Andrew had to say he was pleasantly surprised by the inside of this manor house perched beside the loch. It wasn’t as richly furnished as his own homes were in London and on his country estates, but the parlor in which he was to be served tea was very pleasant nonetheless.
The warm wooden flooring had occasional rugs on it; the couch and chairs looked well-worn but comfortable. The paintings upon the walls were not ones he would have chosen for himself, but they fit with their surroundings in that they depicted the local flora and fauna.
Except for the painting above the unlit fireplace.
That one was of a lady wearing a deep blue gown and seated on what looked to be the same couch as was in this room. Her hair was the deepest auburn Andrew had ever seen and gathered in loose curls and secured at her nape with a pretty blue ribbon. Her eyes were that same deep blue as her gown and filled with a happiness that literally glowed from within those depths. The off-the-shoulder gown revealed her shoulders and the tops of her breasts as being that milk-white color so common to redheads.
Andrew’s gaze returned to her face and the mischief gleaming in those dark blue eyes. Mischief and a love of life so tangible, it could not be contained.
She was, without a doubt, the most stunningly beautiful woman Andrew had ever seen.
“That is Margaret.”
Andrew turned at what sounded like a vaguely familiar and attractive voice. Only for every thought to leave his head, his heart to cease beating, his breath to arrest in his lungs, and his mouth to become so dry, it felt as if his tongue were stuck to the roof of his mouth as he stared at a young woman so like the one in the painting, she might have sat for the artist. Only the dated style of the gown worn by Margaret said otherwise.
“My mother.” The young lady confirmed his thoughts.
As was usual when he was unsure of anything, Andrew grasped and then raised his eyeglass to peer down his nose at the young woman.
Now that his heart had begun to beat again and the breath to once again leave and then refill his lungs, he could see this was indeed a different young woman than the one in the portrait.
This young lady was far younger, possibly twenty, or a year or so either way. Her dark auburn curls were secured at her crown, in keeping with the fashion of today. Likewise, she wore a high-waisted gown of pale blue. Her features were also more finely drawn, with faint shadows visible beneath those deep blue eyes against her milky-white skin, as if she had recently suffered great sadness. The expression in her beautiful blue eyes was wary rather than glowing.
He lowered the eyeglass before giving a brief bow. “Forgive me for not having immediately introduced myself. I am Andrew Belgrade, the Duke of Essex.”
Exactly who Cat had begun to suspect he might be!
Elena had told them of her only brother, fourteen years her senior. How kind he had been to her when she was a child, and how much he had changed after the scandals involving their parents, followed by the death of his father under less than acceptable circumstances. Their mother, Elena had said, was believed to be on the Continent somewhere, living with the man who had been the family butler.
Elena claimed her brother had been different following those events, having become cold and distant and so very prim and proper. Elena had chafed against the rules her brother had put in place and expected her to follow, in private as well as in public.
Her brother was not a hypocrite, Elena had defended, in that he had also rigidly followed those strict dictates of decorum and behavior.
Upon hearing this, Cat had promptly dismissed even the existence of the stiff and unyielding Andrew Belgrade. But when Elena and Hugh had died so suddenly two months ago, she’d had no choice but to immediately write to the haughty duke to inform him of his sister’s passing.
Learning the contents of her brother’s will some days later had required Cat write Essex another letter.
When she had received no reply to either missive, Cat had assumed—foolishly, as it now turned out—that the cold and arrogant duke had no interest in the fate of his young nephew.
Because here Andrew Belgrade was, and appearing twice as formidable as Elena had described him as being. He also wielded that eyeglass as a shield between himself and others.
Cat was predisposed to dislike the man who had been so unyielding in his dealings with the warm and lovely Elena that she had rebelled against those strictures, so much so that within a week of meeting Hugh, the two of them had eloped to Gretna Green. Not that Cat was complaining as to that outcome. She had loved Elena dearly, the two women having become as close as real sisters within days of meeting each other.
