Highland Heiress - By Margaret Moore Page 0,57
father charged. “Only? You might as well say a demon is only in league with the devil!”
“Papa, it’s not as bad as that. And he tried to stop whoever set the fire. But even if he hadn’t, even if he was Sir Robert’s solicitor, surely it is good and right to offer help to anyone who needs it.”
“I am all for a kind heart in a woman, Moira,” her father retorted, “but this is too much. If he’s hurt, let him go to Sir Robert—who, you may recall, is suing you for a considerable sum of money.”
“Should that really matter if the man is injured? And isn’t it possible Robbie misled him, too, the same way he misled me? I gather it’s been a few years since Mr. McHeath has seen Robbie. A man can change a good deal in that time.”
“Or not,” her father countered.
“Whether he has or not, Mr. McHeath is still a man who’s been seriously hurt,” she replied, her frustration and desperation mounting, for the servants would obey her father’s orders over hers, “so much so that the doctor says it’s too risky to move him just yet. By letting Mr. McHeath stay here, we’re ensuring his recovery, as well we should. Dr. Campbell says—”
“Don’t quote a doctor to me! They don’t know anything! I want him gone tomorrow. I’ll have the footmen carry him out if I have to.”
“Unless you’re drunk.”
The words came out seemingly of their own volition, released like caged tigers that had been waiting, pacing, ready to pounce, for years.
As her father’s face reddened, her hand flew to her lips as if to trap them again. “Papa, I’m—”
“Is this how you repay me for all I’ve given you?” he interrupted, his face going as red as poppies. “All I’ve done for you? For indulging in these charitable whims of yours about educating the children of people who don’t want them to be educated? Did you ever stop to think how your plans affected me, Moira? Has it never occurred to you that your schemes for schools and education might be an embarrassment to me, and even cost me business?”
No, it hadn’t.
“Or that your broken engagement has forced me to listen to snide remarks about my unmarriageable daughter with her jilted fiancé and misguided charity.
“All I’ve ever wanted is your happiness, Moira. To see you married, with a good husband and children around you. Why else do you think I told you what I learned about that devil you were going to marry, while you were blinded by his looks and name and nobility? God, Moira, I could have let you marry the man and boasted of the connection—aye, and made use of it, too. But I didn’t.
“Now I fear you’re going to wind up so immersed in your good deeds you’ll never get a husband. Is that what you want, Moira? To be an old maid? To be the sort of woman everyone admires and no man will wed?”
She clasped her hands as she fought to find the words to make him understand. “Papa, can’t you see that I’m trying to make something of myself, as you did when you were a young man? I want to leave something built of hard work and effort, the same way you made your fortune.
“Yes, you gave me a fine home and good clothes, but you also gave me fear and worry and heartache. How many times have you come home stinking of drink and I had to put you to bed, Papa? How many times have you stayed out until all hours, and I never knew where you were? Or if you were well, or lying in some gutter? How many nights have I lost sleep waiting for you to come home after a night of drinking, when I didn’t know where you were or even if you would come home?
“I want to be proud of you, Papa, not ashamed, and I’ll be ashamed—and more—if you make Mr. McHeath leave before the doctor thinks it’s safe. Please don’t rob me of the pride I should feel for my father, who did work and slave and make something of himself before he fell into a title.”
Her father’s expression didn’t soften so much as alter to one that she recognized—the same one he wore when he was bargaining with a tradesman. “I’m not completely heartless, Moira. I’ll agree to let him stay until the doctor says he is well enough to be taken to Sir Robert’s—on