Finn tossed the rest of his whiskey back. “No. I want her to see out her season, if only to prove to herself she can. What kind of life will she have if she runs away every time there’s some sort of unpleasantness?”
That question cut closer to the bone than Lachlan liked, and he flinched away from the sharp prick of his conscience. “Order her to finish her season, then.”
“That won’t do. It will only make her miserable if I force her into it, and I don’t wish to upset my wife, either, especially given her delicate condition. No, Hyacinth has to choose it herself.” Finn leaned back in his chair, his empty glass dangling from his fingers, his eyes on Lachlan. “I did have one idea.”
Ah. Here it was. “Which is?”
“What if our sister were to debut with her? It would be much easier for Hyacinth if she had a friend by her side, and Miss Ramsey—Isla—seems a sturdy, resolute sort of young lady. If Isla has a season, we may be able to persuade Hyacinth to join her.”
Lachlan drained his whiskey to smother the immediate refusal that rushed to his lips. “Isla can’t debut. All of London thinks her brother’s a murderer.”
Finn shrugged. “There are ways around that.”
Lachlan gave an incredulous laugh. “Ways around a murder accusation?”
“Afalsemurder accusation. I don’t pretend it will be easy, but you forget I’m a marquess. We’re permitted a certain amount of latitude with theton. Isla is vivacious and beautiful, and she’s a Huntington now, and a lady of fortune—”
“Not by English standards, she isn’t.”
Finn looked surprised. “What, do you suppose I won’t dower her?”
“Dower her?” Lachlan stared at him in astonishment.
“She’s mysister, Lachlan, just as she is yours. Of course, I’ll settle money on her—on all of you, though we needn’t discuss that now. But you sound as if you don’t like the idea of Isla having a season.”
“It’s not that. I just…I never thought of it.”
He’d never dreamed of it, more like. Never dared to.
Since they’d left Scotland, Isla didn’t smile anymore. It had broken her heart when her dearest friends had turned their backs on her, and Lachlan hadn’t been able to do a damn thing to help her. He could only watch while it happened, a bitter, helpless fury writhing in his chest.
But a season, and all it entailed—balls and gowns, dancing, perhaps a suitor, and even a marriage—he’d do whatever it took give Isla this chance to gain back everything she’d lost, even if it meant putting up with Hyacinth Somerset.
“I know how to manage theton, Lachlan. I’ve been doing it all my life. You may trust me when I say we’ll find a way around the scandal.”
“I do.”As much as I trust anyone.“As long as she’s not scorned by theton, I don’t object to Isla having a debut.”
“Excellent. Is there anything else I should know, before we send the young ladies off to wreak havoc on the hearts of every gentleman in London?”
There is.
A secret, buried deep—so deep it would stay buried unless Lachlan chose to drag it into the light.
If he’d ever owed the truth to anyone, he owed it to Finn, who’d brought them into his family without question, as if they belonged here.
Who’d treated him like a brother did.
The truth crept to the tip of his tongue, and he wanted to speak it into words, and be free of the burden of a secret he should never have vowed to keep, but as it hovered on the edge of his lips, his mother’s warning rushed into his head.
The past must stay in the past…Isla and Ciaran will suffer…promise me, Lachlan.
“No, nothing.”
And with those words, it wasn’t his mother’s secret any longer.
It was his now, and the lie tasted like ashes in his mouth.
* * * *
