“And if Stormont Palace can be maintained in excellent condition from Carlyle, surely I can learn what I need to know by directing the Stormont estate. Mr. Edwards will be able to instruct me on the particulars of the castle, and I will be here for three months of the year. In addition,” he added, sensing an objection rising to her lips, “my sisters desire a Season in London. I will have opportunity to make connections and establish myself in town during the course of launching two sisters into society. I have no wish to neglect that aspect of the position.”
“I thought you had three sisters,” she snapped.
Drew hid his grin. “Only two will be in search of husbands.”
“Hmph,” she muttered. “I knew a Scot would be trouble.”
“Your Grace.” Ilsa got up and knelt beside the duchess’s throne chair. “I would also like your blessing. I know I am unprepared to fill your shoes—and suspect I never could—but I am wholly committed to helping Andrew fulfill his role with grace and honor. I hope you can see that he and I are devoted to each other, and to our duty to Carlyle. It is a weighty responsibility, and one best served by a couple, standing at each other’s sides and loyal to each other.” She bowed her head, like a knight before the sovereign.
The duchess stared. Incredibly, after a moment she extended her hand, which Ilsa clasped reverently. “Perhaps you will do, Mrs. St. James. Humility and determination will take you far . . .”
When they walked out into the garden later, Drew was still marveling at her performance. “As if you could never fill her shoes!”
Ilsa smiled. “I meant it! What she has done is impressive. Miss Kirkpatrick told me the duke has been invalided for nearly thirty years. In all those years, every responsibility has fallen on the duchess, with no one to support her. And in that time she has buried three children, all the while knowing the duke’s health is poor and she will inevitably lose him, too.” She shook her head. “I admire her to no end. I am not sure I could bear up as she has done.”
“Of course you could,” he said, but Ilsa shook her head.
“Don’t say that,” she said somberly. “Until one has been in that position, it is impossible to know—or to judge.”
“Yes,” he said at once. His mother’s words came back to him, about how much the duchess had lost. Ilsa understood that more deeply than he did. “You’re right.”
She smiled up at him. “Of course I am.”
He chuckled, and they walked on, laughing together when Ilsa pointed out that they obviously could not live here because Robert would trample or eat all the flowers.
When they had been there a few days, Mr. Edwards asked Drew to take a turn in the bailey yard with him. Since Drew spent hours closeted with the attorney every day, he wondered at this. Ilsa had struck up a friendship with Miss Kirkpatrick, the duchess’s companion, and the two ladies were having tea in the lavish Green Salon, so he agreed.
“I am sorry to say that His Grace has taken a turn for the worse,” said the attorney as they walked.
Drew started, almost gaping. All his plans rested on the duke’s continued health.
“I tell you this in strictest confidence,” added Mr. Edwards.
“Of course,” he murmured, his mind racing.
“Your intention to spend only three months of the year at Carlyle . . .”
“Mr. Edwards.” Drew stopped walking. “Do you mean to say . . . Should I expect—?” He couldn’t even say it. Ilsa had been so pleased with the Stormont compromise.
“As to that, I do not know.” The attorney gave him a brief smile. “Fate is unpredictable, is it not?”
“Yes,” agreed Drew slowly.
“Perhaps it will not matter so much to you.” Edwards paused with a troubled look. “Her Grace does not wish me to say this, but . . . you may not bear sole responsibility for Carlyle.”
What? “I understood there was no nearer heir.”
Edwards bobbed his head as he walked. “No known nearer heir, no.”
“Mr. Edwards.” He was stunned. The last seven months, he had believed Carlyle was to be his—unalterably, incontrovertibly, inevitably. “Speak plainly, if you please.”
Sunlight reflected off the attorney’s spectacles as he faced Drew, obscuring his eyes. “The fact is, I cannot. Her Grace wishes me not to, but I cannot, in good conscience, allow you to believe the title and estate will indisputably be yours.”
“What the hell does that mean?” he exclaimed.
