by Royal, Emily
“You can say what you like,” Ma said, “but I think it a shame she won’t be visiting again.”
Fraser sighed. He might have left London behind, but he couldn’t free himself from the memory of her. Not when Ma wouldn’t stop blethering about her.
As for Hamish—if he asked Fraser one more time when he’d next see the ‘lovely wee lassie,’ he’d remove the man’s ballocks and gift them to Ma as earrings. Perhaps then, they’d stop plaguing him.
Hamish had taken quite the shine to her and said she had the Highlands in her heart. Fraser would have laughed at such a preposterous notion, had he not read the beautiful words she’d penned in her poem Mo Chridhe.
The water of life to carry thee home…
Whatever her sins were, her passionate heart deserved to be fed and nurtured. He would forever admire Delilah Hart, the poet. As for Delilah Hart, the woman, whatever passion she ignited, he couldn’t trust her.
“I daresay the lass’s absence explains the sour expression on your face, lad,” Ma said.
“That’s enough, woman!” he roared.
“Fraser!” Jennifer exclaimed. “If London has had such a detrimental effect on your disposition, then I was right when I said last year that no good would come out of your going there.”
“Then rejoice in the fact that you were right,” Fraser said. He nodded toward Ma. “Forgive me, I meant no disrespect.”
He sliced through the beef. The knife scraped against the plate, and he shuddered at the sound. He looked up to see Jennifer staring at him, the hint of a smile on her lips.
“Is the food not to your liking, Miss Mackenzie?” he asked.
“On the contrary,” she replied.
“Well, there’s no need to stay when dinner is finished.”
Her smile disappeared.
“I apologize for my son, Jennifer, lass,” Ma said. “He reigns triumphant when his business prospers but lacks the maturity to accept a downturn in his fortunes without bitterness.”
Ma was right. He was behaving like a brat. Better to say nothing than argue. Ma was not one to back down when they disagreed, and if the creditors were to come calling, he’d need her support and forgiveness.
The meal continued in silence, after which Ma made her excuses and retired, leaving him alone with his former lover in the drawing room. He poured two glasses of whisky and handed her one.
“You seem out of sorts, my love,” she said. “I daresay that delightful young woman is to blame.”
“How do you know that?” Fraser asked.
“So, I’m right,” she said. “Didn’t I say she’d lead you to ruin? You should have heeded my warnings.”
Warnings fueled by petty jealousy.
“I always said she was too particular in her attentions toward you,” Jennifer continued.
“That’s not true,” Fraser said.
“Oh, but it is. Didn’t you first encounter her snooping in your London townhouse? For what purpose would she be there other than to pry into your affairs? Who is she? Nobody! An upstart of inferior birth.”
He drained his glass to dull his senses to her onslaught, but she continued, relentless in her criticism of her rival.
“I always thought she was a hellion, Fraser. And now you’re on the brink of ruination, and she’s nowhere to be seen! Whereas, I am always here for you.”
“What do you mean?”
“It’s perfectly simple,” Jennifer said. “My fortune is at your disposal if only you’d be willing to offer for it.”
Dear God—not that!
“Well?” she prompted.
“Well, what?”
“Don’t you think it’s time we did what our mothers have always expected?”
“A lady should wait to be asked.”
“We’ve known each other too long for niceties, Fraser,” she said. “Despite London’s diversions, you must admit your heart is here. And my fortune would restore your business.”
“Forgive me, Miss MacKenzie…”
“Jennifer, please,” she interrupted.
“Miss, MacKenzie,” he said. “I must speak plain. I will always care for you. But I’m the last man who could make you happy.”
“Who are you to determine what would make me happy?” she asked. “Don’t you know I’ve always loved you?”
“You love the idea of being my wife, Jennifer,” he said, “which is a different thing altogether.”
She took a sip from her glass.
“It’s her, isn’t it?”
He didn’t need to ask who she referred to.
“This has nothing to do with Miss Hart,” he said.
