A Scot to the Heart (Desperately Seeking Duke #2) - Caroline Linden Page 0,16
it was not much, only one estate, and could be concluded in a matter of days. All he wanted was a review of the records and instruction to Mr. MacGill to have the property put in order, against the likelihood of being offered for sale soon.
Drew wondered at that. He knew who would buy those Scottish lands: aristocrats intent on enclosing them and forcing the cottars and other tenants off them. While posted at Fort George, he had seen displaced families straggle into Inverness, reduced from independent farmers to subsistence crofters. He’d never thought to have a say about any of it, but now . . . He was deeply interested in seeing for himself.
After a quick bite at a nearby coffeehouse, for Duncan kept no food at all in his lodging, Drew walked up Bridge Street over the canal where he and Duncan had stripped down for a frigid swim last night. The New Town, as the rising development across the bridge was called, had grown considerably since he was last here. The streets were level, with proper sewers, and the buildings were of clean, uniform stone, unlike the cluttered hodgepodge of the Old Town.
As he walked, he mentally girded himself for conflict. He had dealt with solicitors before. When his father died, he’d had to step in and sort out his family’s affairs, untangling the mortgage and loans Father had taken against the mercer’s shop. Later, when he went into the army, he’d gone back and tried to make arrangements for his mother and sisters. He’d got a headache from the dry, stuffy air inside the pompous solicitor’s office, to say nothing of the sanctimonious lecture on how his father had mishandled everything. He had come away with no good opinion of the legal profession.
It was an entirely different experience as the Carlyle heir.
He arrived at David MacGill’s law offices in spacious, elegant St. Andrew’s Square and gave his name. He had made no appointment, not knowing precisely when he would arrive and not averse to catching the solicitor off guard anyway. With a sniff, the clerk took his letter from Mr. Edwards and vanished through a mahogany door. Resigned to waiting, Drew hung up his hat and took a seat, but within moments the clerk was back.
“Please, Captain, this way,” said the man breathlessly, now smiling and bowing.
Surprised but pleased, he got to his feet. As they approached the polished door, raised voices sounded angrily behind it, and then it burst open. Drew took a hasty step backward as a lady emerged, her mouth set in a furious line and her eyes flashing. Her skirts swung wide as she strode past him.
He stared, dumbstruck. It was the mystery woman from the oyster cellar, now attired in the finest manner with her hair pinned up in very fashionable curls. Her gaze touched him like a flash of lightning, scalding with contempt, and then she was gone, snatching her cloak and hat from another clerk who’d come running to sweep open the door in front of her.
For a moment he was stunned breathless. In daylight she was even more mesmerizing—and she hadn’t shown any sign whatsoever that she remembered him.
“Who was that?” he asked the clerk hovering at his side.
“Madam was on her way out,” the man assured him. “Mr. MacGill will attend you now, sir.”
His mind lingering on the woman, Drew went into the inner office. He didn’t have an appointment, but MacGill had practically thrown her out in order to see him.
“Come in, sir, come in!” MacGill was a sturdy fellow with a headful of fair curls. He bowed and scraped and offered three types of refreshment, all of which Drew declined.
“I hope I’ve not called at an inconvenient time,” he said.
“Not at all, Captain!”
“Yet there was someone in your office,” he replied. “She did not look pleased as she left.”
A frown flashed across MacGill’s face, but he gave a small laugh and waved one hand. “Mrs. Ramsay is the widow of a client of mine. I’ve served her family for years. She was quite content to make arrangements to discuss her business at a future time.”
Content was possibly the last word Drew would have used to describe her expression, but he had a name at last. Mrs. Ramsay.
“In the future,” he told the solicitor, “I do not expect you to dismiss anyone in favor of me.”
“No,” said the lawyer after a startled moment. “As you wish, sir.”