Edwards looked away. “It means what I said. There is no known heir nearer than yourself, but there are . . . possibilities. Remote ones, I assure you.” He paused. “Most men would be angry at learning this, but when I heard of your desire to live at Stormont Palace, to stay in Scotland, I wondered.”
“Wondered what?” he demanded.
“When Maximilian was here a month ago, we had no idea where you were or if you would return safely. I felt obliged to inform him of that fact, and his reaction indicated he would greatly prefer not to inherit.” He paused, tilting his head. “I suspect your bride would also prefer to remain in Scotland and has only accepted the dukedom as the cost of being your wife.”
Drew jerked in surprise.
Edwards nodded sagely. “I cannot blame her. The dukedom has not been an unalloyed blessing to most of the men who held it, and even less so to their duchesses. To my knowledge, it has caused more suffering than pleasure.”
“Thank you for those warm and encouraging words,” said Drew after a shocked moment.
The attorney waved one hand. “No, no. It is that way with all titles—did you not know? The responsibility is enormous and the privileges immense, but those who think them the keys to endless indulgence and gratification . . .” He shook his head. “I do not mean to accuse you of such thoughts, Captain.”
“I hope not,” muttered Drew, his mind racing. “You’re telling me I may be supplanted by another heir.”
The attorney hesitated. “I am telling you there is a possibility.”
“Why wasn’t I told this before?” He raked one hand through his hair. “Why wasn’t my cousin? Was this used to intimidate us?” Drew had no love for Maximilian, but he reacted instinctively to the unfairness of the man being tormented with the prospect of an inheritance he didn’t want. If there was another heir, nearer than Drew himself, both he and Maximilian deserved to know about it, after the way the duchess had intervened in their lives.
“Because there is nothing, as of now, to tell.”
“I have tried to be very conscious of the magnitude of my duty,” he began.
“Admirably so,” agreed Edwards.
“I have persuaded the woman I love to move to England for three months of the year. I have prepared my family to discard their old lives and assume new places as members of a ducal household. I have resigned my commission and diverted the course of my entire life for this inheritance out of duty.” Drew was furious. “And now you tell me there is a possibility, perhaps, that it will all be for naught?”
“No.” The solicitor motioned to keep walking. “Under no circumstances will you emerge without advantage. I am authorized by Her Grace to grant you immediately the property of Stormont Palace—outright, Captain, not mere grace and favor.”
“She’s giving me the estate?” he repeated in shock.
“She is. That is—His Grace the Duke is,” amended the attorney. “In recognition of your efforts and diligence thus far, and due to your persuasive arguments in Stormont’s favor.” He glanced at Drew. “Think of it as a wedding gift from His Grace, with Her Grace’s blessing.”
“But—” Drew shook his head. It was too much to comprehend. “You’re telling me I may not inherit. How likely is that?”
The attorney took a long time to reply. “A slim chance,” he said at last. “Perhaps one not even worth mentioning. I regret any unease I’ve caused you, but in your shoes . . . I would not wish to be kept completely in the dark.”
“And the duchess has known this from the
beginning?”
Edwards bowed his head. “She has. It has been her strong belief that the possibility is so distant as to be unworthy of discussion.”
“But you don’t agree.” Drew pressed one hand to his forehead, reeling.
Mr. Edwards came closer and put a hand on his shoulder. “If His Grace should die with no other heir identified, it will not matter,” he said quietly. “Your claim is clear, and I would file suit for it without delay. Once a title is granted, it cannot be withdrawn, no matter how many heirs emerge later. I only spoke, confidentially, because you must know what will be asked and discussed upon His Grace’s demise. The Crown will wish to be sure there is no nearer claimant before they grant Carlyle to you.”
“What should I do?”
Edwards smiled. “Nothing, Captain. There is nothing you can do, except what you have planned. Take your bride to Stormont and be happy. As you desire, we shall be in contact by letter.”
“Yes,” he said, still severely disconcerted. “The management of the estate . . .”
