Sinful Scottish Laird--A Historical Romance Novel

by Julia London

  “Then I want you to marry Cailean,” Ellis said earnestly.

  Her heart clutched, and tears sprang to Daisy’s eyes so immediately that it shocked her. Her heartbreak was so deep that she felt it would burst out of her and flood the room with her tears. She hugged Ellis tightly to her. “Me, too,” she said. “But it’s impossible, pet.”

  “But why?” Ellis insisted. “I like Scotland!”

  “Because you are an English viscount. You must be properly educated and introduced into the world you will someday oversee. You can’t do that from Scotland. Auchenard is for hunting—not for living.”

  Ellis was crestfallen. He bowed his head and studied the carpet. “I am glad you won’t marry the captain,” he muttered.

  Daisy kissed the top of his head. “Not if he were the last man on earth, darling. Go now—have your walk with Belinda. I have yet to speak to Bishop Craig. I’ll see you before supper.”

  Ellis nodded and walked to the door, the skip in his step gone. Belinda held the door open for him and glanced back at Daisy. She smiled uncertainly and said, “I’m glad you refused him, too,” then slipped out, as if she feared Daisy would admonish her for it.

  When they had gone, Daisy stood up, dragged herself over to the sideboard and uncharacteristically poured herself a bit of whisky. She’d grown to like it. She winced at the taste—it was inferior to what she’d had at Balhaire—but she welcomed the warm slide down her gullet and the way the warmth spread through her limbs.

  She put the dram aside and moved to the window. The day was quite gray, and clouds were heavy overhead, blanketing London. Just as they blanketed her.

  Down below, she saw Belinda and Ellis walking in the direction of Hyde Park. She saw them pass Bishop Craig and his entourage of two. Seeing him made her feel ill, and she went back to the sideboard for another bit of whisky before she had to receive him.

  Several minutes later, Rowley showed the bishop into the salon. He wore a black coat and starched collar, a black waistcoat and breeches and hosiery. It was as if the Grim Reaper had come calling. His two companions were also clad in religious clothing.

  Daisy didn’t know who they were, and she didn’t care. She rose gracefully from her seat and curtsied to the bishop. “My lord.”

  He strode forward to greet her. He took her hand and then surprised Daisy by leaning in to kiss her cheek. He instantly swayed back, his eyes narrowing as he stared down at her over his hook nose. “Madam, I would welcome you home after your foolish flight to Scotland, but I detect the smell of spirits on your breath.”

  Daisy put her hand to her mouth. “Medicinal,” she muttered.

  The bishop frowned. “Medicinal, indeed. I don’t know what to make of you. You have risked the life of the Viscount Chatwick with all your darting about in search of fancy.”

  Daisy bristled. She would never risk her son’s life, and she resented him greatly for thinking so, for thinking that she was frivolous, when all she had ever done was care for her husband.

  “Your husband was quite right in setting his terms. He clearly understood that your judgment could not be depended upon to see his lordship safely to his majority.”

  Would God forgive her if she put her hands around the man’s throat and squeezed the stuffing from him?

  “Captain Spivey has informed me of his intention to offer for you. He has also told me of your unseemly admiration of a Scot smuggler, Lady Chatwick.” His bushy gray brows furrowed over his nose. “It is beyond my comprehension that you might have subjected your son to such a despicable being. Have you no care for him?”

  She wished someone were here to keep her from launching her body at this man. She imagined tackling him to the ground and pummeling his face. As it was, she had to step away from him and clutch her hands together. “Of course I care for him, my lord, just as I always have. Captain Spivey has had quite a lot to say,” she said, fighting to keep her anger from showing itself in her words. “I have refused his offer, as his unwarranted jealousy has proven itself to be a danger to me and my son.”

  The bishop squinted. “His what?”

  “Unwarranted jealousy. He is a very jealous man and imagines esteem where it doesn’t exist,” she said.

  “What do you mean?” the bishop asked.

