“I ken. And it is why I am here.”
“Why are you here?” she repeated, entirely confused. “What in the world have ye to do with any of it? Ye are hardly in a position to change my reputation for the better.”
He shrugged once. “Who says I am going to?”
Edith sighed in irritation, not caring for the mysterious tone in his voice. “Why are ye here?”
“Other than delivering the mongrel?” He gave her a rather serious look. “Did ye really think I was going to let my sister endure such a man and such behaviors without doing something? I may be a drunk and a cad and a wastrel, but nobody abuses my family.”
Edith folded her arms. “Except fer yerself.”
He waved a dismissive hand. “Ye know what I mean. Ye need help, and I am here to help.”
She tilted her head, now very curious. “How did ye know that I need help?”
He smiled knowingly. “I hear things. And Owen sent for me, besides.”
Edith glared at Owen, who met her gaze without shame. “Where are ye staying?” she asked, returning her gaze to Lachlan.
He looked rather smug. “Right here with ye. Back together under the same roof, Edie.”
She gaped, then her mind frantically scrambled. “No. No, you canna. He has forbidden ye from being anywhere near me. He thinks ye are my Scottish lover, and all of London is talking about it.”
Lachlan grinned broadly. “I always wanted to be notorious.”
“It isna funny!” she told him. “He says he will have ye thrashed and beaten.”
Now he looked nearly offended. “And ye think he can?”
Edith snorted. “Of course no’. I know verra well ye could take him and his lackeys at one time while three sheets to the wind under the influence of Uncle Robert’s home brew, and almost kill them in the process.”
“Almost?” he screeched, truly offended now.
She gave him a look. “Uncle Robert’s brew? Aye, almost kill them.”
He considered that, then nodded. “Aye, tha’s probably true. At any rate, I dinnae care what he says or threatens. I’m staying. No one comes near ye.”
“He will be furious,” she warned him.
“Good.” He clapped his hands together and rubbed them. “And now, my dear Edie, we have somewhere to be.”
Edith rolled her eyes. “Have ye been listening? He has forbidden me from going anywhere, apart from a short walk.”
Lachlan gave her a despairing look. “Edie, you really must learn to break rules on occasion. There can be such fun in rebellion.”
Without another word, he and Owen snuck Edith, who had donned a dark, hooded cloak, out of the house through the back door. They marched her down the street, via almost abandoned paths, to a church not far from the house.
She looked up at the façade, then at her brother in bewilderment. “Have ye turned yerself to God, Lachlan?”
He ignored her and pushed open a door, looking behind them as he ushered her in.
The chapel was perhaps half full, and Edith saw some of Society’s best, including her friends, all at the front.
She gasped, covering her mouth as Lachlan ushered her into a pew in the back, blocking the escape she was desperate for.
Some of the guests observed them and left no question about their feelings on the matter.
Lachlan sat next to Edith while Owen stood behind them, almost at attention.
“What are we doing here?” she hissed. “No one wants me here; no one will look at me. Are ye trying to embarrass me more than I already am?”
“No,” he said softly. “I am teaching ye to rise above their pettiness. And ye’re wrong. Someone does want ye here. Someone who has been trying to write to ye for ages, and the letters were intercepted. But we found a way.”
“We?” Edith asked quietly.
The doors behind them opened then, and an organ started to play. Through the doors appeared Amelia on an older man’s arm, dressed in a pale yellow gown with a gorgeous veil.
Edith put a hand to her mouth and looked up at the front of the church, where Mr. Andrews now stood, smiling as broadly as anything. She glanced back at Amelia, and their eyes met.
Her smile was glorious as she reached out a hand to her and whispered, “I am so happy to see you, Edith.”
Edith couldn’t say a word, she was so overcome with emotion and tears. There was no helping them as they streamed down her cheeks.
Amelia and her father continued down the aisle, and Lachlan put his arm around Edith, pulling her tight as she cried.
They had not forgotten her. They had not abandoned her.
“Tapadh leat,” she murmured to Lachlan as he ran a soothing hand along her back.
“Ye dinnae have to submit to him, Edie,” he replied. “Ye can resist. It’s no’ over yet.”
Edith frowned in confusion. “What do ye mean?”
Lachlan shook his head, a small smile on his lips.
The ceremony was beautiful, and Edith only took a brief moment to hug and congratulate the bride and groom at its conclusion.
Amelia squeezed her hands tightly.
“Keep hoping, Edith,” she urged, Andrews nodding his agreement beside her.
“I will try,” she assured them both, managing a small smile.
Lachlan and Owen ushered her out of the church and returned her home without any fuss, but Edith did not doubt that word would reach Sir Reginald soon enough.
Had Graham been at the wedding? Her heart seized at the thought, but she did not know if she could bear to see him. She could not bring herself to ask if Lachlan had seen him or if he had tried to write.
She didn’t want to know. Not when she ached this way, not when she was so bound up in Sir Reginald’s demands.
But perhaps, with Lachlan’s help and encouragement, she could learn to resist. She could have no better instructor in resistance and rebellion, and now she knew she was not alone.
Now, perhaps, she could fight.
Chapter Twenty-One
A little creativity can change a great deal if one is bold enough to be creative in the face of convention.
-The Spinster Chronicles, 10 May 1815
“Lachlan! Lachlan, stop running about the house with Rufus!”
There was no response but that of the dog bellowing as he thundered down the corridor above her, a much larger, heavier tread accompanying it. Then, she heard a taunting howl that had clearly not come from the canine, which prodded the actual canine to howl, as well.
“Jeebs, Crivvens…” Edith muttered, shaking her head, using various colorful words from home silently as she attempted to complete her embroidery in the parlor.
Embroidery.
She could not remember the last time she had embroidered something, and now, here she was, finishing a project.
She’d actually had the time and the peace of mind to take the task on, and had completed four sketches, five watercolors, and three landscapes.
Time and peace.
She hadn’t had much of either in years.
For some reason, she had not seen Sir Reginald in some time, which was delightful, but also gave her cause to worry. Not for Sir Reginald, naturally, but that something far worse would be coming. He had not come by the house since Lachlan had come to stay, and yet he had to know he was there.