you did before we wed isn’t any business of mine. But I do feel the need to ask you one question: if this Euphemia Harrington is Tilda’s mother, could it be that Tilda is yours?”
A shadow passed across Hamish’s face. “No. She’s not.”
“Oh . . . I’m not sure what to say, Hamish. Only that . . . Are you certain?”
“Aye. I am.” Hamish’s voice was grim with resignation. “The last time I had anything to do with Euphemia Harrington was six years ago. If Tilda is only three years old, which I believe she is, there’s no possible way I could be her father. But it makes me wonder why she chose to entrust Tilda’s care to me.”
It was obvious to Olivia and anyone who really knew him that Hamish was noble and tenderhearted beneath all his bluff and bluster about being a blighted soul. But belaboring the point wouldn’t serve any purpose right now. Instead, Olivia said, “Tilda also mentioned that her mama was afraid of a bad man whom she referred to as ‘the baron.’ I questioned her further, but she couldn’t tell me anything else about him other than that he had a terrible temper. He’d shout and make her mother cry.”
Hamish’s gaze hardened, and a muscle flickered in his jaw. “It sounds like this man was abusing Euphemia. At least verbally.”
“Yes, I agree. Tilda said her mother would hide her whenever he visited. But she could hear their arguments.”
Hamish shook his head. “It makes me sick just thinking about it.” Blowing out a sigh, he stood. The interview was clearly over. “I thank you, Olivia. I doubt I would have been able to coax such information from Tilda. If it weren’t for you, I’d still be floundering around in the dark.”
Olivia rose from her seat. “I cannot take all the credit. Nurse Swan helped too.”
Hamish inclined his head. “Then I am indebted to you both.”
“You really have no need to be.” Olivia could sense that Hamish wanted to return to his study. Through the open doorway she could see the corner of the desk he’d lifted her onto, and her throat tightened. She’d give anything to return to that place in which anything seemed possible with Hamish.
Swallowing hard, she cleared the lump of emotion clogging her throat before she spoke again. “It’s obvious that you’re busy, but before I go, I just wanted to say I’ve had time to think on what you said to me the other night, about living apart. While I’d like nothing more than to stay with one of my friends when we return to London, I believe it would be better if we appear amicably wed at least for the foreseeable future, as hard as that may be. If it seems we’re estranged from the outset, there will be talk, and it might embolden my uncle to challenge the validity of our marriage. And I don’t think either of us wants that. Uncle Reginald and the trustee won’t sign over my inheritance to you unless they give our union their seal of approval. If they don’t, we shall have to wait until I turn twenty-five to inherit.”
That muscle twitched in Hamish’s jaw again. “Aye, you’re right.”
“I know this will be difficult for both of us. But I just wanted to let you know, I’ll do my best to stay out of your way. I don’t want you to end up regretting what you did to protect me or, even worse, resenting me.”
Hamish’s gaze softened. “Och, Olivia. I could never feel that way about you. Don’t ever think that.”
She nodded. “Thank you. I’ll bid you good night now, Hamish. Given the journey ahead of us, I wish to retire early.”
The corner of Hamish’s wide mouth lifted into a brief smile. “Good night to you too, lass,” he said before turning back to his study.
As Olivia sped from the library and through Muircliff’s halls to her bedchamber, she reminded herself that, if nothing else, at least Hamish had agreed they could still live under the same roof for the time being. Which meant she still had a little more time on her side to make her husband see reason.
All was not lost yet.
CHAPTER 22
Two of the ton’s finest were seen entering London’s most-whispered-about house of ill repute in broad daylight. And one is rumored to have recently wed over the anvil . . .
The Beau Monde Mirror: The Society Page
Soho Square, London
October 7, 1818
Maximilian Devereux, the Duke of Exmoor, gave a