  “He came to my son’s hunting lodge Auchenard without invitation from me,” Daisy said, her mind galloping, looking for an answer. “I have not encouraged his esteem. Never have I, not even as a young debutante. I refused him then, too, for my heart was set on Lord Chatwick. I was quite surprised to find him on the drive of my son’s hunting lodge, professing his affection for me after eleven years. Can you imagine? I’ve not heard a word of him in all that time, and he expects me to believe he has harbored a torch for me?”

  The bishop clasped his hands behind his back, his expression wary. “He paints an entirely different story.”

  “Of course he does, my lord. He was refused. He had come all that way to make his case for my hand in marriage without the slightest hint that I might share his esteem. You may ask my cousin or my uncle if that is true. He mistakenly believed that I didn’t share his esteem because I admired our neighbor, the laird of Arrandale. He is the son of the laird of Balhaire. The Mackenzies are a powerful Scots family. They are most certainly not smugglers,” she said, as if that were impossible.

  “How can you be certain of this?” the bishop asked. “Would not Captain Spivey have a sense of it? He claims to have encountered the man on the open sea.”

  “On the open sea!” Daisy said and laughed. “How could he possibly identify a single man across the bow of one ship to the other?” Daisy honestly didn’t know if it was possible, but she laughed now as if it was madness, and the bishop...the bishop looked doubtful. “He has made some serious accusations against a good neighbor and a friend of my uncle’s,” Daisy continued, sensing that she was turning the bishop’s attention. “None of them are true. I never saw a smuggler’s ship or bounty. We were invited to Balhaire and treated with the utmost courtesy. Quite frankly, I suspect Captain Spivey will impugn anyone whom he thinks is a threat to his getting his hands on my fortune.”

  “That is a serious accusation in itself,” the bishop said.

  “But it is the truth, my lord. It’s quite obvious, isn’t it? He has resigned his commission from the Royal Navy. Where will he derive his income if not from Lord Chatwick’s inheritance?”

  The bishop glanced back at his assistants, uncertain now. He returned his gaze to Daisy and flicked his wrist dismissively. “It hardly matters. I would not advise a marriage to Spivey. He is not suitable.”

  “I agree,” she said.

  The bishop straightened. “We might debate the merits of your journey to Scotland and your choice of company another time.” He yanked at the tails of his long waistcoat and then gestured to the settee. “Please be seated. We have much to discuss.”

  Daisy sighed. She sat.

  “Now then,” he said, and put his hands behind his back as he began to pace before her, as if preparing to impart crucial words of wisdom. Or a sermon. She didn’t want to hear either.

  “The issue of your hand in marriage is of utmost importance. You have dallied long enough. I have come to the conclusion that there are two men who are suitable and are willing to take your hand in marriage.”

  Willing!

  “The first gentleman is somewhat older—”

  “How old?” Daisy interrupted, earning a dark look from the bishop.

  “He is in his fiftieth year,” he said.

  Daisy blanched.

  “Lord Vanderberg is a widower and a devout Christian man. His Christian influence on Lord Chatwick would be, in my opinion, superior to any but my own.”

  That hardly recommended the gentleman to Daisy. She didn’t know Lord Vanderberg and she didn’t want to
know him. Fifty years of age? She’d only recently turned nine and twenty! She thought of her shy, tender son in the hands of a devout Christian taskmaster. Would he be made to do penitence for some perceived sins? She didn’t like it. Not at all.

  “The second gentleman, Lord Yarbrough, is a bit younger than yourself.”

  Daisy almost moaned. She knew Lord Yarbrough—every woman in London knew him. He was a libertine who’d had as many lovers as he’d had years on this earth.

  “He is young, and he can be brash at times, but he faithfully attends church services, and he has shown himself to be principled when managing his family’s fortune. He would be a good steward of Lord Chatwick’s fortune.”

  Daisy was a good steward of Ellis’s fortune, and she had been for several years now. She didn’t need a man to do that for her.

