A Scot to the Heart (Desperately Seeking Duke #2) - Caroline Linden Page 0,10

expect to see you so early. You came in rather late.”

She smiled in memory of last evening’s fun. “I wish you could have come with me.”

Agnes laughed. “My mother would never approve of me going to Mr. Hunter’s! I would be marched right home to a blistering scold.”

“We can’t have that,” said Ilsa in sympathy. “I hated to leave you alone, but I’d given my word to Miss White.”

Agnes waved it off. “I’m glad you went. Was it wonderful?”

Ilsa thought of the tall, handsome fellow who had embraced her so protectively. “It was marvelous.”

“Staying out until all hours isn’t dignified,” said Jean sternly. “Miss St. James has the right idea. Stay home and stay out of trouble.”

Ilsa shared a glance with her friend. Agnes would have loved to be in that oyster cellar beside Ilsa, dancing and drinking punch and enjoying herself.

But Agnes’s mother thought oyster cellars were no place for unmarried girls—even though plenty of ladies went these days. It had been her condition for allowing Agnes to come stay with Ilsa: she must follow all the rules of behavior that she was held to at home. Agnes had been so keen to come, and Ilsa so keen to have her, both had agreed.

“It is the right idea to stay out of trouble,” said Agnes demurely. “Which is why I must go if you are able to see to Robert. My mother will be expecting me in the shop.”

“Indeed, I shall be entirely proper all day, visiting my solicitor and taking tea with Papa,” Ilsa told her.

“That is excellent,” exclaimed Jean approvingly. “I knew you would be a steadying influence on her, dear Miss St. James.”

“Thank you, Miss Fletcher,” replied Agnes, choosing not to contradict this provocative statement. Well, Jean was not her aunt; Agnes did not need to argue with her over this or anything. Ilsa said nothing.

Jean eyed the crumpled draperies. “Now that these are down, they might as well be cleaned. I’ll send the maid in to get them.”

“Of course.” Ilsa had learned to accept an olive branch when one was offered.

When her aunt had gone, she tossed aside the cap from her head. She only wore it to prevent paint getting in her hair, no matter how Jean scolded her that a widowed lady ought to wear it all the time. “Shall we have a leg of lamb tonight? I consumed so many oysters last night, I can’t face anything from the sea for a week.”

Agnes made a small grimace. “Alas, I’m dining at home. Mother sent word my brother has returned, and she’ll have us all around her table again for the first time in over a year.”

“Of course,” said Ilsa after a tiny pause. “Welcome home the captain with my best regards.”

“Thank you.” Agnes rolled her eyes. “He’s hinted he brings news from our cousins in England. My mother is hopeful it’s a legacy of some sort. She’s already begun scouring listings in the New Town, certain we shall be moving to a grand new house.”

“You are not as certain, I take it,” observed Ilsa.

“Not in the slightest.” Agnes pursed her lips. “That family never cared for us. I cannot believe they’re about to start now, not in any meaningful way. And even if they did, Mother would insist Drew take all the benefit—aside from her new house, of course.”

“Why should he take all the benefit?” asked Ilsa in surprise.

Agnes shook her head. “It would be only fair. He joined the army when he was eighteen and sent his pay to Mother so we would have food and clothes.”

“Brothers do such things?” said Ilsa in mock astonishment. “Remarkable!”

Agnes laughed. “He’s a good sort. If there is a legacy—which I highly doubt!—he may have it with my blessing. After a dozen years in the army, he’s earned it.”

She smiled. “How generous you are. He must be a good sort.” One of her favorite things about the St. James family was their closeness and honest affection for each other.

“He is! At least, he can be. You’ll like him.”

An image rose in her mind, a sober, straightlaced fellow in a red coat who spoke in single syllables and avoided anything fun. He’d gone into the army when faced with penury, after all—not for him the usual escape routes of marrying a rich girl, gambling, or piracy. What’s more, he chose the English army. Not very dashing, joining the English.

Unbidden she thought again of the tall, dark-haired Scot from the oyster cellar. That one had a bit