“As to that, I have good news. A new estate steward has been engaged and is already handling business in London. By the spring, I expect he will be in residence here.” Edwards pushed the spectacles up his nose. “And may I say that it will be a great relief to me, sir, to have you and Mr. Montclair both tending to the estate.”
“Right.” Drew managed to nod as the attorney bowed and left him.
Saints. Another heir? He wished the attorney had spoken more plainly—and sooner. But he went to tell Ilsa anyway.
Her eyes lit up. “The duke has given us Stormont Palace? For our own?”
He nodded. “But this other matter—”
She laughed and kissed him. “That also sounds like good news to me!” She put her arms around his neck. “To have Stormont Palace and a connection to the ducal family, but no weight of duty and obligation? What could be better?”
“But you might not be a duchess,” he said, smiling helplessly.
She wrinkled her nose. “What a relief that would be. I married you in spite of it, you know, and if I can manage to avoid it, so much the better.”
Finally he laughed. “You’re a rare woman, Ilsa St. James.”
She went up on her toes and pressed her lips to his. “You knew that months ago.”
“Aye,” he agreed, holding her to him. “That’s why I fell in love with you.”
About the Author
CAROLINE LINDEN was born a reader, not a writer. She earned a math degree from Harvard University and wrote computer software before turning to writing fiction. Since then the Boston Red Sox have won the World Series four times, which is not related but still worth mentioning. Her books have won the NEC Reader’s Choice Award, the Daphne du Maurier Award, the NJRW Golden Leaf Award, and RWA’s RITA® Award, and have been translated into seventeen languages. Join her newsletter to get advance previews of new books and a free short story exclusively for members.
Discover great authors, exclusive offers, and more at hc.com.
Also by Caroline Linden
About a Rogue
When the Marquess Was Mine
An Earl Like You
My Once and Future Duke
Six Degrees of Scandal
Love in the Time of Scandal
All’s Fair in Love and Scandal (novella)
It Takes a Scandal
Love and Other Scandals
The Way to a Duke’s Heart
Blame It on Bath
One Night in London
I Love the Earl (novella)
You Only Love Once
For Your Arms Only
A View to a Kiss
A Rake’s Guide to Seduction
What a Rogue Desires
What a Gentleman Wants
What a Woman Needs
Copyright
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
a scot to the heart. Copyright © 2021 by P. F. Belsley. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the nonexclusive, nontransferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse-engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins Publishers. For information, address HarperCollins Publishers, 195 Broadway, New York, NY 10007.
Digital Edition JULY 2021 ISBN: 978-0-06-291365-4
Print Edition ISBN: 978-0-06-291364-7
Cover design by Guido Caroti
Cover photograph and illustration by Glenn Mackay
Cover photograph/digital art by Allan Davey
Cover images © Arina_B/Shutterstock; © I love sticky rice/iStock/Getty Images
Avon, Avon & logo, and Avon Books & logo are registered trademarks of HarperCollins Publishers in the United States of America and other countries.
HarperCollins is a registered trademark of HarperCollins Publishers in the United States of America and other countries.
first edition
About the Publisher
Australia
HarperCollins Publishers Australia Pty. Ltd.
Level 13, 201 Elizabeth Street
Sydney, NSW 2000, Australia
www.harpercollins.com.au
Canada
HarperCollins Publishers Ltd
Bay Adelaide Centre, East Tower
22 Adelaide Street West, 41st Floor
Toronto, Ontario, M5H 4E3
www.harpercollins.ca
India
HarperCollins India
A 75, Sector 57
Noida
Uttar Pradesh 201 301
www.harpercollins.co.in
New Zealand
HarperCollins Publishers New Zealand
Unit D1, 63 Apollo Drive
Rosedale 0632
Auckland, New Zealand
www.harpercollins.co.nz
United Kingdom
HarperCollins Publishers Ltd.
1 London Bridge Street
London SE1 9GF, UK
www.harpercollins.co.uk
United States
HarperCollins Publishers Inc.
195 Broadway
New York, NY 10007
www.harpercollins.com
A Scot to the Heart Page 30