“She’s known you for a matter of weeks, Fraser, whereas I’ve known you for years,” she continued. “Who is she? My family dates back centuries, as does yours. But the Harts are nothing! No lineage, no quality, and no manners. She’s nothing, Fraser—nothing!”
She was wrong.
Delilah Hart was everything.
“Miss MacKenzie,” he said, “do not speak so…”
“I’ll say what I like when I see the man I love being duped!” she cried. “Did she spread her legs? Is that it? It seems that friendship cannot secure your hand, whereas whoring will always prevail.”
He leapt to his feet. “That’s enough! You know nothing of her. She may not be able to trace her family back to the thirteenth century, but that’s of no detriment to her character. She’s bright, kind, and passionately devoted to helping others. As a woman, she knows the obstacles she faces in the world are that much higher, that much harder to climb, yet still she persists! Not for personal gain, but because it’s the right thing to do. Can you compare to that?”
She rose to her feet, trembling. The shock in her eyes tempered his fury.
“Forgive me, Jennifer,” he said. “I’ve no wish to cause you pain. You deserve a man who loves you. And I am not he. I cannot pretend otherwise, for it wouldn’t be fair.”
“Very well,” she said. “But you’ll regret not offering for me. There’s plenty of men hereabouts who’ll happily take me—and my fortune.”
“Then I wish them good fortune and happiness.”
“If only I could bestow equal good wishes on you,” she said, “but I find I cannot. Not when you’ve broken my heart.”
“Then, I ask your forgiveness,” he said.
She shook her head.
“What can I do?”
“Tell your man to send for my carriage,” she said. “Don’t bother to show me out. I know the way.”
After she left, he retired to his chamber. Ridding himself of Jennifer, at last, had only served to increase his burden, for now, he’d added regret at having broken her heart.
He didn’t love Jennifer, but neither did he wish to see her unhappy.
Ye Gods—since when had he grown into a milksop who cared for the feelings of others, even those who sought to take advantage of him?
He rolled onto his side, the bed creaking beneath his weight, and closed his eyes. But it could not dispel the memory of her—the feisty lass who had taught him compassion and unlocked his heart.
He hardened almost instantly. He could almost smell her and hear her little mewls of pleasure, which turned into cries of ecstasy as he’d thrust himself deeper into her warm, welcoming body.
Picturing the expression in her eyes and her lips parted of surprise, he fisted his manhood as if he was, once more, a lad of sixteen hiding beneath the bedsheets.
If the memory of Miss Hart was all he had, then he must be content with that.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Lilah flicked through the volume of poems, which had arrived from Mr. Sandton that morning. “Now my dream is finally being realized,” she said. “I find it gives me little pleasure.”
Her nausea from her pregnancy had gone, and save for a slight thickening of her waistline, it was not yet visible. But she could not conquer her melancholy.
As he’d promised, Sir Thomas had proposed almost daily since her fir
st rejection of him last month. Of Fraser, there was no news other than general gossip about the failure of his enterprises in London. She suspected Dexter knew something, but her brother remained tight-lipped, spending every working hour either at his bank or with his lawyer.
Clayton House had returned to the sorry state in which it had been the day Lilah had met Fraser. With one exception. The birds had gone. They’d flown away the night the house was ransacked and the aviary destroyed. The poor creatures stood little chance of survival in the wild.
More lives affected by her foolish ambitions.
Yet, still, she took tea in the afternoon with her friend, as if nothing had changed.
She tossed the volume aside and sighed.
Anne set her teacup down. “Are you quite well, Delilah, dear? You seem out of sorts.”
“Yes, I’m well,” Lilah said.
“Are you sure? You’ve not been yourself lately.”
She looked away, avoiding her friend’s perceptive gaze.
“I thought as much,” Anne said. “How long have you been in love?”
“Don’t be ridiculous!” she snapped, then immediately regretted her outburst. “Forgive me, Anne.” She reached for the sugar and dropped four lumps into her tea, blinking back tears.