  “Both men have excellent connections, which will benefit Lord Chatwick in the years to come. Now then, to the matter of formally making their acquaintance. I shall bring them around to meet you and Lord Chatwick. Naturally, I will be on hand to help assess your compatibility. I shall send a messenger with the details. Are we clear?”

  “I am clear on everything you’ve said,” Daisy said sweetly. “Thank you, my lord.”

  “Very good.” He seemed to think his work was done. He glanced at his two assistants and signaled them to go out.

  “Good day, Lady Chatwick,” the bishop said.

  “Good day, my lord.”

  He followed his assistants, but Daisy caught him before he could quit the room. “Pardon, my lord, if I may?”

  The bishop glanced back, impatient now. He was done with this bit of business and eager to be on to the next soul he might direct and control.

  Daisy took a step forward. “If I am not mistaken, my husband’s will does not specify that you must approve or otherwise assess compatibility with any gentleman from whom I might entertain an offer... Does it?”

  The bishop stared at her.

  Daisy lifted her chin. “His wish was that you help me find a match. But he did not ask you to make it for me.”

  The bishop slowly turned about and walked back to where she stood. He was scarcely taller than she was, but it felt as if he were towering over her now, his disapproval coming off him in waves. “You have an audacity that is unbecoming, madam. You know as well as I that your husband’s wish was that I find a suitable steward for you and your son.”

  “It was his wish that you help me,” she said. “I am a grown woman. I am capable of deciding for myself.”

  His expression darkened. “Do you find my selections for you objectionable? Do you not find them clearly superior to any you have entertained?”

  Daisy lifted her chin. “I find the entire conversation objectionable.”

  The bishop’s expression turned angry. He shifted closer, forcing her to lean back. “You may find it objectionable, Lady Chatwick, but you must agree that the will specifically states you will marry by year’s end or forfeit Lord Chatwick’s inheritance. You have enjoyed your freedom,” he said, nearly spitting the word at her. “You have played the part of the merry widow quite well. Now is time to think of someone other than yourself and marry. And unless you have someone in mind who exceeds the qualities of the two men I have presented to you, I suggest you cease pretending outrage and indifference and get on with the business of raising your son properly.”

  He didn’t allow her a response; he whirled around and marched from the room. She heard him barking orders to his two assistants, then the front door slam behind him as he went.

  She did have someone else in mind. A gentleman. A soldier. A hunter and woodsman, a lover and... Her skin flushed.

  She whirled around, looking for something, anything. Seeing the empty glass of whisky, she picked it up and hurled it with all her might into the hearth. The glass shattered against the stone. And then she shattered, sinking down onto her knees, her head bowed, reality bleeding into her, making her ache.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  CAILEAN STOOD OUTSIDE the house on Audley Street in a new set of clothing, properly tailored, prepared to present himself to Daisy. Since he’d settled in London and moved into Uncle Knox’s town house, he’d been to Chatwick House once. He had seen only servants coming and going on daily errands, and callers, dressed in fine clothing and elaborate wigs, going into the house and coming out again. Now he strode down the street with determination, but before he could reach the door, a carriage pulled up outside Chatwick House. Out of it emerged four men, three of them wearing the cloth of a church and one of them in a periwig, a silk coat and breeches, with lace dripping out of each sleeve.

  Cailean’s step slowed. He looked quite plain in comparison to the gentleman. He jogged up the steps with the church men, one of whom Cailean realized must be the bishop. They knocked, then quickly disappeared inside.

  Cailean was suddenly struck with uncertainty. He began to question himself. She’d probably settled on a match. Of course she had—she’d been in London for what he guessed was about three weeks now. She’d probably posted the bloody banns. He was a fool to think he could come out of the Highlands and offer marriage to an English viscountess.

  Cailean felt a wee bit dejected as he returned to the Grovesnor Square, from which he could see the house. He took up residence on a bench there, leaning to his left now and again to view her house, debating what he ought to do now.

