Grosvenor Square
Coffee. He needed strong black coffee. And lots of it.
Hamish yawned, and rubbed his eye, which felt as though it were full of grit, as he summoned a footman to the drawing room.
What a hellish night he’d just spent. Who would’ve thought a scrap of a bairn like Tilda could create such chaos? The wee banshee had woken when Daniels tried to install her in a pallet bed in the library next door; Hamish had been working on a letter for his man of affairs, Walter Faraday, and wished to keep a watchful eye on her. The end result was that between eleven o’clock and two in the morning, he’d been trying to coax the child back to sleep.
After she’d stopped crying—around midnight—Hamish plied her with warm milk and more honeyed crumpets as Miss Morland had done. He escorted her to the water closet several times—thank goodness she seemed to be able to manage that particular business on her own—and had tasked Daniels with the job of digging out a book or two that would entertain a young child.
However, the engravings in Bewick’s ornithological volumes on land birds and waterbirds, and Ehret’s colorful drawings of flowering plants in Plantae Selectae only kept Tilda mildly entertained for a very short period of time. In the end, Peridot and the tie from his silk banyan had come to the rescue. Tilda even smiled and giggled as she ran around the library, taunting the cat with the tasseled end of the sash.
The activity had eventually tired her out, and she’d fallen fast asleep on the pallet with the cat in her chubby arms. Thank God.
But Hamish had stayed steadfastly awake, attending to neglected correspondence and other business matters until it was time to dress for the day ahead. He’d reasoned that there wasn’t much point in sleeping when he had so much on his mind. Besides, he had days to catch up on slumber on the road to Skye.
However, his valet, Hudson, had sent him a baleful look as soon as he entered Hamish’s dressing room and discovered his master had taken it upon himself to shave without assistance at four o’clock in the morning. But the man—who’d once served as Hamish’s batman when he was in the military—knew from experience it was best to hold his tongue about his master’s appalling sleep habits. Or lack-of-sleep habits, to be more precise.
The coffee arrived, and after Hamish poured himself a steaming cup of the black bitter brew, he wandered over to the French doors and tossed back the thick velvet curtains. The reflection in the darkened glass revealed his drawn and disgruntled expression. He sighed. He’d have to wake Tilda soon and help her to get ready for the day ahead.
At least Miss Morland would be here soon to take over those duties.
Miss Morland. What a conundrum she was. Well-spoken despite her stammer and apparently guileless. Truth be told, he also sensed she wasn’t being completely honest with him about her situation. The last thing he wanted was a wealthy family breathing down his neck because he’d taken the girl from the family bosom, even if she was a penniless relation.
However, given his situation, he really couldn’t afford to harbor any second thoughts. He needed Miss Morland. It was as simple as that. It wasn’t the first time in his life that he’d been ruthless in his decision making. And he was certain it wouldn’t be the last.
A movement on the lawn caught his attention. Someone was outside.
Miss Morland? Yes, he recognized her slight figure even though it was partially obscured by a voluminous cloak and weighed down with luggage.
Hamish put down his coffee and threw open the doors. “What the devil are you doing here so early?” he said, hastening forward to help her with her valise and basket. “It’s pitch black and colder than a witch’s ti—I mean, it’s freezing,” he amended, ushering her inside. “I said we’d depart at six, not five.”
“I . . . I know,” she said, removing her bonnet and cloak as she crossed to the fireplace. “But I thought it would be better to arrive well beforehand. I can . . . I can help with Tilda. She’ll need to wash and get dressed.”
Hamish couldn’t argue with that. Closing the door with a booted foot, he put down her luggage, then offered her coffee, which she agreed to with alacrity.
“Are your family early risers?” asked Hamish mildly as he picked up the silver coffeepot.
“Oh, no. N-not