Kimberly didn’t react. Well, at least she didn’t say anything more to him. But she still blushed.
37
During the next few days, the mansion slowly emptied of all its guests. Some returned to their homes because the Christmas holidays were fast approaching. Others had to be nudged a bit, with Duchy having no qualms in announcing that the house party was officially over.
Kimberly and Lachlan weren’t included in the exodus. They would in fact be married in the Sherring Cross chapel, a small service with just family and Their Graces attending. The duke had already obtained a special license for them, so they wouldn’t have to wait the requisite three weeks for the posting of the banns. Actually, the only thing they were waiting on was Kimberly’s father’s arrival.
Devlin had already written to the Earl of Amburough, or so Kimberly had been informed. She didn’t ask if he’d gone into detail about her shameful behavior. Likely not, as such things weren’t suitable for letters. And besides, a simple “Your daughter will be married as soon as you arrive,” would bring Cecil Richards posthaste. If the duke had been even more exact with something like, “Your daughter will be marrying the Lord of Clan MacGregor,” there’d be even quicker results.
Actually, Lachlan’s name probably had been mentioned, so it was pretty much guaranteed that her father wouldn’t be showing up just to give the bride away. Exactly the opposite. All hell would be breaking loose instead, and if she knew her father the Earl of Amburough would not care who might be present to witness the unleashing of his temper.
As it happened, when he did arrive, it was late in the evening, so everyone was still gathered together. Having just finished dinner, they had all adjourned to the parlor for some quiet amusements, now that all the guests were gone and continuous entertainments were no longer necessary.
Lachlan and Margaret were in one corner of the room finishing a chess game. Megan was directing several servants placing unlit candles high on the Christmas tree that had been brought in that morning.
Kimberly was helping Duchy remove some carved wooden angels from their little velvet storage pouches, still more decorations for the tree. Devlin was merely watching the proceedings from his favorite spot by the mantel and volunteering a suggestion now and then about the candle placements while he sipped at his after-dinner brandy.
And then there was that ill-tempered voice that Kimberly knew so well, demanding from the doorway, “What in the bloody hell is a Scotsman doing at Sherring Cross, and fighting over m’daughter?”
“Good to see you again, too, Cecil,” Devlin remarked dryly. “I assume you got my letter?”
“What letter? I came here because Kimberly’s name has been linked with a Scotsman. I don’t mind telling you how appalled I was. Who is this damned Scotsman, and what’s he even doing here?”
“The ‘damned’ Scotsman is related to me,” Devlin replied, his own tone indicating he didn’t care for Cecil’s one little bit.
“Good God, related?” Cecil exclaimed, as if he couldn’t imagine anything more horrible. “How is it I never heard of this?”
“Possibly because my relations are no one’s bloody business but my own,” Devlin answered tightly. “And I would suggest we continue this discussion in my study, before my wife, who has a Scot or two in her own ancestry, has you evicted for your insulting rudeness.”
At that point the earl did some blushing, never having had it pointed out so blatantly that he was making an ass of himself. Kimberly wasn’t the least bit embarrassed for him, she was too used to his acerbity. She did regret that these nice people had to be subjected to his ill-humored ways.
Cecil looked for and assumed he’d found the duchess—he had—who was in fact frowning at him, “I beg your pardon, Your Grace. I sometimes forget myself when I’m upset, and this has upset me mightily.”
“That’s understandable,” Megan allowed graciously. “Although it was a minor scandal that we have all forgot about—due to other things.”
“Come along then, Cecil,” Devlin said, quickly crossing the room to lead him to his study before he could askwhat other things.
Cecil nodded, but he caught sight of Kimberly before he turned, and with a scowl, he ordered her, “You will join us, gel, since you have some explaining to do.”
He didn’t wait for her compliance, didn’t expect her to disobey. She thought about it though, she really did. His tirades could be emotionally exhausting, even when she did no more than just sit and listen. And this tirade was likely to be the worst she’d ever heard. But there really was no avoiding it. He was here. He didn’t know yet that she was going to marry the Highlander, but he would very shortly, and—she might as well get it over with.
She stood up, but paused to glance over at Lachlan, whose expression was curiously inscrutable. “You might want to come along,” she suggested. “I warned you that he wouldn’t be happy about—” She hesitated, realizing this was not a subject to mention before others. So she hoped he would recallwhatshe’d told him he wouldn’t be happy about, and finished with, “You’re about to find out why.”
Kimberly didn’t wait to see if he would follow. It wasn’t necessary for him to be present during this “baring of the sinful circumstances,” so it made no difference to her. It would merely save her having to relate the entire tale to him later. The earl was very predictable, after all.
Devlin was sitting behind his desk when she reached the study. There were a number of chairs about the room. She took one against the wall, out of the way, though she couldn’t hope to remain unnoticed for very long. Her father was apparently going to remain standing. She knew he would prefer to, so used to that authoritative seat behind the desk himself, and this not being his study.
“You haven’t seen your daughter for more than a month,” Devlin was saying. “Would you like a few minutes alone with her to—”
“What for?”
Eloquently put, and very indicative of Cecil’s feelings for his only daughter. Kimberly almost smiled at Devlin’s surprise. She supposed some people might find the earl’s sentiments unnatural. She found them perfectly normal—for him. At least they were what she was used to. If he’d ever been anything other than curt or surly with her, she didn’t remember it. So anything on a warmer side, she would find unnatural—for him.
“Very well then,” Devlin said. “Since you left before my letter reached you, I will tell you the gist of it now and we can discuss—”
“You needn’t bother, Your Grace. I told you, I’d already heard the entire story. That’s why I’m here, to find out how such a sorry affair could have come about.”
“I presume you’re speaking of that morning the Highlander attacked Viscount Canston because of your daughter?” the duke questioned.
