His head snapped up. “What do you mean?”
“Aren’t you courting someone?” she asked. “You must be very proud of her if you’re keeping her a secret from your own family.”
“I don’t court,” he said. “I claim.”
“So it’s true,” she said. “You’ve been feathering a nest in the country for a particular bird. Have you bagged her yet?”
His smile disappeared, and he withdrew his hand.
“You have, haven’t you!” she cried. “When are we to wish you joy? We could have a double wedding to save on the expense.”
“It’s time you left,” he said through gritted teeth. “Forgive me for not showing you out.”
Evidently, she’d struck a nerve.
He remained standing while she left, but any trace of warmth in his expression had disappeared.
Perhaps marriage to Sir Thomas was not the worst fate to befall a woman. She found herself pitying the woman unfortunate enough to secure Dexter’s hand in marriage.
Chapter Thirty-One
Fraser shook his head in disbelief. “Simpkins, is this some kind of joke?”
“Of course not, Your Grace,” the lawyer replied. “The document is legal and perfectly clear. An unsecured loan of twenty thousand at a competitive rate of interest for a period of five years, or an earlier date as the debtor sees fit.”
“And the creditor?”
“Wishes to remain anonymous, according to Mr. Hart,” the lawyer replied.
“Doesn’t he wish to be thanked?”
“In my experience, investors prefer a dividend to a hearty thank you, Your Grace. One cannot live off the latter.”
Only one person could have made such a generous offer. Harold Pelham was the only man of Fraser’s acquaintance—and his only friend—with access to such funds. Affable as the man was, he wouldn’t have made a decision driven by sentiment. He stood to gain if Fraser’s business succeeded, for who would Fraser turn to in order to distribute his whisky?
Nevertheless, the terms were generous, and it was the best offer Fraser could hope for. And Pelham’s request for anonymity had removed that degree of awkwardness, which would have prevented him from accepting.
When the time came, he could swallow his pride and thank his friend in person.
He stood and shook the lawyer’s hand. “Write to Hart directly and tell him I accept. Now, please excuse me. I have much to do.”
He ushered the lawyer out, then headed for the distillery.
He found Hamish in the main building chatting to Rose, the young woman who’d arrived from London yesterday with her son, Will, and baby daughter. He found himself eager to hear an English accent again. Though his heart belonged to Glendarron, he missed London.
Five months had passed since he left, but his mind still wandered there, during those periods of silence when his thoughts were subject to the influence of his heart. And now he had reason to return. His business prospects reignited, he could restore Clayton House and rebuild the aviary. He could furnish Mrs. Forbes with enough supplies to feed and clothe every starving mouth in her shelters.
He would do it to prove himself worthy.
Worthy of her.
“Hamish!” he hailed. “I have good news!”
Hamish turned and waved. The young woman dipped into a curtsey.
“There’s no need for that, Rose,” Fraser said. “How’s your Will settling in?”
“Ever so well,” she said. “He’s already made a friend at school and has been learning his letters.”
“A friend?”
“Aye,” Hamish said. “Old Alistair’s grandson, Callum.”
“Such a polite boy,” Rose said. “I can’t thank you enough, sir, for taking us in.”
“I should be thanking you, Rose,” Fraser said. “We’re always in need of good workers, and Mrs. Forbes has nothing but praise for you.” He turned to his foreman. “I trust she’s settling in well, Hamish?”
“Aye, sir, very well, indeed.”
“Then, Rose,” Fraser said, “with your permission, I’ll write to Mrs. Forbes to let her know.”
“May I send her a letter, too?” she asked. “I’m anxious to hear about the wedding.”
“Is Mrs. Forbes getting married?”
“Lord, no, sir!” Rose laughed. “I meant Miss Delilah.”
Fraser’s throat tightened at the mention of her name.
“Miss Hart?”
“We were glad for her when she told us,” Rose said. “Mrs. Forbes made a special tea for us all to celebrate.”
She clasped her hands to her chest. “I’m that happy for her! To think—she’ll be Lady Tipton!”
Lady Tipton…
Invisible cold fingers clenched his stomach, and he swallowed the bile rising in his throat.
“Are you all right, sir?” Hamish asked.
Fraser nodded, but the cold tightened his chest until he struggled to breathe.
He’d lost her. Because of his stupid pride, anger, and resentment, he’d dumped her on her brother’s doorstep and fled to Scotland to lick his wounds.
Which had paved the way for that fool to snatch the spoils.
But perhaps it was not too late. If he left today, he’d reach London in four days—five at the most.
“When’s the wedding?” he asked.
“I believe it’s tomorrow,” Rose said.
The nugget of hope died. Not only was he too late, but he’d have to endure the day of her marriage, knowing there was nothing he could do to stop it.
*
Delilah smoothed the skirt of her wedding gown and looked at her reflection. The woman staring back did not look like a bride. Her belly protruded through the delicate lace, and no amount of work on Madame Dupont’s part could disguise her condition.
Tomorrow she would be married. Sir Thomas had insisted on restricting the guests to close family only, ‘to preserve sensibilities,’ and Dexter had agreed. They’d even kept her from going to church while the banns were being read.
To prevent attention being drawn to you, Delilah. There’s plenty of time to parade yourself round London once you’re Lady Tipton.
What Dexter had actually meant was that she’d be permitted to present herself in public once an appropriate period of time had elapsed after her child was born, so as to prevent the gossips commenting on the fact that her child would be born three months after her wedding.
The chamber door opened. Dorothea’s face appeared in the mirror, and she placed a hand on Lilah’s shoulder.
“You look beautiful, Lilah,” she said. “My little sister, the prettiest bride in London.”
Lilah lifted her hand and placed it over her sister’s, interlocking their fingers. “Hardly that,” she sighed. “I’m marrying a man I don’t love to prevent my child from being born a bastard.”
“Delilah!”
“Forgive me, Thea,” she said. A tear splashed onto her cheek.
“Society marriages aren’t based on love,” Thea said. “You’re a strong woman—stronger than me. And clever. You’ll have him bending to your will in no time. Think of it, Lilah! A home and children.”