He, on the other hand, was keenly interested to know more.
“My dear friend Ilsa Ramsay,” said Agnes. “She very kindly offered me a room in her house when you wrote that you were coming to visit. She’s so pleased to have me, Mama! And you must admit it is easier in front of the mirror in the morning, if I’m not here—”
“That is true,” agreed Bella. “She spends an eternity brushing her hair and uses all the warm water.”
“I do not!” Agnes turned back to their mother. “And she has such a small household, she says my company is very welcome and brightens her day immeasurably. Please say I may stay, Mama.”
“There’s no reason to impose on Mrs. Ramsay if your brother won’t be here.” Louisa looked to him. “Surely you’ll reconsider? Felix Duncan is such a scapegrace.”
Under no circumstances did Drew want to live with his mother again. He loved her, but he was a grown man. He’d specifically told Mr. Edwards to find a property with a separate cottage for his mother’s use. The solicitor, thinking he meant to avoid any conflict between his mother and a future, yet-to-be-found wife, had nodded; Drew had never told him it would be necessary even if he never married.
“I have no intention of putting you out,” he said. “I’m pleased to stay with Duncan, but that doesn’t mean Agnes must change her plans.” He turned to his sister as if he’d just had the happiest thought. “Perhaps you should invite her to dine with us, Agnes, if her society is so quiet and limited.”
Silence descended on the table. Bella and Winnie looked sideways at their mother, while Agnes turned pink. Louisa sighed. “No one would call Mrs. Ramsay’s society quiet or limited,” she murmured. “Agnes, I have no wish to argue with you. You may stay with her for the month you promised. Andrew, you are most welcome here—”
“I’m already settled with Duncan, so Winnie is welcome to take Agnes’s room.” He said it in his captain’s voice and his mother gave in, to Winnie’s squeal of delight.
After dinner he sat and obligingly answered question after question about Carlyle Castle and the duchess. His family still had the mixture of animosity and curiosity that he’d felt before his visit there, and from time to time they would shake their heads over his description of something, like the tall, narrow windows in the formal dining room that dated from the castle’s Norman past or the long gallery filled with dour-faced portraits of past St. Jameses.
Finally their mother clapped her hands. “’Tis late! As thrilling as this news is, the shop will not run itself tomorrow. Andrew, walk your sister to Mrs. Ramsay’s, if you please.”
“Mama, it’s two streets away,” Agnes muttered.
“Aye, and there have been robberies in this town of late!” Their mother gave a stern look. “Bankers, silversmiths, even a grocer’s shop. Who knows but that our own shop may be next!”
Drew opened his mouth to say something about that—his family wouldn’t need to labor in a shop much longer, thieves or no—but realized she was right about the time and said nothing. Winnie and Bella fell upon him with more hugs and reminders to bring their gifts the next day. Agnes followed him to the door and put on her cloak. They bid their mother good-night and went out into the street.
“Tell me about this dear friend who invites you to live with her,” he said as they walked along the dark High Street. The oil streetlamps cast only the faintest circles of illumination.
Agnes gave him a look, half reproof, half amused. “You’ll like her, Drew.”
“Will I, now?” Above them, a window creaked open, and he pulled his sister away from the oncoming deluge of waste. “Why is that?”
“Ilsa speaks her mind and enjoys life.”
That, he thought, fit the woman he’d seen last night. But what Agnes was saying was more important at the moment. He gave her a considering look. “Something you’ve not been able to do.”
Her mouth turned downward. “Not much, no.”
Agnes was twenty-four and still unmarried. William Ross had once said she was a very handsome lass, until Drew gave him a narrow-eyed look and Ross shut his mouth. The fellow was right, of course—Agnes was tall and slender with their mother’s blue eyes and their father’s dark hair—but Drew knew him too well. Agnes deserved better than Ross.
“I think that will change,” he told his sister now. “The duchess has granted me an income. No more captain’s pay, aye? There’ll be money for new gowns, a carriage . . . perhaps even a Season in London, if you and Winnie and Bella are so inclined.”
Her brow puckered. “You’re going to make us English.”
“No,” he said at once. “Just richer Scots.”
“With an English castle.” She gave him a look. “And an English title. That makes you English.”
He clenched his jaw. “I didn’t tell Mother yet, but the Carlyle solicitor is searching for a house for us, near the castle.”
Agnes gaped at him. “In England? You—you want us to leave Edinburgh?”
He stopped walking. “Don’t you want to? Dark narrow streets, people emptying their piss pots on our heads, a shop that demands all your time . . . I thought you’d be pleased to hear of it.”
She bit her lip. “I never wanted to go to England. I’m not going to inherit anything.”
“But I intend to settle a proper dowry on you.”
“The income from the duchess is that generous?”
No, it wasn’t, not with all three sisters already of marriageable age. Drew hoped to give each of them five hundred pounds at least. Edwards had hinted that something more might be arranged but had not yet committed to it.
At his hesitation, Agnes threw up her hands. “So you’re to be the next duke, and will be treated as such, because that’s what the duchess wants—a respectable heir. And we’ll be the poor relations, to whom nothing is owed or due, but who are now expected to uphold the dignity of a family who never cared tuppence for us. I knew they would never want anything to do with us. And you’re a fool, Andrew St. James, if you think you mean much to them, either.”
“Agnes,” he tried to say, but she backed away from him.
“Good night, Drew. I’m happy for you, truly I am, but don’t presume I’ll go along with your plans.” She turned and hurried into the house behind her.
His fingers curled into a fist. Damn. Agnes, as usual, wasn’t wrong. He would have to do better, looking out for them. How ironic if it should turn out to have been an easier task when he had no expectations at all.
As he turned away, his gaze caught on the windows above him. They glowed with light, unobscured by any drapes, and a woman was silhouetted at one side, a book in her hands.
Drew stopped. He backed up for a better view. Agnes came to join her, and the woman turned away. He wondered if she’d seen him.
The one thing he did not wonder about was her identity. Ilsa Ramsay was unquestionably the woman who had kissed him last night.
Chapter Five
Armed with a name, he had much better luck finding out about his mystery woman.
“Ilsa Ramsay? Aye,” said Duncan over pints in a tavern. “An eligible widow. Her father is Deacon of the Wrights, and her husband was a banker—poor bastard.”