Page 89 of Sinful Scottish Laird
She wondered if there was some way she could get word to Cailean about his threats. She wanted desperately to speak to Uncle Alfonso, but he’d gone to Chatwick Hall to attend to some matters there.
As she tried to think of what to do, the door opened and Ellis’s head appeared, peeking around it. Daisy managed a smile. “Come here, darling.”
Ellis ran to her, throwing his arms around her to hug her. He was wearing a cloak, and Belinda walked in behind him, dressed to go out, as well.
“Where are you going?” Daisy asked as she nuzzled her son’s neck.
“For a walk,” he said.
“He needs to use his legs after spending such a very long time in a coach and on that wretched boat,” Belinda added. “Mrs. Cooper’s son lay in a bed for a full year with a fever and never was able to walk properly again after a long voyage.”
Daisy smiled wearily. “Then by all means, you must walk,” she said and straightened Ellis’s neckcloth. She winked at her son. “I hereby command you to have your walk with Cousin Belinda every day.”
“Aye, Mamma.”
Oh, how that expression made her ache for Ellis, too—Scotland had not yet left him, either.
“Unless, of course, you’d prefer I stay and receive the bishop with you?” Belinda asked.
“No, thank you,” Daisy said. “It is best I hear his news alone. I’ll need time to swallow it whole before supper, won’t I?” She sighed and hugged Ellis to her, looking at Belinda over the top of his head. “I refused Captain Spivey’s offer of marriage.”
Belinda was stunned, her eyes widening. Even Ellis looked up at Daisy with an expression of astonishment. Daisy smiled and tucked a bit of his hair away from his face. “You do recall that I explained to you that I must remarry, don’t you? It’s what your father wanted for you.”
Ellis nodded.
“Captain Spivey wanted to marry me and take care of you,” she said, lying about the true nature of his intentions. “But I don’t love him and I don’t want to marry him.”
“Then I want you to marry Cailean,” Ellis said earnestly.
Her heart clutched, and tears sprang to Daisy’s eyes so immediately that it shocked her. Her heartbreak was so deep that she felt it would burst out of her and flood the room with her tears. She hugged Ellis tightly to her. “Me, too,” she said. “But it’s impossible, pet.”
“But why?” Ellis insisted. “I like Scotland!”
“Because you are an English viscount. You must be properly educated and introduced into the world you will someday oversee. You can’t do that from Scotland. Auchenard is for hunting—not for living.”
Ellis was crestfallen. He bowed his head and studied the carpet. “I am glad you won’t marry the captain,” he muttered.
Daisy kissed the top of his head. “Not if he were the last man on earth, darling. Go now—have your walk with Belinda. I have yet to speak to Bishop Craig. I’ll see you before supper.”
Ellis nodded and walked to the door, the skip in his step gone. Belinda held the door open for him and glanced back at Daisy. She smiled uncertainly and said, “I’m glad you refused him, too,” then slipped out, as if she feared Daisy would admonish her for it.
When they had gone, Daisy stood up, dragged herself over to the sideboard and uncharacteristically poured herself a bit of whisky. She’d grown to like it. She winced at the taste—it was inferior to what she’d had at Balhaire—but she welcomed the warm slide down her gullet and the way the warmth spread through her limbs.
She put the dram aside and moved to the window. The day was quite gray, and clouds were heavy overhead, blanketing London. Just as they blanketed her.
Down below, she saw Belinda and Ellis walking in the direction of Hyde Park. She saw them pass Bishop Craig and his entourage of two. Seeing him made her feel ill, and she went back to the sideboard for another bit of whisky before she had to receive him.
Several minutes later, Rowley showed the bishop into the salon. He wore a black coat and starched collar, a black waistcoat and breeches and hosiery. It was as if the Grim Reaper had come calling. His two companions were also clad in religious clothing.
Daisy didn’t know who they were, and she didn’t care. She rose gracefully from her seat and curtsied to the bishop. “My lord.”
He strode forward to greet her. He took her hand and then surprised Daisy by leaning in to kiss her cheek. He instantly swayed back, his eyes narrowing as he stared down at her over his hook nose. “Madam, I would welcome you home after your foolish flight to Scotland, but I detect the smell of spirits on your breath.”
Daisy put her hand to her mouth. “Medicinal,” she muttered.
The bishop frowned. “Medicinal, indeed. I don’t know what to make of you. You have risked the life of the Viscount Chatwick with all your darting about in search of fancy.”
Daisy bristled. She would never risk her son’s life, and she resented him greatly for thinking so, for thinking that she was frivolous, when all she had ever done was care for her husband.
