“One of us was caught in a rather compromised position at a ball in London, over a month ago,” Faith said.
“But because we all look quite similar from behind, no one could identify which one of us it was,” Grace added.
“And your Mr. Pennington believed it was Hope?” Graham asked.
“He’s hardlymyMr. Pennington,” Faith said with a scoff, wrinkling her nose. “I wouldn’t take him as a gift. And no, Hope told him it wasn’t her. But he wished to take her away. He proposed to marry her and leave the two of us behind to bear the consequences of our supposed shame without her. She refused.”
Graham stared at the two before glancing at Belle, whose brows lifted with delight.
“Blood of my blood!” Belle said joyously. “I had heard there was some sort of scandal, but I didn't know to what extent. No wonder you were all so eager to come north.”
“So?” Graham said. “Which one was it?”
Both sisters stared at him.
“We won't tell,” they said in unison.
“We decided that since we’d all be considered in disgrace regardless, we shouldn’t give the gossips the satisfaction of knowing who it was,” Grace added.
Graham was dumbfounded when Belle yelped with laughter.
“What a fine set of sisters, indeed!” she said happily. “Oh, you truly are my kin. You know your grandmother and I had a very similar pact years ago, before my acting days.”
As Belle went into a story about her youth, Graham observed the doorway Hope had exited. He was under no obligation to go after her, and he certainly wasn't interested in involving himself any more than he already was, but where the other Sharpe sisters appeared content to leave Hope alone, hecouldn't quite accept it. She’d seemed decidedly upset—surely someone should check on her.
Pushing his chair back and standing up, he mumbled his excuses and left the dining room. Searching up and down the hallway, he noted the closest doors she could have escaped through would have been either the parlor door or the front door. When he found the parlor empty, he exited the castle.
Far to the left, on a stone bench beneath a lilac tree, sat a slump-shouldered Hope. She seemed unaware of his approach at first. Her head only swiveled toward him when she heard a twig snap beneath his foot.
“Oh, Mr. MacKinnon,” she said, wiping her tear-streaked cheek. Her eyes were red. “I'm so sorry.”
“For what?” he asked as he came to a stop before her.
They were only a few feet apart.
“For having to see me like this,” she said, head bowed as if she were ashamed. “I must look a fright.”
“You look fine,” he said, ignoring the uncomfortable tightness in his chest. There was something about seeing women cry that unnerved him. He shifted his weight from one foot to the other. “Are you well?”
“I am,” she said, appearing to force a smile. “It's just that, I had been rather confused about something that was said to me in London, and Belle's story filled in a blank spot.” A hand came up to her forehead and pressed her index and middle fingers against the small wrinkle in between her brows. “I'm sorry that your home was gambled away.”
Graham hadn't ever believed anyone who said they were sorry for his misfortune. Until now.
“It's not your fault,” he said.
“But I am appalled by it. Belle shouldn't have taken this place away from you. Not when you’d been orphaned already.”
“It was my father's property. He had every right to do what he did.”
“It wasn't just his though. It was the family's home,” she said. “He did not have a right to gamble away that.”
Graham stared at her, hesitant. She had put into words the very thought that plagued him during his most volatile moods. It moved him that she recognized the unfairness of it all.
For whatever reason, the bitterness he had often tasted when he thought of Lismore Hall diminished as the silence stretched between them.
“Thank you for saying that,” he said, ashamed for being so brash towards her earlier in the garden. “And I don't know what was said to you in London that would make you cry, but I know who ever said it is a damned fool.”
She stared at him as another small, sad smile appeared on her face.