Elena had been full of joie de vivre and had instantly fallen in love with everything about her new life. Most of all, she had brought that lightness into the manor, more noticeably to her husband. Previously a little on the dour side, Hugh’s nature had lightened considerably with his wife’s presence, and he had displayed a quiet joy in his marriage and his son.
It was a pity, then, that Elena’s own brother could not have been equally as appreciative of her.
“And you are…?”
Cat’s gaze returned to the gentleman in front of her. He had removed his hat and overcoat, revealing he was, as she had suspected, several inches over six feet tall, with fashionably styled dark hair and stern features. His eyes were pale green beneath heavy brows, the same color as Elena’s, but nowhere near as warm as his sister’s. He had a long and aristocratic nose, high cheekbones, thin lips, and a jaw so sharp, it appeared as if it might cut the razor rather than the other way about.
His attire was every bit as expertly and expensively tailored as Cat had imagined it to be, but so austere as to be colorless. He wore a black superfine over a gray waistcoat and snowy-white shirt and neckcloth, with darker gray riding breeches outlining muscular thighs above black Hessians.
Yes, Andrew Belgrade, the Duke of Essex, dressed and appeared every inch the arrogant gentleman Cat had believed him to be.
He also, apparently, had absolutely no idea that he’d been riding on McGregor land for some time and was now standing in the parlor of the McGregor family home.
As he might have visited Elena here any number of times during the past five years, but had chosen not to do so, Cat felt little sympathy for the ignorance which might, very shortly, cause him some awkwardness.
Only might, because Andrew Belgrade gave the impression he very rarely felt discomposed and never apologized for anything.
Her chin rose. “My name is Catriona McGregor.” She offered no further explanation, but knew she had no need of one when the duke’s eyes instantly widened in recognition of that name.
But he recovered quickly. “The same young lady who wrote to me? Twice.”
“Yes.”
He gave a formal bow. “In that case, I am pleased to make your acquaintance, Miss McGregor.”
Cat’s chin rose. “Would that I might say likewise, Your Grace.”
His brows lowered as he straightened, his eyes narrowing at the deliberate slight. “Out of curiosity, is there any chance, any chance at all, that you might have been up on the hillside a short time ago attempting to waylay innocent travelers?”
Oh good Lord!
If this man had meant to discompose her, which she had no doubt he had, then he had succeeded.
But only for a heartbeat or two as Cat quickly gathered her scattered wits together and drew herself up to her full height of two inches over five feet. “Firstly, that hillside, and as far as the human eye can see, is part of the McGregor land. Therefore, I am perfectly within my rights to do whatever I wish on my clan’s property. Secondly, I very much doubt that any of us are completely innocent, including yourself, Your Grace.” She added the last with challenge.
His nostrils flared. “Which did not answer my question as to whether or not you and your accomplice were on that particular hillside half an hour or so ago.”
Before Cat could think of a suitable reply, her “accomplice” came bounding into the room.
“Aunt Cat, the black horse we saw that fellow riding earlier is tied up outside. The man we thought was Dougal and so tried to rob him. Do you suppose— Oh.” Malcolm’s exuberant conversation came to an abrupt end when he obviously became aware that the fellow they’d tried to rob was now standing in the middle of their best parlor. But, as was usual, Malcolm’s spirit did not remain deflated for very long. “I’m Malcolm McGregor, Laird of Invergorden.” He bowed formally. “Who might you be?” he demanded less politely.
Andrew wasn’t known for being prone to bouts of impulsive amusement. Indeed, he couldn’t remember the last time he had smiled, let alone laughed. But he was sorely tempted to do so as he looked at the young man standing in front of him, his auburn curls awry as he stared up at Andrew with Elena’s green eyes.
The young man who had just boldly revealed that he and his aunt were indeed the ones who had waylaid Andrew on the hillside a short time ago.
The boy was small for his age, but he had changed his clothes since earlier and now looked every inch the young McGregor in a fitted jacket, trousers, and shirt. The image was perhaps somewhat detracted from by those riotous and cherubic red curls and the freckles adorning his snub nose and cheeks, but even so, Andrew did not doubt for a minute that this young man was indeed The Much Honored Malcolm Hugh Fraser McGregor, Laird of Invergorden, Elena’s son and Andrew’s own nephew and ward.
