Page 87 of The Trouble With Dukes
“If I see Murdoch climbing our garden walls again, I’ll turn you loose on him,” he said, kissing his wife’s crown. “I’m still considering your observation that I haven’t all the facts.”
“We’ll alert the children,” Esther replied, passing Percival a hair ribbon. Blue, her favorite shade because it was the same color as his eyes, she claimed. “If there’s more to the situation than we know, we’ll soon learn the whole of it. I must put this flower in water before we retire.”
“I’ll do it,” Percival said, taking the blossom from her grasp. “Matchmaking is tiring work, and we have three more nieces to go.”
Esther rose and put her arms around Percival. “But then, my love, we can look forward to starting on the grandchildren. Rose and Bronwyn will set Town on its collective ear, and Bridget is nothing short of beautiful. I can hardly wait.”
Percival could wait. Young people got into the silliest scrapes, and yet, something about Megan’s situation didn’t feel silly at all.
“Nothing,” Colin said. “Not a whisper, not a peep. Not a hint or a suspicion. I’m sorry, Hamish.”
Hamish tipped his hat to some countess or other—spending time in a few ballrooms had helped him sort the courtesans from the countesses—and paused on the steps of Lord Westhaven’s townhouse.
“You tried,” he said. “The men have tried, but I should have known a lot of former infantry wouldn’t hear much about where an earl’s son might lay low.”
That Hamish’s former subordinates would try, so long after mustering out, meant a lot.
“What are we doing here?” Colin asked, eyeing the potted heartsease adorning the steps.
“I sent a note to the Earl of Keswick asking for an hour of his time. He suggested we meet here.”
“You’ll ask a litter of titled Englishmen for help finding Puget?” Colin demanded, fists on hips.
Why were the MacHughs doomed to brawl in public? “I would beg Lucifer’s climbing boys for help if it would secure Megan’s peace of mind. Any day, Sir Fletcher will call on Moreland and ask for permission to court her. Any evening, Sir Fletcher might announce to all of Mayfair that he’s so hopelessly smitten he must go down on bended knee in the middle of some damned ballroom. I’m out of time, Colin.”
But Hamish could not stop hoping. He’d thought himself immune to hope, beyond its sticky clutches. A life of responsible contentment punctuated by only an occasional nightmare had been the sum of his aspirations.
Then he’d been gifted with Megan Windham’s trust, and his ambitions had multiplied like stars filling the night sky.
“So you’ll turn to the English officers who ridiculed you?” Colin pressed. “The very men who made sport of us both, spread talk, and mocked your bravery?”
“Colin, I can’t do this alone. We can’t do this alone. Puget is the son of an English lord, and so to English lords I will turn. You can leave me here, and I’ll understand.”
Hamish didn’t want Colin to go, though. In fact, if Hamish had been able to bring Eddie and Ronnie along, he would have.
Colin shoved Hamish hard enough to make him take a step back. “As if I’d leave my own brother to face this pack of jackals and no loyal henchman at his side.”
Hamish shoved him back, for form’s sake, and because embracing his little brother on the street would mortify Colin.
“I see we’re treating polite society to a fine display of Scottish manners.”
Hamish knew that voice, and yet, it wasn’t Moreland’s. The Moreland heir stood two yards away, turned out in finest morning attire, his walking stick in hand.
“Westhaven, good day. You know my brother Lord Colin MacHugh.”
Westhaven bowed. “We can stand here showing off our tailoring, or join my brothers before my entire store of marzipan is decimated.” He gestured toward the steps, and Hamish led the way into the townhouse.
The butler greeted his lordship with word that the gentlemen were in the library, and her ladyship had asked for trays to be sent along.
As if tea cakes and two sips of overly sugared gunpowder would solve the problems Hamish faced?
The gentlemen included Lords Keswick, Valentine, and Rosecroft.
“Look who I found on my front steps,” Westhaven said. “Two titled, wealthy bachelors without the sense to take a sister or two along for safety.”
“You’re daft,” Hamish said. “My sisters have acquired battalions of friends, all of whom are eager to marry. The debutantes lurk in doorways, and pop out of sweet shops if my sisters are along. If it’s only Colin and myself, we’re left in relative peace.”
“He contradicted Westhaven,” Lord Valentine said. “Her Grace would approve.”
