave him any choice. The earl admitted Lady Rosalyn had been stealing, and said it started when her mother died. This is the first time he’s known her to take anything of great value.”

  Anwen glowered up at her beloved. “Why does she get away without even making an apology to the boys? Her actions could have seen you hanged, and if she’d been anybody but an earl’s daughter, she’d be in jail by tomorrow.”

  Anwen could feel Colin’s heartbeat beneath her cheek, could feel the weariness in him.

  “I agree, it doesn’t sit well to simply banish her to Italy. She knows these boys, knows their stories, and what they’ve faced for want of coin. Her defense, if you can call it that, is that she took only the cash and left them the jewels.”

  “That is no defense at all,” Anwen retorted, leaving Colin’s embrace just long enough to lock the door. “She didn’t steal the jewels because trying to open the strongbox meant a greater risk of being caught. The boys had access to the orphanage’s funds month after month and never took a penny.”

  The tenacity of Anwen’s rage surprised her. Colin was safe, the money was found, the boys were safe, but still, the Montague siblings would make no reparation for the damage they’d caused, would make no atonement.

  “You’re sure the boys told you to let her go?” Anwen asked, taking Colin by the hand.

  “I’m sure. I asked them to think about what should happen when we found the money. They assumed, as I had, that Win had stolen the money rather than Lady Rosalyn, and they were willing to give him a chance to pull a bunk, as they’d put it. Win was to be given a choice to leave the country and save us all from scandal or face prosecution.”

  Anwen led Colin to the desk, scooted back amid the piles of bills and coin, and tugged him closer by his waistband.

  “So the children simply added clemency for Lady Rosalyn to their offer. Had MacDeever been accused of taking the money, or had he taken it in fact, nobody would have offered him clemency. That is a scandal to me, Colin. An earl’s children commit vile wrongs and they go to Italy. That’s not justice.”

  He stepped closer, between her knees. “You are very angry. Now you understand why after a siege, after being fired upon for days, digging all night, and fighting through terrible odds, an army can lose its self-control.”

  He kissed her and wrapped his arms about her, which did help—some.

  “Why didn’t you flee, Colin? I wanted you to flee to safety. I would have gone with you.” Saying the words let Anwen acknowledge the truth. Much of what she felt wasn’t rage so much as lingering terror.

  What if Colin hadn’t been brilliant enough to find the money?

  What if Montague had seen the orphanage condemned?

  What if Colin had been sentenced to hang?

  Maybe this was how Anwen’s family had felt when she’d been so ill. They’d been helpless, exhausted, enraged, and determined to fight on even after the foe had been bested.

  That thought bore pondering—later—because it had the illuminating feel of a revelation.

  Colin stroked her hair as a great sigh went out of her. “I thought about running,” he said. “Live to fight another day, aye? I thought about it last night, and again this morning when all seemed lost and nothing to be gained by standing my ground.”

  “You didn’t run, you didn’t give up, even when you should have,” Anwen said on a shudder. “Why not?”

  She loved holding him, loved him.

  “I love you, Anwen Windham. You are my heart. I could not have fled if it meant leaving you at risk of harm. A few months ago, even weeks ago, I’d have been on a ship, cutting my losses and thanking the Almighty that I’d escaped with life, liberty, and good health. Live and let live, don’t dwell on the past.”

  “The past has lessons for us,�
�� Anwen said. “Up to a point. I’m about to cry.”

  Colin stayed right where he was and kept stroking her hair. “I liked the army because somebody was always giving me orders. Do this, don’t do that. March here, camp there. Fix this, replace that. I’d go off on larks and dodge the truly stupid orders, but for the most part, life was simple.”

  “As long as you stayed alive.”

  He kissed her again, her right eyelid, then her left. “Maybe that’s how badly I didn’t want to face making my own choices. I was content to go through life tidying up after others, mending and repairing anything within reach just to feel useful. I’d rather take a bullet than make a wrong choice, but I was mistaken. Choosing the way forward won’t be difficult anymore.”

  “If you choose to risk hanging again, I will make life very difficult for you, Colin MacHugh.”

  He rubbed Anwen’s back, which only made the lump in her throat hurt worse. “Anwen, if I had to choose again, I’d make the same decisions. I was tempted to leave, but then I asked myself: What must I do to protect my Anwen and her respect for me? Then the way became clear. That question will always make the way clear.”

  Colin was saying he was at peace with how the situation had turned out, pleased even.

  “Hold me, Colin.”

  “Aye, always.”

  His peace gradually became Anwen’s to borrow, to lean on. When her tears came, he held her, and used her handkerchief to dry them.

  “I’ve had some ideas,” he said. “I’d like to discuss them with you, and if you approve, we can take them up with the boys and Hitchings. First, though, I’d like to take you home.”

  Anwen’s sisters, and her aunt and uncle would expect a full accounting from her and from Colin. She understood better where their concern came from, and with Colin at her side, would endure the questions with good grace.

  “We need to tell the boys what’s afoot,” she said.

  Colin stepped back, shot a look at the door, and regarded her. “I misspoke. Before I take you home, before we talk with the boys, there’s something else I’d like to do. Heaven knows when we’ll have privacy again, especially if you agree with my plans.”