A Scot to the Heart (Desperately Seeking Duke #2) - Caroline Linden Page 0,118

Papa’s particular preference for you. It was exceptional. I’ve long wondered if there was some other connection between you and Papa.”

Her half brother leaned forward. “Never told you, did he? No wonder, given your behavior of late.”

“You know,” she said, unable to stop herself, “someone did hint to me, once, that you might be his son.”

Liam drew back, startled. “Did they?”

“Is it true?”

Some of his smirk returned. “Aye. It is.”

Ilsa nodded once. “I am sorry Papa never told me.”

“Sorry!” His mouth bent cruelly. “Were you sorry that he was in love with another woman and not your mother? Were you sorry to hear that he did have a son, the son he yearned for but was unable to claim because he was too afraid of your reaction to the news?”

So that was it. Papa had wanted a son so desperately he had let Liam believe that only Ilsa kept him from claiming him publicly. And Liam, smoldering in envy and resentment, had finally struck back at both of them.

She gave him a grave look. “No. I’m sorry for you. He was a wonderful father, tender, kind, and caring. And what’s more, I would have accepted a brother, had he come in love and friendship.” She got to her feet. “Thank you for coming today. I hope your legacy brings you fond remembrances of our father.”

Scowling Liam tore open the letter and scanned it, reading that he had been left two hundred pounds and nothing else. His face turned red. “How—this is an insult!” He leapt to his feet with a howl. “I am supposed to inherit the workshop in Dunbar’s Close! He promised me!”

“Did he?” asked Ilsa calmly. “I didn’t know that. He left that to me.”

“What will you do with a cabinetry shop?” he snarled.

“Sell it, I suppose,” she said with mild surprise. “I’ve already spoken to Mr. Henderson. Papa would want it to go to another wright.”

Liam took a step forward. “How dare you,” he said, low and furious.

Ilsa stood a little straighter. “How dare I?” She lowered her voice. “I am very conscious of what you did for him—and to him. If you provoke me, I would have no hesitation in suggesting the sheriff investigate whom Thomas Browne gambled with—and how much that person lost in recent months.” She folded her hands. “I suggest you accept this with grace and take Papa’s advice to better yourself. He forgave you, Liam, but God detests a sinner.”

He breathed like a bellows. “You . . .”

“I had nothing to do with any of it. If I had, you would have received nothing.” She reached for the bell. “Good day, Mr. Hewitt. And good-bye.”

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Four weeks later

Carlyle Castle looked much the way he remembered it, though now tinged with the colors of winter instead of spring. Drew braced himself for a chilly reception. Not only had he missed the duchess’s six-month deadline, he’d only written to the castle after everything in Edinburgh had been resolved.

Ilsa studied the cavernous entrance hall as they waited to be shown to a room. It was the most forbidding part of the castle, in Drew’s opinion, and if it were ever his home, he would remove the arms bristling on the walls and the statue of Perseus holding the head of Medusa. “Intimidating,” his wife murmured to him.

“Ghastly,” he whispered back, making her laugh quietly.

The duchess was not pleased at their late arrival. “You were expected back weeks ago,” she snapped.

Drew laid his hand over Ilsa’s. “I had good reason, Your Grace.”

“Hmph.”

“When I left here months ago,” he said, “I had no idea what lay ahead.”

“You asked for my advice on that,” she replied tartly.

“I did.” Drew stole a look at Ilsa. “As so often happens, the best of intentions were made a mockery by Fate.”

“Fate.” The duchess looked at Ilsa. “This is your explanation, I suppose. An affair of the heart.”

“No,” said Ilsa calmly. She had shown no sign of being intimidated or cowed. “It was more than that. It was the meeting of two souls meant to be together, and all efforts to deny it were in vain.”

“All true,” said Drew with a small smile at his wife.

“You say all efforts to deny it.” The duchess stroked her fat ginger cat. “Why must this predestined match be denied?”

Drew hesitated, but Ilsa seized the bull by the horns. “Because my father was accused of being the mastermind of a ring of thieves terrorizing Edinburgh, ma’am. Because I tried to help him, against all good advice.