Highland Heiress - By Margaret Moore Page 0,49

responsible, because he certainly wouldn’t have the money to pay anybody to do anything. And while Robbie McStuart could afford it, he had seemed so genuinely upset….

That Gordon was hurt. Not that her school had been destroyed. “Sir Robert has been very angry with me for breaking our engagement.”

“Oh, I doubt it was him, my lady,” the constable replied evenly.

She should have realized that a man whose family had wielded power and influence in a village for generations might be considered above suspicion, for anything. There was no point protesting unless and until she had proof he was the person behind it. “If not Sir Robert, I can’t think of anyone else.”

“Well, good day to you, then, my lady. You be careful now, won’t you?”

“I will,” she assured him.

Feeling as if she hadn’t slept in a week, Moira went back upstairs. She knocked softly on the door of the blue bedroom, which was soon opened by a sympathetic Mrs. McAlvey. “He’s sleeping like a baby, my lady. I can wake him up easy enough, so don’t you worry. He’s going to be fine, or my name isn’t Martha. You go on and have a nap yourself. You wouldn’t want him to see you with circles under your eyes, would you?”

Moira warmed with a blush, but she didn’t disagree. She didn’t want Mr. McHeath to see her looking tired or upset.

If she were wise, she thought as she went to her own bedroom, she wouldn’t let him see her at all. She would keep her distance from him, if only for her own peace of mind.

And heart.

“Well now, that’s better, I’m sure,” Mrs. McAlvey said as she briskly tucked the blanket around Gordon the following morning. “All clean and tidy and looking much more like a gentleman than a prizefighter,” she added with a wink.

He was glad to hear it. It was bad enough he’d been in that fight; he didn’t want his face to appear as if that was the way he earned his living.

“I’m sure Lady Moira will be happy to see you so well.”

“I’m very grateful for her hospitality—and her father’s, too, of course.”

“Oh, yes, it’s the earl you’re so anxious to see,” Mrs. McAlvey said with a chortle that grew into a laugh. “Don’t be lookin’ at me like that, young man. I’ve been nursing for twenty years and if you can’t learn about people in that time, you’re a dolt. Now you just have a nice nap, and you’ll be all refreshed when her ladyship comes round to see you.”

“She may not,” he replied. “I’m sure she has better things to do.”

Mrs. McAlvey reached into the valise at her feet and pulled out some knitting that looked like either a small blanket or a large muffler, in a rather eye-popping shade of scarlet. “She may, but she’ll come round nonetheless. She’s the sort worries about everybody, especially them that she feels responsible for, and she feels responsible for you.”

“She shouldn’t, and I’m truly sorry for any trouble I’ve caused her.”

“Oh, I don’t think she’s upset about having to look after you. It’s her father. He’s gone off again, probably more than half in his cups somewhere, like as not.” She regarded Gordon with a raised brow. “Surely a fellow in your profession can see there’s something amiss with the man.”

“I’ve never had the pleasure of meeting him.”

“Well, if you had, my buck, you’d know from the first glance that he drinks too much and it’s gone to his liver. His nose is red and his eyes have that yellow tint gives it away. I realized the man was a tosspot the first time I saw him in the village—and so has Dr. Campbell. But there’s not much he can do if the man won’t come and see him.”

If the earl drank to excess, like Robbie, it was no wonder Moira had rejected his friend.

And he sympathized with her. He’d had more than one client who overimbibed, and he saw the havoc it created for families—the uncertainty, the bitterness, the resentment, the chaos, the quarrels, the rage.

Despite the sudden pain that made him gasp, he threw off the covers and started to get out of bed.

“Here now! What do you think you’re doing?” Mrs. McAlvey demanded.

“Getting up,” he replied, although he felt dizzy and sick when he moved, and his side burned as if it were on fire.

But he couldn’t stay here, not if it meant trouble for Moira, and conflict with her father. After all, he’d