A Scot to the Heart (Desperately Seeking Duke #2) - Caroline Linden Page 0,57
what Winnie yearned for: a stunning new wardrobe, a dazzling debut, the chance to dance and laugh and sparkle at any number of eligible gentlemen.
Well. She sighed, plucking the ribbon on her wrist. Hopefully the girls would believe it was an impulse, the momentary thrill of victory—and not tell their mother, who already regarded Ilsa with disapproval.
As they emerged from the maze and started toward the house, someone called her name. Ilsa turned to see Agnes hurrying after them, flushed and missing her hat.
“There she is,” cried Bella. “You came dead last, Agnes.”
Agnes waved one hand. “I expected nothing less, when Mr. Duncan drew my name.”
Everyone but Drew laughed. “Where is he?”
“I shoved him into the river for making us lose,” she retorted. “Bella, didn’t you promise us tea after the maze? I’m half-starved.”
“Yes!” Bella bounded away, calling out to her mother, who was helping Mrs. Watkins with a large tray on the terrace.
“Did you drown him?” Drew asked Agnes in a lower voice.
She sighed. “Of course not. He’s fine—sulking, most likely. I neither know nor care.” She saw the ribbon on Ilsa’s wrist. “Did you win, then? Despite Drew’s poor sense of direction? Let’s not be last to tea, men have fiendish appetites and won’t leave us a crumb.” And she pulled Ilsa toward the terrace, without a single glance backward for her partner.
Ilsa only wished she could be as resolute.
Chapter Thirteen
Drew had screwed his courage to the sticking point and was poring over the estate ledgers when his mother tapped at the library door.
“There you are, Andrew. May I come in?”
He looked up from a list of sheep shearing expenses. “Did you not want to go into Perth?”
After two days of rain, everyone else had been eager to get out of the house. They’d left for town some time ago—so that Ilsa could obtain her new bonnet as prize for winning the maze, Bella had declared. Drew suspected his sisters were also determined to come home with new bonnets of their own. He would have liked to go with them, but he could put off inspecting the ledgers no longer.
His mother smiled. “No. A bit of quiet is welcome. My ears are still ringing from yesterday.”
Drew laughed. Winnie had organized a scavenger hunt about the house, with much running and screams of laughter and slamming of doors.
“Do you mind if I take my tea in here? I’ve brought biscuits and sandwiches.”
“Of course I don’t mind,” he said with a wink, “since you brought a bribe.”
“Bringing food has never served me ill, with you or with your father.”
His mother settled herself in the chair by the window next to a tea tray carried in by Mrs. Watkins, and picked up her embroidery. The room was silent, save only the occasional clink of china.
Drew had never been especially fond of mathematics, and even less fond of bookkeeping. He made himself check the sums on a few pages, but everything looked in good order. Stormont Palace was as Mr. Edwards had hoped: a handsome property, well-kept and prosperous. If the duke wanted to sell it, he would have no trouble.
If it were still a ducal property when Drew inherited, on the other hand . . . It was becoming harder and harder not to plan as if it would be his. He’d grown attached to the place already.
When he finished with the ledger, he stretched his arms and rolled his head from side to side to ease the muscles in his back. He was not accustomed to sitting at a desk all day; that never happened in the army, where he was more likely to be sent out to repair roads or restore order to a restive village. At Carlyle Castle he’d been kept busy touring the estate, absorbing the duchess’s lectures on the dukedom, and learning the scope of the duke’s investments and obligations from Edwards. In Edinburgh, he’d been on holiday, with no ledgers in sight.
He would have to get used to more intellectual exercise. Edwards had hammered it into him that the dukedom was enormous, and even with estate agents and bailiffs and secretaries, the ultimate responsibility would fall on his shoulders. He remembered Ilsa’s words—good fortune that most men only dream of—and ruefully thought that most men wouldn’t dream of such fortune if they knew how much arithmetic was required.
“You look relieved,” said his mother in amusement.
Drew opened his eyes and grinned at her. “Aye. I outlasted the ledgers.”