A Scot to the Heart (Desperately Seeking Duke #2) - Caroline Linden Page 0,111
But I need to hear it from him.” She looked at him in the darkness, touching his chin. “What did you do when your father died? Agnes told me it was not easy for you—”
He let out his breath. “No. We didn’t learn of his failings until he was gone.”
“But you endured it,” she murmured.
His arm tightened around her. “There was no choice. He was gone, but my mother and sisters were still here, still in need, and I had to provide for them.”
“Agnes said you were to go to university.”
“Once upon a time,” he said after a moment.
“What did you hope to study?”
“Astronomy. Mathematics. I fancied going to sea.” It was like a distant dream to speak of those things now.
“Instead you went into the army. When Agnes told me, I thought it a very unimaginative choice.” Some life sparked in her voice. “A clever fellow would have chosen piracy.”
He grinned. “Daring thought! Stupidly I thought the army would pay more reliably.”
Her shoulders shook with a small laugh. “And less fear of hanging.”
He closed his eyes at the word. She seemed to shrink in his arm, realizing what she’d said. “Yes,” he rallied. “More fear of dysentery, though.”
“Yet you survived. All of you.”
His arm tightened around her. “Yes. Not unscarred, but whole and able to carry on and find happiness and joy.”
To that she made no reply, but she clung to his side all night.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Ilsa didn’t know what to expect when they returned to Prince’s Street the next day. This time they waited almost an hour, and her hope, already thin and tenuous, began to give way.
She was sure she was not wrong; Mr. Lorde had seen Papa. But he could not make Papa see her if her father refused. And if something had happened—if Papa had been discovered—she would be forever tormented by the thought that she might have endangered him. She began to regret coming, and almost hoped Mr. Lorde would tell her to go away.
But finally the door opened and they were shown into Lorde’s private office, and another man was there, too. Tall and lean, wearing the garb of a common laborer and his natural hair, stood William Fletcher. Ilsa caught her breath with a sob and flew to him before she knew what she was doing.
“Ilsa, love,” he whispered, holding her tightly. “Oh my child, what are you doing here?”
“I came to find you! I’ve been so worried . . .”
He squeezed her to him again, and for a few minutes they simply held each other.
Finally she pushed back to see him. His face had aged since she saw him, the lines deeper and his skin paler. Or perhaps it was the effect of seeing him without his usual fine clothing and wig styled in the height of fashion; his hair was short, faded brown heavily sprinkled with gray. She would have passed him on the street and never recognized him. “Why, Papa?” was all she could ask, heartsick.
He sighed and eased out of her grip. “Because I couldn’t bear to hurt you or Jean. I’ve made mistakes in my life, but always did my best to shield you from my failings. I never wanted you to be tainted by association.”
It felt like an iron hand gripped her chest. “Papa—are you saying—you can’t be admitting—?”
“Come.” He motioned toward chairs at the table behind them. “Sit. I want Lorde to explain things to you.” He gave Drew a long look, but said nothing.
She resisted. “Papa! Did you—did you do it?” Her voice at the end was that of a frightened child.
“Come sit,” he said again. “I can’t stay long. Lorde, bring the documents.” Obediently the solicitor moved to the table, a sheaf of paper in his hand.
“Tell me,” she pleaded. “Did you?” Drew was watching with a concerned frown, and a wave of mortification washed over her, that she had dragged him into this and been so spectacularly wrong. I believe in Papa, she’d insisted again and again. She’d thought the nightmare would end when she found her father, and instead it was growing worse by the second.
“I’ve told Lorde to convey everything absolutely,” Papa went on, stubbornly ignoring her questions. “There are deeds and stock certificates, although he will sell those.”
Helplessly she looked to Drew. He stepped up beside her and urged her into the chair before turning to Papa. “Deacon Fletcher, you have to tell her if you know. Who really committed the robberies?”