As Agnes had predicted, he had brought excellent gifts. For his mother, he produced a length of midnight blue brocade. For Bella it was cream silk with pink flowers, for Winnie a rich green and white stripe, for Agnes deep rose. Then he gave them swathes of lace wrapped in silver paper, as fine as anything Ilsa had ever seen, along with a rainbow of embroidery floss. He brought out several new novels—making Bella gasp aloud in delight—India tea, and a small but handsome porcelain clock.
He even had things for the family’s servant, the redoubtable Annag. For her there was a box of spices, a new apron and cap of fine linen, and a warm shawl of deep blue wool. Annag’s lined face turned pink as she accepted them; her stammering grew incomprehensible until he teased that if she didn’t like them, perhaps Bella might. Bella tossed a cushion at him, Annag smacked him affectionately on the shoulder, and then bent down and kissed his offered cheek.
Not quite the stuffy saint Ilsa had pictured.
“And the last,” he said, handing out small boxes. Sitting beside Ilsa, Agnes opened hers to reveal a silver locket on a fine chain.
“Lovely,” she whispered, earning a rueful glance from Agnes.
“Oh, Drew!” cried Bella in rapture, clasping on her new bracelets of coral beads. “How did you ever afford all this?”
He leaned back against the empty trunk and stretched out his long legs. Ilsa inched her own feet to the side to avoid his boots; he seemed to take up the entire room, sitting there so easily. “These last are not from me, as it happens. They are from the duke and duchess, chosen by Miss Kirkpatrick, her companion, sent with Her Grace’s cordial best wishes.”
The room went silent. Agnes put down the locket she’d been about to clasp about her neck. Mrs. St. James flushed. Winnie, busy adjusting her new silver hair combs, muttered impatiently until Bella poked her.
“How very generous of Her Grace,” said their mother quietly, studying the elegant brooch in her box.
The captain’s gaze fixed on Agnes. “She is well aware of how disruptive this will be to all of you. She is not insensitive to your feelings, and hopes you will be able to find pleasure in the news.”
“What did she give you, Drew?” piped up Bella. “Since she took the trouble to send us such lovely things. You, after all, are the important one.”
He made a face. “Some stiff new suits and a great lot of work, that’s what she gave me.”
Agnes cleared her throat. “And a house,” she said. “In England.”
“England! We’re moving to England?” gasped Winnie, her hair combs forgotten.
The captain ran one hand over his head. Ilsa had the thought that he’d not wanted to discuss that. “I must, to learn how to run such an estate.”
“But what of us?” Winnie demanded. “Are we going, too?”
Her brother turned to look at their mother. “It means you won’t have to work in the shop,” he said softly. “No more fretting over unpaid bills and mortgages.”
Mrs. St. James was pale. “We shall discuss that later,” was her reply, her gaze flickering toward Ilsa for a moment. “Annag, please bring in the tea! So much excitement requires refreshment.”
As everyone bundled away their gifts and Annag fetched the tray of tea and cakes, Ilsa leaned toward Agnes. “That’s what he wishes you to do, isn’t it? Go to England.”
Agnes rolled her eyes. “Yes. Mama will probably go, and Winnie and Bella, too.”
“But you won’t,” murmured Ilsa.
“What is there for me in England?” Agnes shrugged, studying the silver locket in its box.
“Certainly not a particular gentleman . . .”
“Shh,” hissed her friend with sudden vehemence. She snapped the box closed. “Don’t mention that!”
Ilsa subsided but caught the captain looking at her. His brow quirked as if to ask, Is aught wrong? She merely gave a polite smile in return and turned her attention to the repast being served.
It wasn’t until after tea was done that he spoke to her directly. Agnes said she wanted to fetch something from her room and went upstairs. Ilsa waited near the door, talking to Bella and Winnie before they, too, took their gifts upstairs.
She had known the captain was waiting for a chance to approach her. She could feel his presence even without looking up to see his tall figure at her side.
“It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Mrs. Ramsay,” he said. She tried not to react to his voice, deep and gruff and rolling his vowels like a true Scot. “I’m glad you came to tea.”
“Thank you, Captain.” It was hard not to look at him, and yet his piercing gaze made her feel hot and flustered. “It was a great pleasure to be invited.”
He smiled wryly, as if he knew very well that Agnes had done it without telling anyone else. “Perhaps next time we meet it will be a more festive occasion.”
Without your mother glaring at me? wondered Ilsa. “I suspect we’ve met before, Captain,” she said instead.
Gold sparks kindled in his hazel eyes. “Indeed, Mrs. Ramsay,” he said, his voice gone soft and intimate. “I believe we have.”
She kept her pleasant smile. She knew perfectly well where it had been, and what she’d done. He was as attractive now as he’d been in that oyster cellar with his coat off and his hair rumpled from dancing, his face fierce with joy and alive with wonder as he stared at her. It had been the act of a moment’s impulse when she kissed him.
Oh, if only she’d known.
“It was at Mr. MacGill’s offices,” she said, instead of any of that. “When he turned me out in order to see you.”
His face froze in chagrin. “Ah. I was rather hoping you didn’t recognize me from that unfortunate encounter. I never expected him to do it. I told MacGill he was wrong and he should never do it again.”
“Hmm,” she said thoughtfully.
“I am sorry for it,” the captain added.
That was more than David MacGill had ever said to her. She gave him a gracious smile. “That is very kind of you, Captain. Of course I do not blame you for the actions of another.”
The corner of his mouth rose. “Thank you.”
All right. She smoothed her skirts. It was no trouble to turn the full force of her disdain and indignation upon the attorney.
She was much more inclined to like the captain anyway.
Agnes clattered back down the stairs, ready to go. She bade her brother farewell, and Ilsa followed her to the street without another glance at the intriguing captain.
“Who is the duchess?” she asked as they walked.
Agnes looked around, almost furtively. “The Duchess of Carlyle. The duke is our distant cousin—so distant he’s never spoken to any of us. Our grandfather was a duke’s younger brother, not that it stopped the family from banishing him like a leper and ignoring us all our lives. But Drew is, somehow, shockingly, the next heir to the dukedom, it seems.”
Ilsa stopped dead and stared at her, dumbfounded. A duke! An English duke. But of course—that made sense of his visit to Mr. MacGill’s office, looking as expensively trussed up as one of King George’s many sons. And she’d caught the name Carlyle, too, when Mr. Leish rushed in to evict her.
But it did not fit with the exuberant Scot who’d whirled her around an oyster cellar and kissed her so hungrily. She wondered which was the true man, and then told herself it didn’t matter. He planned to remove to England; a duke was far too grand for the likes of her anyway. Andrew St. James was fated to be nothing more than a passing acquaintance.