“Since when have you taken that much sugar in your tea?”
Lilah shook her head and picked up the teacup. Her hand shook, and the cup fell to the floor with a clatter, splashing hot liquid onto her gown. She jumped and placed a protective hand over her belly.
Anne shot to her feet and rang the bell. Shortly after, a maid appeared, and her friend helped the maid to clear up. Lilah stood, but Anne waved her away.
“Sit down, Delilah,” she said. She addressed the maid, “You may go now.”
“Yes, Mrs. Pelham.” The maid bobbed a curtsey and disappeared with the tray, leaving the door ajar.
“I should tend to my gown,” Lilah said. “The tea will stain.”
“Other things can leave marks.”
Lilah shifted in her seat as her cheeks warmed.
“I’m no fool, Delilah,” Anne said. “I have children of my own.” She nodded toward Lilah’s hand, still placed over her stomach, “…and that confirms my suspicions.”
“Anne,” Lilah said, “I don’t know what…”
“Pay me the courtesy of speaking the truth.”
Lilah bent her head and closed her eyes, but she could not stop the tear, which splashed onto her hand.
“Very well,” she said. “I’m pregnant.”
Anne let out a sharp breath. “Is that why Sir Thomas has been proposing to you each day?” she asked. “If he wishes to stand by you, then you must let him.”
“But I don’t love him,” Lilah said.
“Perhaps you should have thought of that before you…”
“Sir Thomas isn’t the father!”
“Good heavens!” Anne exclaimed. She looked at Lilah, a thoughtful expression on her face, then she nodded. “I suppose that’s why he left for Scotland. I didn’t take him for a cad.”
Lilah brushed the skirt of her gown where the tea had already soaked into the material.
“He doesn’t know I’m pregnant,” she said, “and it wouldn’t do any good if he did.” She sighed. “How did you know it was Molineux?” she asked.
“I didn’t,” Anne said. “You’ve just told me. I suppose that’s why you’ve been refusing Sir Thomas’s advances. At least you won’t have to worry about Sir Thomas offering for you again. Once he knows, he’ll give up on you.”
“That’s where you’re wrong, Mrs. Pelham,” a male voice said.
Lilah looked up and let out a cry.
Sir Thomas stood in the doorway next to Thea. His expression conveyed a hint of triumph, whereas Thea’s showed shock.
Sir Thomas recovered first. “Miss Thea, Mrs. Pelham, would you be so kind as to grant me an audience with Miss Delilah in private?”
“No,” Lilah said. “There’s nothing you can say to me which cannot be said in front of others.”
“You owe him an audience, at least,” Thea said. She turned to Sir Thomas. “But my sister is distressed. If you upset her further, I shall hear of it.”
“Believe me, ma’am, my intention is to secure her happiness,” he said.
Anne joined Thea at the door, and they exited the room, closing it behind them. Sir Thomas crossed the floor and sat beside Lilah.
He said nothing but reached for her hand. She made no attempt to resist. Silence fell, broken by the occasional noise outside—the sounds of London and its inhabitants going about their business.
“Did you hear much of my conversation, Sir Thomas?” Lilah asked. “It’s ungentlemanly to eavesdrop.”
“I couldn’t help overhearing,” he replied. “The door was open. But perhaps that’s for the best. My dear, Miss Hart—beloved Delilah—let me renew my offer of marriage.”
“What makes you think my answer has changed?”
“Your condition.”
“My condition is as it was,” she said. “The only difference is that you’re aware of it. Do you still want to marry me, knowing I carry another man’s child?”
He flinched, then nodded. “Of course.”
“And you’d marry a woman who’ll never love you?”
“You’ll learn to love me,” he said, his voice rising. “I love you, despite what you’ve done, and I’ll promise to keep you. That must count for something. Can the same be said of him? He can’t even keep his townhouse.”
“What do you mean?”
