Lilah’s companion placed a hand in the small of her back. His touch bore a note of protection and possession as he gently propelled her forward.
The woman exchanged a brief look with her son, then her lips lifted into a smile.
“Ma,” he said. “May I introduce Miss Delilah Hart. Miss Hart, my mother, Mrs. Finola MacGregor.”
Lilah dipped into a curtsey. “A pleasure, ma’am.”
“Och, we’ll have none of that, young lady.” The woman took Lilah’s hands and pulled her into an embrace. “I’m pleased to welcome you to my home,” she said. “I despaired my boy would ever bring a young woman to visit me.”
“Ma!” he exclaimed, and when Lilah turned to look at him, pink spots had grown on his cheeks.
The woman laughed—a deep, hearty chuckle which belied her elegant exterior, and she gestured toward the door.
“Let’s get you inside out of the cold, my dear. You must find our weather unpleasant after the warmth of London.”
“London can be just as chilly,” Lilah said. “I’m looking forward to reacquainting myself with Mother Nature, having been confined in a city for so long.”
“A woman after my own heart,” Mrs. MacGregor said. “I think you’ll enjoy the land here.”
“I’m keen to explore everything during my visit,” Lilah said. “His Grace has been telling me about the mountain, and I’d like to climb it.”
“What, Beinn mo Chridhe?” the woman exclaimed. “Fraser, you don’t intend to drag the poor lass up there?”
“Of course not!” he protested. “Though I was hoping to give her a tour of the distillery before supper.”
“Have you asked your guest what she wishes to do, Fraser?” She gestured to Lilah. “Do you want to spend your time in a factory building, and up a freezing mountain, lass?”
“Oh, yes!” Lilah said.
Fraser raised his eyebrows at her enthusiasm.
“I relish the prospect of being on top of a mountain,” she said, “looking out over the world, undisturbed. As for the distillery, I’m eager to learn how whisky is made. I’ve seen the passion His Grace has for it and wish to understand it for myself.”
“His Grace!” The woman shook her head. “I’ll never get used to your title, Fraser. But it seems as if my wee boy has finally found that which I never believed existed. A Sassenach worthy of his acquaintance.”
“Ma!”
Lilah suppressed a laugh at the image of the tall, brawny Scot, a duke who commanded respect anywhere in the world by virtue of his sex, wealth, and title, being cowed by his mother as if he were an embarrassed child being asked to perform for the adults at a family gathering.
Mrs. MacGregor took Lilah’s arm. “Let me show you to your chamber, my dear,” she said. “Fraser, Miss MacKenzie will be joining us for supper. Perhaps you can ensure you’ve returned from the distillery in time to welcome her? She’s missed you dreadfully and has spoken of little else since she heard you were coming home. I know you’ll have missed her. I expect her at seven.”
He shifted uncomfortably on his feet, then nodded.
Lilah let herself be led inside, but a sliver of apprehension rippled through her.
Who was Miss MacKenzie?
Chapter Fourteen
Lilah’s maid had just finished unpacking her trunk when a servant arrived to show her downstairs. With a sigh, she donned her pelisse and followed him. She’d hoped to have time to explore her chamber. The view out of the window, dominated by the mountain with its unpronounceable name, was breathtaking. But the light was fading, and by the time she returned, it would be dark.
Fraser waited at the main doors and held out his arm. She took it, and he led her outside to the carriage.
“Is your distillery far?” she asked.
“It’s situated by the burn, just three miles away.”
“Is your mother coming?”
“Whatever for?” he asked.
“She’s supposed to be my chaperone. Or should I send for Sarah?”
“Don’t you trust me?”
Her cheeks warmed despite the cool air. She might trust him, but she wasn’t sure whether she could trust herself.
“Of course I do,” she said.
The carriage set off with a jolt. He began to describe the features of the estate—the outbuildings once used for illicit distilling, the croft housing the ghillie, and the moors where the cattle roamed until the drovers came to take them to market. His voice grew earthier, and his brogue came to the fore.
She closed her eyes, wanting him never to stop, but the carriage halted outside a large, stone building with a tall chimney.
“Here we are,” he said, pride in his voice. “The MacGregor distillery.”
A short man dressed in a plain black coat and breeches met them at the entrance. He glanced at Lilah, then gave a deep bow.
“Welcome home, Master Fraser.”
“It’s good to be back, Hamish. How goes production?”
“We have over fifty gallons maturing in the new casks, sir. The excise officer no longer fears for his life, and we’ve already received an inquiry from a London merchant as to when he can expect delivery.”
“You’ve been productive,” Fraser said. “Are the employees settling in?”
“It’s never easy with such a rapid expansion, but folks are grateful for the work.”
“Good,” Fraser said. “I’d like to meet them today when I show Miss Hart round.”
The man’s eyes widened. “Ye’d show a lady round the factory?”
“You forget your manners, Hamish. Some ladies, even English ones, do more than sit indoors and embroider cushions. Now, lead the way.”
The building was humming with activity. Everywhere Lilah looked, she saw men and women working together. As they passed, the employees hailed Fraser as if he were a long-lost friend. He stopped and spoke to each one, praising them for their industry and promising they’d be rewarded for their dedication.
“You employ women?” Lilah asked.
“As you see.”
“That’s unusual.”
“But not unfair,” he replied. “A woman toils as hard as a man. Most of them are widows with no source of income, or wives of men incapable of working through illness or injury. I would not see them destitute by virtue of their sex.”
“What about the ones with children?” Lilah asked.
“Family needs are provided for,” he replied. “We grant them a stipend for life when they’re too old to work, and a nursemaid to take care of their children until they’re old enough to attend the local school.”
“A school?”
“We fund a school on the estate,” he said. “The surest way to lift a man out of poverty is to give him the means to do that himself. And the best way to achieve that is through education, wouldn’t you agree, Miss Hart?”
“I find myself agreeing with you more than I’d expected.”
“Excellent!” he said. “I have a mind to discuss it with your Mrs. Forbes when I next see her.”
“You think she could advise you on how to run a school?”