is a brazen scoundrel. He’s lucky I don’t call him out. Have him flayed. Castrated. Gutted. Minced into worm’s meat—
“Honestly, I was so shocked, I didn’t know what to do, so I wrote to you,” continued Angus. “Of course, poor Mother was alarmed, too when she first found out what Isobel had been planning. However, while she agrees that it’s not an ideal match given MacDonald’s inferior birth, I’m afraid . . .”
“Go on.” Hamish frowned at his reflection in the looking glass as he undid the neckcloth and started again. “How is Mother, by the way?”
“She’s well enough . . . only . . . the problem is, Isobel has managed to persuade her that this match isn’t entirely unsuitable.”
Hamish’s hands stilled. “What did you just say?”
He marched into the main bedchamber and pinned his younger brother with a hard-as-steel stare. Angus’s vagueness about Isobel and the whole situation was making him very uneasy. “Stop equivocating. I asked you to speak plainly. What the hell is going on?”
Angus immediately leapt to his feet. “Now, now there’s no need to get upset. If you’d just speak with Mama and Isobel, I think that you—”
Incredulity blasted through Hamish. “Don’t tell me you have changed your mind too!”
Angus blushed redder than a lobster that had just been plunged into a cauldron of boiling water. He shifted uneasily from one booted foot to the other. “Look, you need to talk to Isobel. And Mother. I’ve done all I can. I wrote to you. I dismissed MacDonald. I put every measure I could think of in place to ensure Isobel didn’t run off and make the worst mistake of her life. Now it’s up to you to sort out the rest.”
With that, he gave a great harrumph and deposited himself on the sofa again.
Hamish crossed his arms and stared down at his younger brother. Guilt shredded his guts. Angus was right. It wasn’t up to him to clear this mess up. Hamish sometimes forgot the lad was only seventeen.
Hamish softened his tone. “Of course. You’ve done well, Angus. And I will speak with Isobel and Mother. I just need to make sure Tilda’s settled into the nursery first. It’s been over a decade since Ellen Swan had any young charges in her care. If I need to arrange for one of the other younger maids to assist her, I’d rather know now. The last thing I need is more discord in my life.”
Angus arched a brow. “I know it’s not really any of my business and I shouldn’t pry into your affairs, but I must say, I was more than a little surprised to see you arrive home with a ward and a wife. It all seems rather sudden.”
Hamish sighed heavily and walked over to the mirror above the mantelpiece to finish tying his cravat. “Aye. It is.” He glanced at Angus’s reflection and caught his eye. “And just in case you’re wondering, Tilda is not my wife’s daughter.”
“Oh . . . I never thought . . .” Angus blushed bright red all over again. “Olivia seems too young . . . Not that I mean anything by that. Although, I did wonder if—”
“Tilda might be mine?” finished Hamish. “To be perfectly honest, I don’t know.” And he described how the child had been dumped on his London doorstep and the contents of the note that accompanied her. “I tell you all this in strict confidence, though, Angus. I’d rather Mother and Isobel didn’t know that poor wee Tilda might be my by-blow and that I have no idea who her mother is.”
Angus nodded, his expression grave. “Does . . . does Olivia know?”
His cravat now tied, albeit sloppily, Hamish turned around to face his brother. “Aye. She does. Everything.”
“And she doesn’t mind?”
“No. Surprisingly she doesn’t.”
“She sounds like a very understanding young woman, then.”
“Aye . . .” Hamish focused on adjusting one of his cuffs to avoid Angus’s curious gaze. He wasn’t ready to divulge how he’d met Olivia or how their marriage had come about. Because half of it would be lies.
The worst part was that most of the lies careening through his mind were ones he needed to tell himself. The litany crashed about in his head.
You don’t care for Olivia.
You’re not falling in love with her.
You feel nothing but lust.
And then there were the cold, harsh, altogether inconvenient but immutable truths.
When she inherits her fortune, it will be better if you set her free.
You could never be the husband she deserves.
She’ll