  He was distracted by a wee lass in the square with her nursemaid, her arms spread wide, twirling around and around while her nursemaid warned her she would make herself ill. He smiled to himself and glanced back to Chatwick House—and his heart skipped a few beats. Miss Hainsworth and Ellis were walking. They turned away from him at the corner of Audley Street and the square and walked briskly on. Ellis had to skip to keep up with Miss Hainsworth.

  Cailean surged to his feet and hastened after them, darting around people and carts and horses, almost losing sight of them when they turned onto another street. When he caught up to them, he saw the street led them to Hyde Park.

  Cailean walked faster.

  He was familiar with the park, having spent some time there as a young man, and he walked as quickly he could without seeming to run with the hope of intercepting them. He managed it, emerging on the path before them, quite breathless. He removed his hat.

  Miss Hainsworth didn’t notice him at first, but the lad saw him instantly. “Cailean!” he shouted, breaking away from his cousin’s grip and running for him.

  Cailean squatted down to catch him, hugging him tightly, astonished at how happy he was made by the sight of the lad. He kissed his cheek, set him back. “Aye, there you are, then, the Lord Chatwick on his daily walk.”

  “You came!” Ellis cried happily. “I prayed you would,” he added excitedly.

  “Did you indeed? God must have heard your prayers, aye?” He chuckled, and with a pat to Ellis’s back, he rose and bowed to Miss Hainsworth.

  She was staring at him with a decided look of panic. “You ought not to be here!” she said, reaching for Ellis and pulling him back. She glanced around, as if she expected someone to come running to apprehend them.

  “I ought no’ to be, aye,” he agreed. “But I’ve a wee bit of unfinished business.”

  “Not now,” Miss Hainsworth said, looking increasingly anxious. “The bishop, he’s...he’s with Lady Chatwick now.”

  “Is she to marry Spivey?” Cailean asked bluntly.

  The blood drained from Miss Hainsworth’s face; she opened her mouth as if she meant to speak but couldn’t manage it.

  “She’s not,” Ellis said. “She’s to marry one of the bishop’s men.”

  Cailean’s gut clinched. He looked at Miss Hainsworth, hoping she would deny it. She didn’t. “Has the agreement been made?” he asked.

  Miss Hainsworth shook her
head. “No. Not as yet.”

  Diah, there was no time. “Miss Hainsworth,” he said and moved closer. “I need your help.”

  Miss Hainsworth immediately began to shake her head. She looked over her shoulder, as if someone were following her. “You really shouldn’t be here. If anyone sees you—”

  “Miss Hainsworth,” Cailean said, ready to beg if he must. “You must help me, aye? If you donna help me, she might make a decision that will impact all of you for the rest of your days.”

  “But it is the bishop,” she said fearfully. “I cannot commend my immortal soul to hell for defying him.”

  She was determined to make this difficult. “No,” he agreed. “But if your cousin found her happiness on this earth because of you, would no’ your immortal soul soar to heaven?” He was grasping, hoping that made even the slightest bit of sense.

  “He’s right, Belinda!” Ellis tried.

  Miss Hainsworth bit her bottom lip. “No,” she said to Ellis and to Cailean, “My lord... I beg your pardon, but I can’t help you.”

  Cailean felt the jaws of defeat begin to close in around him. His shoulders sagged. His spirit was draining out of him.

  “I can help you,” Ellis said with determination.

  Cailean smiled. “You’re a bonny lad, but I donna think you can help me with this.” No, he’d lost the battle before it was ever waged. “I’ll take matters in my own hands, then,” he said. “Have your walk, aye? Perhaps I shall see you back at Chatwick House.”

  “But you can’t,” Miss Hainsworth said frantically.

  He could, and he would. With a bow to Miss Hainsworth and Ellis, he stepped around them and started back down the path, headed for Audley Street.

  He’d not taken many steps when Miss Hainsworth shouted, “Wait!”

  Relief swept through Cailean. He glanced heavenward with a silent prayer of gratitude and turned around.