Mr. Hunt smiled at that and nodded in approval. “I see. Am I to understand that you would like to court my daughter?”
Brodie smiled back. “Aye. But of course, I wish to have your permission first.”
The old man, satisfied with what he had read, set the document down on the desk and got up. “I see no problems with your terms, Mr. Hunt. My client will be most pleased. Now, will I be seeing you at the assembly room tonight? My granddaughter is debuting.”
“I believe I will be there, yes. It will be a pleasure to see her again.”
The door opened, and the butler led the man away. Once the door shut, Hunt’s tone changed. “I understand why you did what you did at the castle, Mr. Kincade. Had our roles been reversed, I hope I would have made the same choice. But I need to understand why you’re here now. We’re alone—you can speak plainly.”
“I wish to marry your daughter. I didna think I could, not after what happened between us. I ken that I ruined your daughter, but I wish to make things right.”
“Make things right?” Hunt echoed the words with emphasis. “Haven’t you heard? We’ve only just returned to town, and my daughter was with us the whole time.”
“But surely word of what happened—”
“I think you underestimate my wife’s ability to turn gossiping tongues against themselves. Even before she left Bath, she had her daughter establishing a story as to Lydia’s whereabouts. One that only required slight clarification upon our return.”
Brodie shouldn’t have been surprised, but he’d secretly hoped that he would have had Lydia’s ruination to help his cause for marrying her.
“I’m pleased to hear about your marriage,” Brodie replied carefully, wondering what Hunt wanted him to say.
“I’ve been examining my role as Lydia’s father of late, and I have found that I have been a terrible disappointment. I will not, therefore, be allowing just any gentleman to court my daughter. Any man who wishes to have that honor must therefore have only the purest of intentions toward her.”
“I have the purest of intentions,” Brodie assured him. His voice then roughened a little from a sudden rush of emotion. “I love her more than my own life, more than anything else.”
“And if you love her enough to let her go, would you?” Hunt asked.
He kept his chin held high. “I already did. But now I realize that loving her the way she deserves means coming after her. I wanted to spare her the pain of seeing one of us hurt, or worse, but I didna give her the chance to tell me what she wants. Would you agree that she ought to make that choice?”
Lydia’s father stroked his chin. “And if she does choose you?”
“I will honor and cherish her. I willna ever hurt her again.”
“And how am I supposed to trust you?”
Brodie reached down to his boot and pulled out a small sgian-dubh blade and held it out hilt-first to Hunt.
“Then trust my word over this blade. It was a gift from my mother. This blade has been with me through the dark days and the days of splendor. I vow upon the steel of this blade that no harm shall ever come to Lydia at my hand, word or deed.”
Hunt gazed upon the blade for a time before he nodded and gestured for Brodie to put it away.
“Very well, you have my permission to court her. But you will say nothing of her trip to Scotland with you. I expect you to agree to whatever my wife says with regard to how you know my daughter and where she’s been of late. Is that understood?”
“Yes.”
“Good. Then present yourself at the assembly rooms tonight. My family will be there. You may make your intentions known to her then, and we will both abide by her decision.” He held out his hand to Brodie. “I shall see you this evening.”
Brodie shook Hunt’s hand and took his leave. He would be counting the minutes until he could see her again and hopefully win her back. It would be the most important battle of his life.
Lydia stood in one of the assembly rooms of Bath, watching the couples twirl in a lovely pattern. Lysandra was talking beside her, but the words floated past Lydia rather than through her. Since she’d left Scotland, she hadn’t been herself. She had been more subdued, listless, and she’d had quite a bit of difficulty focusing on what people said to her. Her mind was far away, and her heart was with it.
Lysandra gently nudged her elbow. “Lydia? Are you all right?”
“What? Oh yes, I’m sorry,” Lydia apologized. It had been such a whirlwind returning to Bath and meeting the rest of the Russell family so they could hear the news of the hasty marriage uniting the Russells and the Hunts. But the news had been well received by the Russell brood, even if they had been quite surprised at it. She had become a sister to all the Russells overnight, as had Portia. Jane had come up with a clever lie to cover any scandal, and not one word was breathed of Lydia’s sudden disappearance from Bath.
Portia had taken the news well, but something was bothering her, and she would not confide to Lydia what it was. She’d simply withdrawn from everything and everyone. Everyone except Isla. The orphan had taken to Portia in a way that had surprised everyone. She’d crawled into Portia’s lap and handed her doll to Portia to try to make her feel better, and the two had quickly bonded.
Even now, much to Lydia’s continued amazement, Portia had passed on the chance to dance and meet eligible men. She had remained at home, caring for Isla so the child would not be lonely.
Lydia’s life had change drastically since returning from Scotland. Her father was no longer so accommodating and tolerant with Portia, and Lydia, who had been so often overlooked, was now consulted frequently by her doting stepmother. It was going to take some getting used to. She rather felt like Cinderella. But all the good changes in her life didn’t make a difference when she thought of Brodie and how brokenhearted she was. Fanny had settled in working as a lady’s maid for Portia and the two had struck up an unlikely friendship.
“Lydia,” Lysandra murmured. “You look very pale. Perhaps we should go home. I’ll tell Mama and Mr. Hunt.”
“Yes, perhaps that’s a good idea,” Lydia agreed. Lysandra left her alone to go seek out their parents, who were on the opposite end of the room.
The current dance ended, and Lydia watched the couples disperse. As they did, she looked across the room and, her heart jolted at the sight of a man in a dark-blue coat and tan breeches who was watching her. He was beautiful in a wild, untamed way. His dark hair was tousled and his gray-blue eyes were turbulent. Lydia dared not let her heart fill with hope again, yet she could not look away as he crossed the room toward her.
He stopped within arm’s reach and made an elegant bow.
“Miss Hunt, would you do me the honor of a dance? If you have any available?” Brodie spoke so gently, so earnestly, that she wasn’t quite sure it was him and not some kind of daydream.
“I . . .”
“I’d prefer a waltz, lass, to better hold you in my arms.”
Now she knew she had to be dreaming.
“A waltz?” she echoed as he took her wrist and examined her card. He made a soft tsking noise as he saw she had no dances yet claimed. He took the pencil attached to her card and wrote his name down on every line for every dance. Then he held her hands for everyone to see.