A Scot to the Heart (Desperately Seeking Duke #2) - Caroline Linden Page 0,19
animosity and curiosity that he’d felt before his visit there, and from time to time they would shake their heads over his description of something, like the tall, narrow windows in the formal dining room that dated from the castle’s Norman past or the long gallery filled with dour-faced portraits of past St. Jameses.
Finally their mother clapped her hands. “’Tis late! As thrilling as this news is, the shop will not run itself tomorrow. Andrew, walk your sister to Mrs. Ramsay’s, if you please.”
“Mama, it’s two streets away,” Agnes muttered.
“Aye, and there have been robberies in this town of late!” Their mother gave a stern look. “Bankers, silversmiths, even a grocer’s shop. Who knows but that our own shop may be next!”
Drew opened his mouth to say something about that—his family wouldn’t need to labor in a shop much longer, thieves or no—but realized she was right about the time and said nothing. Winnie and Bella fell upon him with more hugs and reminders to bring their gifts the next day. Agnes followed him to the door and put on her cloak. They bid their mother good-night and went out into the street.
“Tell me about this dear friend who invites you to live with her,” he said as they walked along the dark High Street. The oil streetlamps cast only the faintest circles of illumination.
Agnes gave him a look, half reproof, half amused. “You’ll like her, Drew.”
“Will I, now?” Above them, a window creaked open, and he pulled his sister away from the oncoming deluge of waste. “Why is that?”
“Ilsa speaks her mind and enjoys life.”
That, he thought, fit the woman he’d seen last night. But what Agnes was saying was more important at the moment. He gave her a considering look. “Something you’ve not been able to do.”
Her mouth turned downward. “Not much, no.”
Agnes was twenty-four and still unmarried. William Ross had once said she was a very handsome lass, until Drew gave him a narrow-eyed look and Ross shut his mouth. The fellow was right, of course—Agnes was tall and slender with their mother’s blue eyes and their father’s dark hair—but Drew knew him too well. Agnes deserved better than Ross.
“I think that will change,” he told his sister now. “The duchess has granted me an income. No more captain’s pay, aye? There’ll be money for new gowns, a carriage . . . perhaps even a Season in London, if you and Winnie and Bella are so inclined.”
Her brow puckered. “You’re going to make us English.”
“No,” he said at once. “Just richer Scots.”
“With an English castle.” She gave him a look. “And an English title. That makes you English.”
He clenched his jaw. “I didn’t tell Mother yet, but the Carlyle solicitor is searching for a house for us, near the castle.”
Agnes gaped at him. “In England? You—you want us to leave Edinburgh?”
He stopped walking. “Don’t you want to? Dark narrow streets, people emptying their piss pots on our heads, a shop that demands all your time . . . I thought you’d be pleased to hear of it.”
She bit her lip. “I never wanted to go to England. I’m not going to inherit anything.”
“But I intend to settle a proper dowry on you.”
“The income from the duchess is that generous?”
No, it wasn’t, not with all three sisters already of marriageable age. Drew hoped to give each of them five hundred pounds at least. Edwards had hinted that something more might be arranged but had not yet committed to it.
At his hesitation, Agnes threw up her hands. “So you’re to be the next duke, and will be treated as such, because that’s what the duchess wants—a respectable heir. And we’ll be the poor relations, to whom nothing is owed or due, but who are now expected to uphold the dignity of a family who never cared tuppence for us. I knew they would never want anything to do with us. And you’re a fool, Andrew St. James, if you think you mean much to them, either.”
“Agnes,” he tried to say, but she backed away from him.
“Good night, Drew. I’m happy for you, truly I am, but don’t presume I’ll go along with your plans.” She turned and hurried into the house behind her.
His fingers curled into a fist. Damn. Agnes, as usual, wasn’t wrong. He would have to do better, looking out for them. How ironic if it should turn out to have been an easier task when he had no expectations at all.