Page 4 of Waiting for a Scot Like You
The past months had seen him rigorously adhering to schedules. Up at six every morning for a solid two hours taking exercise, then a bath and a light breakfast, followed by work wherein he supplemented his income by reviewing friends’ and acquaintances’ accounting ledgers. At precisely four o’clock, he rode to Hampstead Heath and back—the crowds at Rotten Row were too thick to permit getting a decent gallop—and a subsequent quick wash before heading out for the evening’s revels with his friends. Regardless of what time he went to sleep, he always rose at the appointed hour of six.
Day after day after day.
He’d followed the correct path of a gentleman in peacetime—and should have been satisfied.
Instead, he felt his temper always on the verge of fraying, and when he laughed with his friends, the sound was forced out of him as if he hadn’t the necessary chemicals to create the alchemy of laughter.
Perhaps the work as Rotherby’s estate manager would be the answer. It had to be.
His friend looked like he wanted to argue against a six-month review, but he must have known the futility of arguing with a Scot, because he eventually threw up his hands. “As you wish, you donkey.”
Sticking out his hand, Duncan said, “Shake on it.”
“Fine, fine,” Rotherby muttered, shaking his hand. “A gentleman’s agreement.”
“Except before your marriage,” Duncan said with a smirk, “you were a duke but no gentleman.”
“Jess would be highly displeased if I suddenly developed fussy manners. Although, if she was displeased with me, that might require punishment...” Rotherby’s eyes glazed as he drifted off to somewhere highly enjoyable.
“God! Don’t talk to me of that business!” Duncan grimaced. “We’re approaching harvest time, so I’ll need a full listing of tenant farmers and their projected crop yields.”
Rotherby smoothed a hand down his perfect lapel. “I didn’t ask you over here today to discuss the position.”
Duncan lifted a brow. “Then, what? Plans for a night out?”
Despite his dissatisfaction, the prospect was a pleasant one. On the nights when his friends were unavailable, he would play billiards at Brooks’s, which was only mildly diverting. He couldn’t be too surly about the fact that his friends assembled less frequently, not when Rotherby and Holloway seemed happier now than they’d ever been.
“More like a week out.” Rotherby lifted his chin. “I need a favor from you.”
“Of course,” Duncan said without hesitation. Even if he didn’t feel indebted to Rotherby, twenty years of friendship meant that the five boys from that day in the Eton library would do anything for the others. The rule was so obvious, no one ever mentioned it. As an afterthought, he asked, “What is it?”
Rotherby walked over to a side table, where he poured two glasses of spirits. That should have been an indication that strange things were afoot in Mayfair. Before his marriage, Rotherby indulged in alcohol at nearly any hour of the day. However, Duncan had noticed that since his wedding, his friend only partook once the sun had set.
He brought the glasses over to Duncan, and they both sipped at their drinks. Regardless of the reason Rotherby had decided to break his embargo on strong drink during the day, Duncan could appreciate the excellent whisky that had certainly come from Scotland.
Every good Highlander knew if it wasn’t Scottish whisky, it was merely amber-colored swill.
“A minor thing, in truth,” Rotherby said after a moment, his words smooth and easy. “More of a holiday than anything. I’ve a female friend who’s journeying to a house party in Nottinghamshire. She’ll have her paid companion with her, but as she’s very close with Jess, my friend’s safety is extremely important to me.”
“And I’m to accompany her on this journey to Nottinghamshire,” Duncan said.
“I’ll feel more comfortable knowing she has you—a decorated soldier—escorting her. Keeping an eye out for unsavory characters. She’s a widow and knows the world, but you never know who’s out on the road, eager to take advantage of a woman on her own.”
“Reasonable.” Duncan took a drink, turning the proposition over in his mind. It did sound quite simple, and with London hot and empty in the late summer, it might be agreeable to take to the countryside. Long hours in a carriage weren’t ideal—he’d prefer to ride—but if the company was pleasant, he’d do his best to be a decent traveling companion.
“So, you’ll do it?” Rotherby sounded almost indifferent.
“As you said, a week in the country is a holiday. When I return, I’ll finalize my plans to move to Carriford.” After finishing his drink, Duncan set the glass on the mantel. “Tell me about the lady I’m escorting to Nottinghamshire. In my limited experience, widowsmake for entertaining company. For some strange reason, dowagers and elderly ladies find me delightful and flirt outrageously. I’m always happy to play the gallant with them. They say it makes them feel young again.”
“This widow isn’t precisely superannuated.” Rotherby strolled to the bellpull. “She’s actually here right now, taking tea with Jess in her parlor.” When a footman appeared, Rotherby said to the servant, “Have Her Grace’s guest brought to my study.”
The footman bowed and disappeared to carry out his master’s wishes.
“How fares McGale & McGale soap?” Duncan asked as they waited.
Rotherby beamed with pride. “Jess is a wonder. Orders have tripled within the span of a month. At this rate of expansion, we’ll be employing all of Honiton and half the neighboring villages.”
Duncan nodded in appreciation, though a jab of envy skewered him. He was glad to see his friend so smitten with his duchess, but it also highlighted how empty his own life was, and had been, for far longer than he’d like to consider.