To say he was surprised to realize this spacious house and the surrounding land was the extensive estate and home of the McGregor family his sister had married into would be an understatement.
If Andrew had thought about it at all over the years, he had always envisaged his sister living in a small cottage somewhere with her husband. After receiving Catriona McGregor’s letters, he had adjusted that to his sister and her husband living in the cramped confines of a crofter’s cottage, along with their young son and Hugh McGregor’s spinster sister.
He hadn’t known that Hugh McGregor was laird of his clan, nor that Elena had been his Lady. Or that their estate was vast and teeming with the livestock of cows and sheep from which they obviously made a comfortable living.
I was not aware of Elena’s circumstances because I chose not to see or visit with her after her elopement. Nor did I ever meet her son before today.
And for that, Andrew bore sole responsibility. Elena had written to him during her first year of marriage, letters he had chosen not to open and read so did not know the content of. After that first year, he had received a letter every Christmas, until last year. With no response forthcoming from him in the previous four years, his sister’s letters had ceased altogether.
He closed his eyes briefly before responding. “I—”
“There’s cake if you would like it, Malcolm.” The beautiful Catriona McGregor cut firmly into what Andrew had been about to say.
He eyed her curiously as Malcolm, totally distracted, as he was no doubt meant to be, now hurried over to the tea tray to help himself to a slice of fruit cake.
Andrew realized, from the frowning glances being given to him by Catriona McGregor, that for some reason that young lady had not told her nephew she had written to his uncle, the Duke of Essex, and it was the reason for Andrew now being here.
Did that also mean Malcolm had no idea he was now the duke’s ward?
Andrew’s jaw tightened. “You may call me Essex,” he bit out tersely.
Malcolm emptied his mouth of cake before answering. “That’s a strange name.”
“Because it is my title rather than my name,” he explained patiently, having already ascertained that Malcolm McGregor was irrepressible.
“What’s your real name, then?” Malcolm demanded before taking another huge bite of cake.
“That is my real name,” Andrew answered patiently. “But my full name is Andrew Belgrade, the Duke of Essex.”
Malcolm nodded sagely. “But you prefer to be called Essex as I am now sometimes called the McGregor, or Invergorden.”
“It isn’t a case of preferring or not preferring, Essex is simply my given title,” he bit out stiffly.
Malcolm’s brow creased in thought before clearing again. “I like Andrew better.”
“It is not acceptable for you to address a peer so informally,” he stated firmly.
“But—”
“I am Essex,” he insisted with a frowning glance toward the silent Catriona McGregor.
Rather than chastising her nephew for his forwardness the manner in which Miss McGregor was now biting her top lip between her teeth said she found Andrew’s discomfort at being challenged by a precocious four-year-old highly amusing.
Andrew didn’t share that amusement.
Her expression sobered as she no doubt saw that lack of humor in his demeanor. “Malcolm, why don’t you go to the kitchen and ask Mrs. Murray if she has more cake?” she encouraged lightly. “Tell her I said you might have some.”
Malcolm’s face lit with pleasure. “Thanks, Aunt Cat!” He ran from the room without so much as a glance in Andrew’s direction, let alone asking permission to leave the room.
“He has no idea, does he?”
Cat’s expression sobered as she turned from watching her nephew’s excited departure to meet Andrew Belgrade’s penetrating gaze. “No idea of what, Your Grace?”
His jaw tightened at her dismissive tone. Even calling him by his title sounded mocking. “That he is now my ward and I am come to Scotland for the sole purpose of taking him back to London to live with me.”
It was as well that Cat, from the moment she had realized who this man was, had been steeling herself for this conversation.
Not only because she had no intention of giving this arrogant bastard the satisfaction of seeing he had the ability to unsettle her in any way, but also because, whatever purpose Andrew Belgrade might have traveled to Scotland with, she had no intention of allowing him to take Malcolm anywhere.