And Lexie… sweet though she might be, she was only a bitter reminder of her father’s treachery.
It wasn’t Alexandra he missed, he told himself. And neither was Lexie the sort of lady he enjoyed—not any longer. While he’d once found her whimsy endearing, she was too done up. Already, his sister had made several intimations that he should call upon her, but no, indeed. There was no way in damnation he would saddle himself with an empty-headed miss, who cared more about ballgowns than she did her own best friend. It had been months now since Claire had been wrenched from the clutches of that fiend, and Alexandra had yet to so much as inquire.
No, the Huntingtons could rot in hell for all he cared—that included Alexandra.
Sighing wearily, he made his way back up the stairs, passing a seamstress as she rushed down, avoiding his gaze.
Today, his sister was being fitted for her royal wedding gown. Her fiancé was due to arrive soon, and minute by minute the house was filling to the rafters. Thanks to bloody hell, the servants had all returned, or the management of this estate would drive him to distraction. And moreover, they would be leaving later for a nice, quiet retreat in Surrey before the insanity of the wedding celebration. That thought put a new skip in his step as he ascended the stairs, but the joy didn’t quite soften his glower.
“Good day,” said another woman as he passed.
“G’day,” said Ben, scarcely aware that it sounded more like a growl, and the young woman hurried by, flying fast for the door.
* * *
Fresh from an appointment with his father and associates, Ian discovered Claire seated in the dining room, wolfing down a bite of breakfast.
“There you are,” he said, and her answering smile brightened the room more efficiently than did her chandelier filled with a hundred twinkling candles. She never failed to steal his breath away.
“Oh, yes! Here I am,” she declared happily as he came to sit beside her, pecking her gently upon the lips, but not so briefly that he didn’t glean the taste of bacon upon her lips. He smiled then, for who didn’t love the taste of bacon, and particularly when served upon lips that were so delectably sweet.
“How is your father?” she asked.
“Off again to Glen Abbey, I suppose.”
“Oh?” She tilted him a curious look. “Did Fiona invite him for the holidays?”
“No,” said Ian, mulling it over. “I don’t believe she did. Rather, I believe he has taken it upon himself to make certain a certain constable has no opportunity to come between them.”
Claire laughed, the sound entirely musical, warming Ian’s heart and stirring the greedy beast living in his trousers. After their glorious lovemaking, before their engagement became official, the abstinence was murdering him.
“It’s amazing what motivation jealousy holds.”
“Yes, indeed,” he said. “Though I hope ’tis more than jealousy that drives him. Rather, I hope my father comports himself as he should, because my mother will have none of his shenanigans any longer.”
“I dare say.”
Ian took the seat right beside his lovely bride, preferring it to the one across the table. It wasn’t entirely polite to sit directly beside her, but he’d rather sniff the lavender infusion in her tresses than smell eggs and bacon any day of the year.
“And Merrick?”
“He and Chloe are already there. My brother didn’t wish to travel so near to the babe’s birthing.”
“First of January?”
“Thereabouts.”
“And the house has been prepared?”
A special bed had to be installed in the couple’s private quarters. Additionally, there was to be a midwife in residence—a sister to one of the kitchen maids.
“Oh, yes,” he said. “Thankfully, Victoria has also made arrangements for an attending physician. But since Chloe’s not due until the New Year, he won’t be in residence—not precisely, though he’ll be just a stone’s throw away.”
Most people preferred to travel to London for deliveries, but since there were no better doctors anywhere than at Hampton Court Palace, this was yet another reason the Duchess had facilitated the use of her late husband’s former estate.
As it so happened, Glen Abbey’s only doctor also happened to be the lady presently in expecting.
“It will be easier after the child arrives not to have to travel so far for the wedding,” suggested Ian.
Naturally, though Prince Merrick had repudiated the crown, he was still expected to be present for the nuptials and coronation. His presence would go far to reassure the people of Meridian that his wishes were being met. After all, it wasn’t as though his father disowned him.
“It’s such a complicated matter.”
“Indeed,” said Ian. “But then again, even had they wished to remain in Scotland, that wasn’t an option—damn Edward to hell.”
“Well,” said Claire, wincing. “I do believe that poor man may be accommodating your wishes.”
“Poor?” Ian argued, with a lifted brow. “That poor man burned down my house—very nearly with my invalid mother inside it.” The very fact that Fiona wasn’t precisely the invalid they had believed her to be didn’t matter. After so long in that chair, his mother’s limbs had been weak, and she could never have gotten out on her own. Were it not for his brother’s quick response, she might be naught more than ash and bone. So then, if indeed, Edward was so very accommodating as to be occupying Hell this very instant, it was precisely what he deserved. Not only had Glen Abbey’s steward endangered the lives of many, but he’d embezzled enough money to put Glen Abbey and its denizens in peril for years, and Ian had been forced to resort to a somewhat less than legitimate means to support them. Thankfully, that entire ordeal was over, though in the absence of a proper home in Scotland, they were now forced to lease an estate from one of his father’s associates—one General James Moore, equerry of the late Duke of Kent. But, in fact, the man wouldn’t accept a penny for the rental. He’d donated the use of his estate as a wedding gift, and that was fine with Ian. He’d take every bloody penny his father allowed them and donate it to the residents of Glen Abbey so they too might have a bounteous Christmas.
The thought of Rusty Broun and his brood dining on ham and venison made his heart gleeful. And really, the only reason Ian had accepted the crown in his brother’s stead was so he could make dead certain Glen Abbey’s coffers remained full enough to care for the people who depended upon it most. “Hawk” was dead and gone. And that, too, was well and good.
“So, it’s official, then. Fiona will not join us?”
“She will not,” said Ian. “She didn’t wish to travel, though that seems odd—quite, in fact, considering the circumstances.”
The circumstances being that Fiona had one son preparing to depart England for the foreseeable future, and another whose firstborn child was imminent—regardless of the date given, a Christmas babe was entirely possible.
Thoughtfully, Claire tore a bite from her biscuit. “I would think Fiona would wish to come spend the holidays with her son before he quit London?”
Ian sighed as he plucked up a bit of her bacon. “As would I,” he said, “but I believe it’s making her glum… else she’s gotten close to Tolly and doesn’t wish to leave him. But I don’t know. In either case, my father has his job cut out for him.”