A Scot to the Heart (Desperately Seeking Duke #2) - Caroline Linden Page 0,93

You know he would, Agnes. Now that everyone knows he’s to be a duke, they all listen to what he says. He could shield Ilsa from this evil gossip. How rude of him not to be home already!”

Ilsa flinched as if a blow had landed against her heart. She wished Drew were here, too, even as she shuddered at what he might think. Drew’s own family had been robbed, and he had gone to great lengths to get the pardon offered, driving the authorities to finally make a bold move to catch the thieves. No matter what she believed, Papa’s disappearance made him look very guilty. Would Drew believe in him if all the authorities in Edinburgh didn’t?

“Drew will be back soon,” Agnes was saying, “and this will all be sorted. Any man would defend himself, and Mr. Fletcher will want to clear his name. Winnie is right.”

Her sister beamed. “Of course I am! You mustn’t worry, Ilsa.”

Their support buoyed her, but when they left the walls seemed to close in. She yearned for a walk, but people would stare at her, even more than they had for her companion pony.

The next days were worse. The sheriff’s officers came again, armed with orders to search her house. Jean took to her bed and Ilsa huddled with Robert in his room, pressing her face into his neck to muffle the sounds of officers tramping through her home, prying into her life and belongings, looking under the beds and in the wardrobes, rifling her neat little library and writing desk for any betraying evidence against Papa—or her.

They suspected her of warning Papa. Mrs. Arbuthnot, no doubt, had told her brother-in-law of her visit, and Papa’s servants remembered her coming to see him. Ilsa told them she knew nothing to warn her father of, but she feared they didn’t believe her.

Agnes brought Mr. Duncan to offer his assistance. “Out of my own concern for your safety as well as in St. James’s stead,” he said.

“Felix is a solicitor,” Agnes put in. She knew Ilsa had sacked Mr. MacGill. “If you need any advice.”

Ilsa managed a smile. “I do recall. And I thank you, sir, but I don’t know what there is to be done.”

Jean’s friends deserted her. Where once someone had called almost every day, now no one came. Jean’s defiant confidence had gone silent; she sat in the empty drawing room and stared at nothing, the very proper drapes closed protectively. When Ilsa ventured in one day, her aunt asked in a low voice, “What will become of us, without William?”

“He’ll be back,” she said firmly. “I know he will.”

“Back?” Jean reared up in sudden wrath. “How can he come back, Ilsa? He is ruined!”

“He’ll come back to clear his name.”

Her aunt stared at her before subsiding onto the sofa. “No, child. I’ve tried and tried to tell you, and now you see the brutal truth of it. A good name once ruined is lost forever.”

Ilsa’s temper sprang up as quickly as her aunt’s. “How dare you say that! Papa is innocent.”

Jean slashed one hand. “He will forever be doubted! Lavinia Crawley always says—”

“A pox on Mrs. Crawley,” said Ilsa loudly. “And Mrs. Arbuthnot, too, if they have turned you against your own brother.”

Her aunt’s face turned red. “Yes, you will always blame me when I have done nothing but try to keep you and your father on an honest, respectable path. And now William has ruined himself beyond all hope—and the gossip will ruin us, too—” She stopped, covering her face with both hands.

Ilsa bit back a dozen replies—that Jean had delighted in salacious gossip about others, that Papa was innocent, and what good was a sterling reputation if it couldn’t withstand mere rumors?

She had to get out; she was going mad without exercise and fresh air. She put on a drab brown cloak, pulled up the hood, and slipped out, leaving Robert behind—Mr. MacLeod had to take him out for his wandering now, to her bitter regret.

She made it a few streets, clutching the cloak at her throat, before a man fell in step beside her.

“Running off to retrieve the stolen goods?” he asked in a booming voice. “Where did your dearest papa hide the bounty from the goldsmith’s? Or the bolts of silk? I wonder, did he steal those for you?”

With a start Ilsa recognized Liam Hewitt, her father’s head wright. “Leave me alone,” she bit out.

He smirked. “’Tis a public street, and we happen to be going the