Home > A Scot to the Heart(3)

A Scot to the Heart(3)
Author: Caroline Linden

He snapped to alertness. “No, ma’am.”

“Not one of my own,” murmured the roguish cousin with a hint of a wicked smile.

Blessed saints. Drew glared at the man. What was wrong with him? The duchess’s expression turned frigid, although the solicitor seemed to be biting back a smirk as he shuffled his papers.

“Nor have you taken any pains toward respectability, sir,” Her Grace snapped at him. “That is what troubles me, and that is why I sent for you. The Duke of Carlyle wields great power and must do so with dignity and decorum.”

“It is an awesome responsibility,” Drew said quickly before his cousin could say something even ruder. “I hope I may become worthy of it.”

The duchess inclined her head his way. “I expect it of you, Captain.” She paused before adding sourly, “And of you, Mr. St. James.”

Drew would swear the man grinned.

“I understand this may be a difficult request,” the duchess said. “I am prepared to help. Mr. Edwards will disburse to each of you five hundred pounds immediately. I trust you will use it wisely, and return in six months’ time more sober, refined gentlemen. If I am satisfied with your progress, I shall grant a further sum of one thousand five hundred pounds per year, to continue as long as you remain respectable.”

His heart thumped hard. Five hundred pounds! With fifteen hundred to follow. It was a bloody fortune.

Mr. St. James asked another question, which he barely heard. All he could think of was the money and what it would mean to his family. They were getting by in Edinburgh, but now he could see them comfortably settled. He could give his sisters dowries—two hundred pounds or more, each. Agnes with her intelligence and warm heart, Winnie with her humor and beauty, and Bella with her charm and high spirits . . . all three would surely find good matches. And his mother deserved to have proper servants again, and not have to work in the shop in Shakespeare Square—

He brought himself up short. Edinburgh? He could bring his sisters to London, for a real Season. Gowns from Paris, a carriage of their own, entrée to all the most fashionable and intelligent society they wanted. They would be the family of a duke-in-waiting.

Did that make his mother and sisters ladies? How thrilled Winnie would be. He must ask.

The duchess and Mr. St. James had been sparring as he sat woolgathering. Mr. St. James must have offended Her Grace again, from her tone. Drew glanced in pity at his cousin. No discipline, that one. He’d clearly never been in the army, if he thought this was the way to ingratiate himself with those who outranked him.

“This offer is intended to help you,” Her Grace said witheringly. “Do not delude yourself that Carlyle runs itself, or that a steward can be hired to do it all. You are both young men, neither raised with this expectation. It will be difficult for you to adjust, but you must rise to the occasion. I urge you to accept this proposal and take it seriously.”

He cleared his throat. “Yes, of course, Your Grace. It is extremely generous of you.”

“It is not generosity,” she snapped. “I have no wish to see Carlyle run into the ground! I wish to see it descend to someone who will appreciate its majesty, care for its dependents, and preserve it for future generations. To that purpose, each of you has six months to establish yourself as someone capable of becoming that man. And you needn’t fear that the funds would cease if I should die.” She glared at Mr. St. James again, as if guessing what he was about to ask. “I will leave instructions in my will to continue the annuity so long as my conditions are met.”

Drew had never had the freedom to be disreputable or irresponsible, though he suspected the other man had.

“What shall those conditions be, Your Grace?”

“Respectability,” she said, still looking down her nose at Mr. St. James. “No outrageous behavior. Sobriety. The Dukes of Carlyle have long held positions of power in Westminster, and you would do well to take an interest in politics so that you are prepared to acquit yourselves well when you sit in the House of Lords. If you do not, someone else will be happy to take advantage of you, sooner than later.” She paused. “And I have always felt a wife settles a man. I do not require that you marry, but the next duke will need an heir. A suitable bride is invaluable.”

“We must marry?” That jolted him out of rosy thoughts of selling out of the army and settling his family.

“The Duke of Carlyle will need an heir,” she repeated. “If you do not provide one, Captain, Mr. St. James would become the heir presumptive.”

Not bloody likely, thought Drew as he and his cousin exchanged swift, measuring glances.

“Mr. Edwards will answer any further questions.” The duchess rose to her feet, rousting a large ginger cat from beneath her chair.

He leapt up and rushed after her. “If I may, Your Grace . . .”

She looked up at him. “Yes?”

He smiled and ducked his head. She was a tiny woman, and he had learned that his height intimidated dainty females. “You spoke very deliberately about the importance of marriage.”

“Yes, Captain,” she said with a trace of impatience. “Not only does a good wife make a man more reliable and stable, she is necessary for a legitimate heir.”

“Of course,” he said hastily. “I only meant to inquire how you might suggest I proceed. As an army man, I have had few opportunities of meeting any lady who would be worthy of becoming a duchess.”

Her demeanor thawed slightly. “Yes, I see. Do you intend to remain in your post?”

Only as long as it takes to clear out of the barracks. “I don’t believe I could do justice to this new responsibility and fulfill my duties. In fact, I don’t know how I could undertake to learn anything about Carlyle from Fort George, let alone enough to assume the dukedom. I wonder if perhaps I ought to find a situation somewhere nearer?”

It had not escaped his notice, when Mr. Edwards unfurled the family document, that the current duke was nearing sixty. A man of that age, who had suffered a serious injury that rendered him incapable of marrying and siring a son, whose mother had undertaken to locate new heirs . . . This was not some vague, airy expectation. This, Carlyle Castle and the title that went with it, might well be his within a few years, even months. There was no time to lose—nor did he wish to.

The duchess’s expression warmed. “Yes, Captain, I believe that would be a fine idea. You would have Mr. Edwards to explain things, and naturally I would be here.” She eyed him up and down again. “With the right valet, you’ll be a handsome enough fellow. I daresay there are a number of ladies I might introduce to you, who would be deserving of your interest.”

Drew smiled. While he still supported his mother and three sisters on a captain’s pay, a wife and children were luxuries he couldn’t afford.

But as heir to the Duke of Carlyle, with fifteen hundred pounds per annum . . .

“I would like that very much, Your Grace,” he said.

 

 

Chapter Two

 

 

Two months later

 

Edinburgh was just as he remembered it. From the London road it seemed to rise up out of the earth as a kingdom on a hill, the stone houses clustered like acolytes at the foot of the castle, which surveyed the verdant plain imperiously from its perch.

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