A long silence ensued.
Ross finally roused himself, swirling his wine in his cup. “Ye do realize that divorce is possible in Scotland.”
“Aye.”
“And adultery is generally considered the surest way to go about it.”
“Aye.”
“And still . . .” Ross raised an eyebrow at him. An unspoken question. A wondering.
Tavish drained the rest of his cup. “I don’t have it in me to dishonor my marriage vows and betray my wife. We will simply have to find another way of dissolving our union, she and I.”
“So you won’t—” Fletch made a vaguely rude gesture. “—until you have dissolved your marriage?”
“That’s about the right of it.”
And that had been that.
Both Fletch and Ross knew that Tavish intended to dissolve his marriage before embarking for America.
Folding his arms, Tavish looked at his friends hovering a few steps above him.
“Aye,” he said. “I spoke with a solicitor in Aberdeen about a possible divorce. As I have never contributed to the lady’s upkeep, the matter should be fairly straightforward on the basis of desertion. And the lady herself is in agreement.”
“Ye saw her?” Ross leaned forward.
“Aye.”And I will see her again in mere seconds, he declined to add.
“How did that go?” Fletch asked.
“About as one would expect. Plenty of tense silences and a host of words left unsaid.”
“Do ye ken she still loves your sorry carcass?” Ross asked.
Tavish recalled Isla’s icy gaze, her clipped words.
“Not a chance in hell. And I will thank both of ye for guarding this secret with your lives. As usual, I plead with you on your honor not to mention it to anyone, for the lady’s sake.” The last thing Tavish needed was one of his friends mentioning his marriage this week.
Fletch motioned for them to continue down the stairs.
“So why no interest in Miss Crowley, Fletch?” Tavish changed the subject.
“My sights are set on a different lady.”
“Are they now?” Ross matched their friend’s smile.
They reached the bottom of the stairs, a murmur of voices humming from the drawing room across the way.
Fletch paused and turned around to face Tavish and Ross. “There is no harm in telling you both, as it will become plain soon enough. I have recently requested and have been granted permission to court—” Fletch paused, a sort of happy wonder taking over his features. He took a step back, peering into the drawing room. “Ah, you can see her perfectly from here.”
He motioned for his friends to come closer. Tavish did so, looking in the same direction as Fletch.
There, perched on a settee and rimmed in fading sunlight, sat Lady Isla speaking with Lady Milmouth.
A terrible ringing commenced in Tavish’s ears.
“Truly?!” Ross’s eyebrows rose, as if impressed. “Grayburn gave ye permission to court his sister?”
