At that, Megan rolled her eyes. Kimberly, getting more annoyed by the moment, cleared her throat again, much louder. This time Megan heard her and glanced her way, though her look was totally confused for a moment, as if she couldn’t for the life of her remember who Kimberly was or what she was doing there.
And then it must have dawned on her, because she gasped. “Oh, my dear Lady Kimberly! Please forgive me for my distraction. You must be exhausted from your journey, and here I’ve kept you standing there while dealing with this incorrigible Scot—” She paused to give Lachlan a reproving glare, which placed the entire blame where it belonged, at least in her opinion. Then to Kimberly again, she made a sincere apology: “I’m so sorry. Come along and I’ll show you to the room that has been chosen for you, and we’ll see to that cold you’ve caught as well. As it happens, I know that Duchy, Devlin’s grandmother, has some wonderful remedies—”
Lachlan interrupted at that point, as Megan started to lead a relieved Kimberly away. “Ah, darlin’, don’t be leaving me yet. “Tis been way tae long since I’ve basked in your glorious sunshine.”
Megan snorted beneath her breath, loud enough for only Kimberly to hear. She continued to lead Kimberly away for a moment, but must have thought better of it.
She paused to swing around, frowning sternly, and hissed at Lachlan, “I have a guest to see to whoiswelcome here, whereas you are not. Have one of the servants fetch Margaret for you, and see that you inform her of your previous involvement with Devlin. She’ll tell you herself that you have to change your plans, I have no doubt, for that dear lady couldn’t have been aware of your nefarious activities. She never would have knowingly invited a thief into our home.”
“Reaver, darlin’,” he corrected with a pained expression. “Kindly make the distinction.”
Megan sighed in exasperation before she replied, “There is no distinction, MacGregor, not when it was Englishmen you were robbing. You Scots might see it so, but we English certainly don’t.”
“Ah, but ’tis a moot point, since my reaving days are behind me now,” he assured her. “I canna undo what was done wi’ good reason afore now, yet you’ll give me credit for turning o’er a new leaf.”
“Will I? Not likely. And we’ve discussed it long enough. Good day.”
Kimberly was witness to his chagrined look just before she was led off, then the determined look that followed. He apparently was a man who refused to accept defeat easily, yet in the case of acquiring Megan St. James’s affections he was bound for failure. All of England knew that the Duke and Duchess of Wrothston were madly in love with each other. That news had come to the far reaches of Northumberland, but apparently it wasn’t common knowledge in Scotland.
A Highlander. Too bad. Kimberly had felt somewhat attracted to Lachlan MacGregor—well, that was putting it too mildly. She’d been very attracted. There was no point in denying it. But it was a moot point for two very good reasons. His affections were already taken, albeit by a married woman. And he was Scottish. And even if the first reason could be overcome, the second one was insurmountable. Her father would never approve of a Scotsman for her husband. He would flat out disown her first, and bedamned to the scandal that would cause.
A Scotsman. That was really, really too bad.
5
“You poor, dear boy,” Margaret MacGregor said in sympathy after Lachlan had finished explaining to her, in full honesty, the circumstances that had led him here looking for a wife. “And Winnifred? Who could have guessed she’d do something like that. She seemed like such a nice gel.”
Lachlan had to smile. Winnifred was close to fifty, not exactly a girl. But Margaret, being in her seventies, tended to call anyone sixty or below a girl or a boy. She was a dear, sweet lady, a little on the plump side, and always cheerful, at least whenever Lachlan had ever been in her company. But he had to agree with her on that point. No one could have guessed that Winnifred was capable of such a dastardly deed.
As Margaret refilled Lachlan’s teacup—they were alone in the mammoth parlor at Sherring Cross—she admonished, “Why did you never come to me for monetary assistance? Your Great-uncle Angus left me quite well in the pocket, God love him, though he knew it was unnecessary. I have more money than I’ll ever find things to spend it on.”
Lachlan was embarrassed enough by the subject, but it would be even worse if he tried to explain his reasons. Borrowing from blood kin was one thing and perfectly acceptable. But Margaret wasn’t that. She had married into his family instead, and her husband was no longer living, or Lachlan wouldn’t even be here. He’d have gone to his Uncle Angus for assistance long ago.
So he said simply, “I mun do this on my own, Aunt Margaret,” and hoped she’d leave it go at that.
She did, though she made a tsking sound to indicate she didn’t agree. “Very well. And you do seem to be on the right track now. A wife with plump pockets is just the thing to put an end to your difficulties. Why, it’s done all the time, don’t you know.”
He nodded his agreement, even though he wished he didn’t have to take advantage of this method himself. “But there’s another thing I need tae be telling you, Aunt Margaret, that I didna ken would be a problem until I arrived here. I’ve met your nephew Ambrose under less than ideal circumstances. He was using a different name at the time, which is why I was unaware that I’d met him—until today.”
“A different name?” She frowned. “Would that be when he was in Scotland last year?”
“Aye, exactly then. I’m afraid I stopped him to—ah, relieve him of a few of his coins, but instead, I relieved him of his fiancé.”
Margaret’s faded turquoise eyes widened briefly, then crinkled as she began to chuckle. “Good God, that wasyou? My sister and I had heard a bit of that story from Megan—Devlin, of course, would never have repeated such a story, even though his rescue was quite heroic. But Duchy and I had a great good laugh over it, I must say.”
He was relieved that she found it amusing. He didn’t, and he knew damn well Devlin wouldn’t either.
“The thing is,” he pointed out, “Megan seems tae think he’ll no’ let me stay on here.”
“Oh, bosh, of course he will,” she scoffed, only to amend seconds later, “At least, he will after he is apprised of your situation, and I’ll see to that. Don’t you worry, dear boy. We’ll have you married in no time a’tall.”
Lachlan smiled his acceptance of that, though he couldn’t help blushing over the thought of Devlin learning of his dire straits. What rotten luck, that the bonny Megan had married his aunt’s relative. Then again, if she hadn’t, he likely would never have found her again.
That he had found her changed his plans somewhat, well, completely, actually. He wasn’t going to be looking for a wife now, at least, not until he’d given it his best effort to win Megan away from her duke. If he could accomplish that, then he’d just have to find some other way to rectify the family fortune, though faith, he still couldn’t think of another way to do that just yet.
Megan—he’d actually found her and she was as beautiful as he remembered, more so, if that was possible. And just as feisty, he thought fondly. The irony was uncanny, though, that his quest for a wife should lead him to her. Aye, she was meant for him, not for the Englishman. He just had to convince her of that, and he meant to do that very thing.
“My sister and I have come up with quite a few possible heiresses for you to consider, m’boy,” Margaret was continuing, unaware of his decision. “In fact, we’re lucky enough to have one of them arriving here anytime now for a protracted stay. In search of a husband herself, don’t you know. A rich earl’s daughter, she is. You can’t do much better there. Her dowry’s rumored to be immense, and includes several prime properties.”
