Highland Heiress - By Margaret Moore Page 0,84
put her hands on her father’s outstretched arm, gently forcing it lower. “Please, Papa, you don’t understand.”
“The hell I don’t! I saw what he was doing!”
“What I was doing, too, Papa,” she said as she faced him. “There’s no need to be angry. We’re going to be married.”
The earl’s eyes widened as he stared at her, then Gordon, then his daughter again. “Married?” here repeated, as if she’d announced she was getting a tattoo.
“Married,” she confirmed. “As soon as possible.”
“Are you with child?” he demanded.
“No, Papa!” she cried, aghast and suddenly sorry she’d announced their plans. But she had, and there was no going back now. “We’re in love and we’re going to be married. You wanted me to be a wife, didn’t you? Well, now I will be.”
“Yes, but…but…” Her father felt for the sofa and sat heavily. He glanced up at Gordon, then turned his stern gaze back to Moira. “Have you somehow forgotten that this man was helping Robert McStuart to sue you?”
“Was,” Gordon emphasized. “I’m no longer his solicitor, or his friend.”
If her father hadn’t been so sick, Moira would have pointed out that the earl had done worse by hiring men to burn down her school, but since he was ill, and because she was sure Gordon could argue his own case without her help, she stayed silent.
“You’re only a solicitor. You’re not even a barrister.”
“That’s true,” Gordon replied evenly. “However, I make a very good living and am well respected in my profession. And I promise you, my lord, that your daughter’s welfare and happiness will always be my first consideration.”
“As well as our children’s,” Moira added.
Her father continued to scowl, but she saw cause for hope in his eyes. “Children will keep you at home, at least,” he muttered, giving her a sidelong glance before he eyed Gordon speculatively. “I don’t suppose you can make her give up these notions about education for the poor.”
“I don’t intend to try. Indeed, my lord, I intend to help her in any way I can.”
“Huh.”
“My lord, I appreciate that your objections stem from a natural urge to protect your child,” Gordon said in what Moira could only assume was his courtroom timbre, “yet I must point out that she is legally an adult. You cannot forbid her marriage nor her charitable endeavors.”
His voice and expression softened. “Besides, my lord, you must realize you’ve raised a woman as determined and clever as yourself.”
Moira doubted there could have been anything better Gordon could have said to mollify her father.
“You’ll have to live in Edinburgh, I suppose,” the earl grumbled.
“No, Papa, I still want my first school to be here,” Moira said.
“I understand there is a lack of legal representation in Dunbrachie and the surrounding area,” Gordon said quickly before her father realized she’d said her first school, “whereas solicitors are rather thick on the ground in Edinburgh. So we plan to live in Dunbrachie, provided I can find a suitable house.”
Finally her father’s shoulders relaxed, and he even smiled. “In that case, I have no objections,” he allowed, “but what is this about finding a house when there is this huge place? It would be a waste of money to buy another. It will be yours one day anyway, Moira. You both might as well live here.”
He then shook a finger at Gordon and declared, “Keep a tight rein on her, my lad, or she’ll run roughshod all over you! She’s just like her mother—a head full of ideas and plans and schemes.” He lowered his hand and his expression grew tender as he regarded his daughter. “But if you love her half as much as I loved her dear mother, you’ll be a very happy fellow.”
“Oh, Papa!” Moira cried as she threw her arms around him and smiled through her tears.
Some weeks later, Moira looked up and smiled when she saw her husband standing on the threshold of the drawing room in the manor house of the earl of Dunbrachie.
Her smile faded when she saw his weary, worried expression.
Setting aside the garment she was sewing, she hurried to kiss Gordon lightly on the lips. “Did Mr. MacIntosh prove to be even more stubborn about the contract than you feared?”
The cantankerous Mr. MacIntosh and his complicated business affairs had been consuming much of Gordon’s time and effort in his new practice.
“No,” he replied as he wrapped his arms around her.
“You had another client who wanted to talk about your victory over the Titan of Inverness?”
“No,” he replied with