A Scot to the Heart (Desperately Seeking Duke #2) - Caroline Linden Page 0,25
girls might make good marriages.”
He said nothing. According to Edwards, the Duke of Carlyle had an income in excess of fifty thousand pounds per annum, and that with some effort and modernization it could reach seventy. Carlyle’s expenses were considerable as well, but Drew would wager the duchess spent a thousand pounds on her wardrobe alone every year.
“I did not expect this,” went on his mother in growing distress. “This—this upheaval! I never imagined it would overturn everything in our lives, pull us out of Scotland, make us English.”
English was the worst part of the inheritance, Drew knew. One of Louisa’s cousins had died at Culloden, and in the bloody aftermath her father had been imprisoned and barely survived. George, Drew’s father, had used to say that it was a miracle she had married a man with a single drop of English blood.
“Mother, you won’t become English,” he tried to say, but she gave him such a look, he stopped.
“You will.” She laid her hand on his cheek. “You cannot become an English duke and not change.”
“Do you want me to refuse it?” Not that he could, if it were granted to him. Edwards had been very clear on that point.
She sighed. “No. I know you cannot. And in truth, I suspect we will all come to like it far more than we think now. ’Tis just so sudden.” She looked at him questioningly. “But I’ve not asked what you think of it.”
He stirred uncomfortably. “Never mind that . . .”
“Are you pleased, then?”
He set his jaw. “Thanks to Carlyle, I can take care of you and the girls as you deserve. And I’m not sorry at all to resign my commission in the miserable army. So yes, I would say I am more pleased than not.”
Instantly she clasped his hand in hers. “Of course. We’ve not forgotten how you sacrificed for us all these years. And I am happy for you, truly I am . . .” She smiled, more determined than joyful. “Give me a few days to acclimate my mind to it and I will begin to see the advantages, as well.”
“The duchess hoped you might.”
“Did she?” Some of his mother’s pride returned. “What did she think of you, as the heir?”
He made a face. “Not much at all. She bestowed an income on me with a stern admonition to make myself worthy.”
Louisa frowned. “My son, not worthy! Of course you are. And a fair sight more capable than she had any right to expect, given their coldness to your father and grandfather.”
He laughed. “That’s it—amuse yourself thinking of a sober, parsimonious Scot inheriting the magnificence of Carlyle Castle.”
At that his mother laughed. “You, sober and parsimonious! You’ve not been away that long, laddie. I know you better than that.”
Still grinning, he squeezed her hand. “And that’s why you shouldn’t worry, Mother. You know me.”
Ilsa was joined by all three St. James girls on her morning ramble.
Bella and Winnie rushed to Robert with cries of delight, and he shamelessly wallowed in their fawning attention. Ilsa rolled her eyes at Agnes, who laughed.
“Has something befallen the shop?”
“Mama wanted to speak to Drew,” said Agnes. “Alone.”
“Rip into him, you mean,” called Bella, still stroking Robert’s neck.
Ilsa raised her brows in question, and Agnes grinned. “She’ll be giving him what-for about that house in England.”
“And then?” Ilsa knew enough nobility to know that a title—any title, but particularly a dukedom—had a mighty pull. She would wager it took Mrs. St. James no more than a few weeks to warm to the idea.
“And then we’ll go live in it,” exclaimed Winnie. “Drew said he would take us to London for a Season—can you imagine, Ilsa?”
“I cannot,” she said, smiling even as her heart suffered a pang.
“Winnie just fancies a new wardrobe.”
Winnie made a face at her older sister. “Aye, and the entertainments in London, and the society, and most of all a chance to meet people I’ve not known all my life!”
Ilsa laughed. “You’re braver than I, my dear. I would fear making a terrible fool of myself there.”
“You’re not a fool, Ilsa,” declared Winnie. “Never!”
“I have my moments,” she murmured.
“You know a Season would require a proper chaperone and sponsor,” Agnes told her sister. “And you think Mama scolds you for being too boisterous. Imagine a proper lady in charge of you!”
Bella looked up. “Aye, we would need a sponsor, but Winnie and I have a plan for that.” She left Robert’s side and hurried over, drawing a slim book