A Scot to the Heart (Desperately Seeking Duke #2) - Caroline Linden Page 0,21

only to be presented with a butter churn.”

Agnes snickered. “Oh, he’s probably done well. I just don’t look forward to what they mean.”

Her brow went up. “What they mean? Surely he doesn’t expect something in return for a gift. That would make it no gift at all.”

Her companion was quiet. “He does expect something,” she said at last, very quietly. “And he means well, but . . . I am not eager to do it.”

There was no time to ask what Agnes meant. It was only a few minutes’ walk, and they had arrived already. Agnes hurried up the steps to open the door.

The St. James home was smaller than Ilsa’s, narrow but neat. A babble of conversation was clearly audible from the sitting room upstairs. Agnes hung up their hats and led the way.

Ilsa followed slowly, uncertain of her reception. She had a growing suspicion Mrs. St. James had no idea she was coming and wanted a chance to judge the room before she was judged in turn.

Winifred and Isabella St. James she knew; sometimes, one or both of them would join her and Agnes for a walk on the hill. Once they had all played a spirited game of golf, with much hilarity on everyone’s part. Winnie was the beauty of the family, with her mother’s red-gold hair and blue eyes. Bella was dark like Agnes, with a sly wit and keen eye for the ridiculous. All of them were irreverent and amusing, and excellent company.

Mrs. St. James sat smiling on the sofa, her fair hair pinned up under a proper lace cap of the sort Aunt Jean kept urging on Ilsa. She was a handsome woman in her fifties, but more reserved and dignified than any of her daughters. Ilsa was a bit cowed by her.

It was the man in the room, though, who caught her eye. Even down on his knees in front of a trunk, he was tall. Wavy dark hair fell over his brow before he flicked it back impatiently with one large hand. He was dressed as any Scot would be, a brown philibeg with a white shirt and gray coat—much as he had been the night they’d danced in the oyster cellar.

But not, she realized as he looked right at her with brilliant hazel eyes, the way he’d been dressed in Mr. MacGill’s office. Only now that she had a chance to look directly at him did she realize why she’d thought that fellow was vaguely familiar. He was the man for whom MacGill had dismissed her.

Alas. Saint Andrew was both more interesting and more disappointing than expected.

She assumed a gracious smile as Agnes tugged her into the room. “I’ve invited Mrs. Ramsay to tea with us today,” said the other girl brightly. “Winnie, make room.”

“Ilsa!” cried Bella, coming to squeeze her hand. “How splendid to see you again. How is darling Robert?”

She laughed. “Very well. He misses you, and the way you spoil him.” Before she could be distracted, she curtsied to Mrs. St. James. “Good day, ma’am. Thank you for inviting me.”

There was nothing in the woman’s manner to indicate surprise or displeasure. “Come in. May I present my son, Captain St. James, to you? Andrew, here is Agnes’s friend, Mrs. Ramsay.”

He got to his feet, looming over her as he’d done in the cellar, when he shielded her from the crowd surging up the stairs. “A pleasure, Mrs. Ramsay,” he said politely.

She curtsied and smiled. Did he recognize her? She couldn’t tell.

Deliberately she took the seat furthest from him and sat back to watch as he emptied the trunk.

As Agnes had predicted, he had brought excellent gifts. For his mother, he produced a length of midnight blue brocade. For Bella it was cream silk with pink flowers, for Winnie a rich green and white stripe, for Agnes deep rose. Then he gave them swathes of lace wrapped in silver paper, as fine as anything Ilsa had ever seen, along with a rainbow of embroidery floss. He brought out several new novels—making Bella gasp aloud in delight—India tea, and a small but handsome porcelain clock.

He even had things for the family’s servant, the redoubtable Annag. For her there was a box of spices, a new apron and cap of fine linen, and a warm shawl of deep blue wool. Annag’s lined face turned pink as she accepted them; her stammering grew incomprehensible until he teased that if she didn’t like them, perhaps Bella might. Bella tossed a cushion at him,