“Clayton House is to be sold. Your brother is making the arrangements as it seems that some of the Scotsman’s creditors are clients of Hart Bank. It sounds as if his business is going the same way.” He smiled. “I’ve a mind to purchase it myself. It could be a wedding gift for my wife.”
“W-what about the child?” she stammered. “If it’s a boy, he would be your heir.”
“I’m willing to risk that,” he said. “Besides, it might be a girl.”
“And would you raise it as your own, knowing whose child it is?”
His body stiffened, and he tightened his grip on her hand. “We won’t speak of it. Naturally, I’ll want children of my own. You’ve proven you’re capable of conceiving, so you can furnish me with my own children once we’re married. But rest assured, I’d never refer to your child as a bastard. Not even when we are alone.”
His words, spoken with cold practicality, struck a frost in her heart. He lifted her hand to his lips. “I love you, Delilah,” he said, “enough to forgive your past indiscretions.”
“I don’t know…” she hesitated.
“Well, I do,” he said. “Think about your family. Your brother’s position in society depends on your marrying well. Despite your not insubstantial fortune, do you think you’ll secure another offer of marriage now you’re a fallen woman?”
“Ah, my fortune,” she said. “Are you offering me respectability in exchange for cash?”
“Dearest Delilah, I’m not marrying you for your fortune. If you had nothing, I would still want you. What other man could possibly compete with that?”
Her life stretched before her, split into two paths. The first led toward ruination where she found herself alone, unloved, and with an illegitimate child in tow, her family’s reputation ground in the dirt, and her brother’s hopes dashed. The second led to a marriage of convenience to a man she didn’t love but who would give her respectability and her child a title.
Determined not to look back or to regret the paths which were now closed to her, Lilah curled her fingers round Sir Thomas’s hand and nodded.
“Very well,” she said quietly. “I’ll marry you.”
The words were like chains, securing her imprisonment in a society marriage. But it was the least reprehensible course open to her.
“Dearest, Delilah!” he cried. “You make me the happiest of men!” He took her face in his hands and pulled her close for a kiss,
but she pushed him away. A flash of irritation sparked in his eyes.
“I’ll give myself to you once we’re married,” she said, “but I’d ask you to respect my wish to be left alone until then.”
His lips thinned, and he nodded, the benign smile returning.
“Of course, my love,” he said. “I shall look forward to it. But you must, at least, grant me leave to announce our betrothal in the newspapers. I shan’t leave until you agree.”
He pouted in the manner of a small boy. Perhaps he thought it endearing, but it only rendered him petulant. But if it rid her of him today, she’d agree to whatever he asked.
“Very well.”
“Capital!” he cried. He jumped to his feet and opened the door, and after a suspiciously short time, Thea and Anna appeared. But while Delilah held her betrothed’s hand and weathered their congratulations, her mind could not help but wander north to the Highlands.
To Beinn Mo Chridhe and the man she loved.
Chapter Thirty
“Miss Delilah! What the devil are you doing here?”
Mr. Payton, Dexter’s partner, stood in the office doorway. “Is your brother expecting you?” he asked. “He’s rather busy, I’m afraid.” He glanced at the longcase clock by the window. “In fact, he’s due to meet a client now.”
“A Mr. Samson?” she asked. “To discuss an investment proposition?”
“You’re Samson?”
“How else can I see my brother?” she asked. “He always refuses my requests to visit him here.”
“He’s a busy man, Miss Hart,” Peyton said. “He won’t appreciate a social call.”
She snorted. “I know Dexter well enough to understand that. But I’m here on a matter of business.”
“I don’t know…”
“My fortune is invested with the bank, Mr. Peyton,” she said. “It is unentailed. I am of age. I can do what I want with it—including withdrawing it in its entirety.”
Peyton smiled, warmth in his eyes. “Then I shall hinder you no more and wish you good luck,” he said, “though perhaps it’s your brother who needs it.”
He led her to a thick oak-paneled door and knocked.
“Come in!”
