Quest of the Highlander (Crowns & Kilts #5) - Cynthia Wright Page 0,97
Nora, relating the fact that she had found herself with child after the night she spent with Slater, and how she could not let her father know her predicament, could not stay at court.
“Are you suggesting the child is mine?” he asked coolly.
“Yes, of course it’s yours. She was innocent before that night with you.”
“I do recall that.” A smile flickered over his mouth. “How did our little dove Nora come to leave Stirling?”
Cicely’s stomach fluttered a tiny warning as he watched her, but now it seemed there was nothing to do but tell the truth. Besides, Sir Raymond had always enjoyed a bit of gossip. “A young Highlander who was leaving Scotland agreed to bring her with him. Lennox MacLeod. He came to England in search of his true father, and to everyone’s surprise, it was revealed that Lennox is the son of Richard Gage, Duke of Hastings. Can you imagine?”
She saw him go white. “Indeed? How fortuitous for MacLeod, especially since Hastings’s legitimate son died recently.”
“I’m surprised that you know about that! Yes, fortuitous, for both Lennox and the duke. They’ve gone off to His Grace’s estate in Surrey, to get to know each other.”
Now Sir Raymond looked irritated. “It’s so sweet my teeth hurt. Tell me again what the devil any of this has to do with me?”
“Why, Nora and her baby, of course. You should step in.”
“What, exactly, did you have in mind?”
They were slowing down. Through the small window, Cicely saw her own front door come into view. “Why not court her? Nora is lovely, intelligent, and alone in the world, with your child growing inside her. Honestly, at your age, aren’t you beginning to long for a quieter life?”
“Are you implying I’m in my dotage?” Although Sir Raymond sounded impatient, he rubbed his thumb and forefinger together thoughtfully.
“Do you feel it would be a sign of weakness to do the right thing?” Cicely dared to challenge. “I can assure you just the opposite is true.”
“You’re an interfering little chit.” After a long moment, his expression softened and he smiled at her. “Perhaps you are right, pet. It might be rather amusing to change my ways. But you must promise me you won’t tell Nora I have risen from the dead. I want it to be a splendid surprise…”
Chapter 27
Lennox looked into the Venetian mirror and sighed at the sight of himself in a slashed blue doublet set with jewels, topped by a slate-gray jerkin trimmed in silver. “What do ye think?” he asked Grant.
The lad leaned against the table, where Lennox’s papers and sketching tools were spread out. “Ye look like one of Henry VIII’s fancy courtiers. Is that the impression ye were hoping to make?”
“What choice do I have? If I wore my Highland plaid instead, wouldn’t the duke feel I was rude and ungrateful?”
“Aye, they would suppose ye are a heathen like me.” Grant laughed. His voice was deeper now, and he was growing a fine pair of shoulders.
“These clothes are stiffer than Highland garb, but I suppose I’ll become accustomed to them.” Lennox bent his tightly clad arm and arched a brow. “All the same, plenty of Scots Lowlanders would envy me. And now I must leave you. There are guests for dinner, I am told.”
“I saw them arriving. A finely-dressed older gentleman and an elegant, bonny lass.” Grant raised his brows before adding, “If ye care for that type.”
Lennox threw him a grin. “I am glad ye are here, lad, to save me from feeling completely lost.”
“I can’t stay forever, though. It’s been weeks, after all. Ma and Bayard want me back at Stirling, and I confess I miss Scotland more than I thought I would.”
Hearing these words, Lennox felt a familiar sharp pang. He was saved from replying when a knock sounded at the door, followed by Wilton’s austere voice. “His Grace requires your presence downstairs, sir.”
“Aye,” said Lennox. He reached for a blue-velvet cap with an ostrich feather. “I am coming now.”
* * *
“How kind you were to invite Betsy and me this afternoon,” Viscount St. John said as he speared a bite of roasted swan with his eating knife. His plump cheeks reddened, and his eyes grew wet. “I confess I have been concerned for you, Hastings, these past months. Such a tragedy you had to endure, losing Charles, and so soon after the loss of your dear Jane.”
The duke blinked. “I am grateful, as always, for your abiding friendship, St. John.”