The sergeant shifted. “I never said—”
“This isn’t my house. Haven’t you readanyof my letters?”
“I haven’t received any letters from you in months. What are you talking about?”
She sank down on the arm of one of the chairs. “When I left boarding school, I found myself… I wanted to live in London, Gabriel. I’m an unmarried woman with… very limited resources, and so I had a choice. I could either work in a shop, or become a governess or a lady’s companion.” She took a short, unsteady breath. “Eight months ago I accepted a position here, as the companion to Lady Sarah Jeffers. It gives me a roof, and food, and a gentry address, but she smells like wet wool and cats, and I… I thought I would be here forever, and then move on to sit with the next old woman who needed to purchase a friend she could order to fluff pillows against her backside.”
For a long moment Gabriel looked at his sister. For the first time it occurred to him that if for some reason he’d decided to leave the army, how limited his own choices would have been. He wasn’t fit for the priesthood, for damned certain, nor could he be a law clerk or—heaven forfend—a solicitior. For a young lady with good schooling and very limited income, the choices were even fewer. Why the devil had that never occurred to him before this moment? “I’m sorry,” he said aloud. “I didn’t—”
“I don’t blame you, Gabriel, for goodness’ sake,” she interrupted, wiping her eyes and standing again. “And I’m not complaining.”
Gabriel tilted his head. “You have every right to do so. Or rather, you did. Kelgrove, find some paper.”
The sergeant began digging through his pockets, until Marjorie directed him to the writing table. “Over there. Take what you want. If what you say is true, I can repay her for the pages, now.”
“I’m not lying to you, Ree. Not even I’m that cruel. Sergeant, write out the address of Leeds House in Mayfair, and then another note to Mr. Blething ordering him to give Marjorie whatever she requires.” He returned his attention to his sister. “I haven’t seen Leeds House, but I’ve been told it’s quite grand. It’s yours. Blething is the solicitor who’s been overseeing the Lattimer properties. He’ll see that you have a monthly income requisite with your… new status. Hire yourself a staff, or keep whoever’s there. No more cat dander or lemon verbena. Whatever else happens, I promise you that.”
This time she choked back a laugh, still mingled with tears. “Thank you, brother.”
When she flung her arms around his neck he patted her back, then extricated himself as quickly as he could. “I’ve done nothing. Iamglad that one of us, at least, can benefit. As I said, I’m leaving for Scotland in the morning, but I will make an attempt to correspond with you more frequently from now on. And I will call on you before I return to the Continent.”
Before another torrent of tears or hugging could begin, he headed for the door. Battles were easy. Family was much more difficult.
“Gabriel, I—”
“You’re much better suited for life in Mayfair than I am, Ree. Or rather, Lady Marjorie, now. Make good use of it.”
Before he could put his hand on the door handle she seized his fingers again. “You did the best you could by me, Gabriel. You don’t owe me anything. Least of all an apology.”
He squeezed her hand and then pulled free of her grip. Being grabbed, hung onto, constricted his movement, and even in a musty house it left him uneasy. “Yes, I think I do,” he returned, and cleared his throat. “If you like, I’ll leave Kelgrove here to help you remove your things from this mildewed house.” It should be him, he knew, but for the devil’s sake, he needed some air before he choked on the injustice of it all. Becausehehadn’t put this right for her. That credit went entirely to luck, to a simple stroke of fate. And however little he needed it, however much he’d complained about it over the past days, to his sister this dukedom and what it represented made all the difference in the world. Damn him for not realizing that sooner.
“No, thank you,” she replied. “I shall relish doing this on my own.” She sketched a shallow curtsy. “Or perhaps I shall hire someone to assist me.” Unexpectedly she rose up onto her tiptoes and kissed him on the cheek. “I hold you to your word, Gabriel. Youwillcome see me before you return to your wars. And youwillbe careful in the meantime. Your Grace.” She chuckled. “My goodness. You’re a duke!”
With Kelgrove on his heels, Gabriel left the room, stepped around the nosy maid, and headed back out to the street. Yes, he had a title. And it was just as well that Marjorie could benefit from it, because he didn’t know how to do so. Not without losing who he was. A soldier who believed for a moment that he was entitled to something—safety, luxury, privilege—was a dead soldier.
Chapter Two
Fiona leaned her elbows on the railing of the graying, weather-worn fence. “What say we put in to buy a pint fer whoever finds Brian’s cow?” she suggested.
The very large man standing a few feet from her snorted. “I’m nae paying a penny to find Brian Maxwell’s damned cow. It’s the third time this month the red’s gone missing.”
The farmer in question folded his arms across his chest. “I told ye, I gave her a fine pile of hay last night. She was in the pen with the other two when I turned in.”
“When ye left fer the tavern, you mean,” Fiona broke in. “I spoke with Abraham Dinwoddie, and he said ye drank half the beer in the tavern last night.”
She’d never understood how someone could own three cows and only be able to keep track of two of them. It wasn’t as if Brian Maxwell had an entire herd wandering the wilds. Two fields of wheat, three cows, a pair of hogs, and some chickens seemed fairly reasonable for a man, his wife, and their fourteen-year-old son to manage.
“I didnae!” the farmer protested. “I had but two beers, and then Tormod came in and I had to buy him a pint, and he had to buy me a pint.” He leaned around her to point a finger at the broad-shouldered blacksmith. “Ye tell her, Tormod MacDorry.”
“I may have had a drink or two with ye, but I didnae lose track of my forge, ye lout. And I’ve two horses to shoe this morning, with nae time to spare hunting doon yer blasted cow.”
The other four men present grumbled their agreement. Aye, they all had other things to do today, herself included. But if they left to go back to their tasks, finding the red heifer would be up to her and Brian. And Fiona doubted Brian could find his own two hands once he had a pint in him. She tucked her cold fingers into her coat pockets, and found a piece of leather that had peeled off an old pair of reins.
“I’ll tell ye what, lads,” she said, pulling it free and holding the scrap up so they could see it. “I meant to send this to Inverness to have it set into a locket, but I’ll give it to the one of ye who finds that cow.”
“Ye’d give us what?” Tormod asked, furrowing his brow. “Scrap leather?”
“This here is off the grip of a Cameron sword,” she said. “The very sword that split Laird Robert Kerr betwixt the eyes at Culloden.” As the only ranking Englishman to have been killed at the Battle of Culloden, Lord Robert had a certain degree of fame here that he’d likely never earned south of Hadrian’s Wall. His death had become the one victory any Highlander could find in the whole disaster. And a relic from what had killed him—well, they were everywhere, and she’d yet to set eyes on one she believed to be the genuine article.
