“Aye,” Fraser said, pride in his voice. “That’s my great-grandfather leading the hunt. Auld Willie led him a fine chase.”
“Auld Willie?”
“The stag.”
“And your great-grandfather had him stuffed and mounted?”
“He ate him. But to honor their battle of wits, he had him mounted, so we would remember him. I think you would have liked him.”
“Your grandfather or the stag?”
He let out a laugh. “My grandfather, Miss Hart. He was a fellow countryman of yours.”
“He was an Englishman?”
“Aye. It’s due to him that I suffer the misfortune of being a duke. His older brother was the ninth duke. But my ancestor was, if I understand, something of a rebel. He left to marry the daughter of a Highlander who fought against the English in several battles, and his father disowned him.”
“Then you could argue that justice has finally been served, now that the title has fallen to you,” Lilah said.
He shook his head. “It comes with responsibilities and expectations I neither need nor want.”
“Ah, but your particular title comes with the least expectation,” Lilah said. “Your predecessor was hardly a paragon of honor.”
“You sound just like Mr. Smith,” he said. “Do you sympathize with his attempts to discredit me in print?”
“Of course not.” She resumed her attention on the dish in front of her, a creamy broth of smoked fish. “The soup is delicious, Mrs. MacGregor.”
“Thank you, Miss Hart. It’s a variant of a traditional Scottish recipe, which has been in our family for generations. Most families will have their own particular version.”
The conversation turned toward food for the rest of the meal. When supper was concluded, Fraser escorted them into the drawing room where he poured them each a glass of whisky.
“I thought you said Miss Hart loathed the stuff,” Miss MacKenzie said.
Lilah’s cheeks warmed at the notion that he’d been discussing her with his…
His what?
Family friend? Lover?
Or betrothed?
“I’m willing to try it again,” Lilah said.
Miss MacKenzie sipped her whisky and smiled. “I find first impressions tend to be the most accurate.”
Fraser handed Lilah a glass. “I’ve mixed it with a little water. It improves the flavor.”
She took it, ignoring the warmth of his hand as her fingers brushed against his, and sipped it. The flavor burst on her tongue, a smoky, earthy richness, which warmed her throat as she swallowed.
“That’s delicious,” she said. “Somehow not as harsh as the liquor I tasted in London. Are you sure it’s the same?”
“Perhaps your taste is improving,” he said.
Miss MacKenzie let out a snort. “It’s rather fickle to change one’s mind at the persuasion of others.”
“But necessary, if one is to grow,” Lilah said. “I admire a steady character, but an unwillingness to change one’s opinion can be a sign of weakness. I have the utmost respect for a man or woman who admits when they’ve been at fault.”
“What would become of the world where opinions continually changed?” Miss MacKenzie asked.
“It would be a better world, Jen,” Fraser said.
Lilah flinched at his familiar address. Miss MacKenzie smiled and placed a possessive hand on his arm.
“Of course, dear Fraser, you’re always so understanding. But I would counsel you against the folly of inconstancy.”
“Jennifer, my dear, I trust you’ll never find me inconstant.”
“I do hope not,” she said, caressing his arm. Then she released him, took a seat on the couch beside the fireplace, and patted the space beside her.
“Do join me, Miss Hart,” she said. “I’m anxious to know you better.”
“Are you?”
The smile slipped. “Of course,” she said. “My Fraser mentioned you so often when he wrote, I almost believe we’re friends already.”
“Friends, Miss MacKenzie?”
“Oh, yes!” she said. “Please, if it’s not too forward, you must call me Jennifer, if I might be permitted to call you… What would I call you?”
Forward, indeed, but with three pairs of eyes on her, Lilah could hardly object. Dexter would have had a fit at such familiarity. But Dexter was not here. And something told Lilah it was better not to make an enemy of Miss MacKenzie.
“Of course,” she said. “You must call me Delilah.”
Miss MacKenzie linked her arm through Lilah’s. “How wonderful!” she said. “Fraser, my love, did you not hear that? Delilah and I are friends. Perhaps you might tell me about London, for I hear society is somewhat fierce there.”
“No fiercer than in Scotland,” Lilah said.
The smile slipped again, and Miss MacKenzie took another sip of whisky. “Ah, but at least the infamous Mr. Smith doesn’t reside here,” she said. “Now there’s a scoundrel if ever one existed.”
“Mr. Smith?” Lilah asked.
“Jeremiah Smith,” Mrs. MacGregor said. “Have you read any of his articles in the City Chronicle?”
“I-I may have read some,” Lilah replied, tightening her grip on her glass.
“Are you an admirer?”
“Certainly not.”
“I am glad of it,” Mrs. MacGregor said. “He must be a detestable man to write what he does, to say such horrible things about us.”
“Aren’t his remarks directed at the aristocracy in general?” Lilah asked.
“Then why does he always refer to the Molineuxs? Fraser has sent me every one of that man’s articles. I find them most distressing.”
“Then, perhaps he shouldn’t send them,” Lilah said.
“Would you have me conceal the truth from my mother?”
“No,” Lilah replied, “but those articles will make no difference to the world. They’ll soon be forgotten, and the paper on which they’re printed will line London’s fireplaces.”
“It’s always best to know what your enemy is thinking about you,” Mrs. MacGregor said. She smiled and raised her glass. “Perhaps we should talk about the writing of a pleasanter nature. Fraser tells me you’re something of a poet.”
Lilah shook her head. “I enjoy writing verse, that is all.”
“I hear you’re quite the proficient. My son praises your work highly and says you’re in the process of having a volume published.”
“That is my dream,” Lilah said, “but I fear your son has grossly exaggerated my talents.”
“I doubt that, my dear.” Mrs. MacGregor said. “My son is the most honest, truthful person I know. Of course, a mother’s love will render me biased.”
Mother and son exchanged glances, and Lilah’s heart tightened at the expression of love in his eyes.
“Your opinion is justified,” Lilah said. “From what I’ve seen today, he’s a man of integrity and is destined for success.”
“Quite so,” Miss MacKenzie interjected, her voice carrying an undertone of desperation as if she were unwilling to let the conversation flow without her input. “I’ve always said so, have I not, Fraser? I like to think that my unwavering support, together with your mother’s, of course, has encouraged you to pursue your venture outside of our homeland.”