Page 103 of Too Scot to Handle
“If the money is missing, Anwen, then the authorities must be notified.”
“Montague will have Colin arrested tomorrow morning, Uncle. I can’t allow that. I’ll elope first, and nothing you, Her Grace, or my dear cousins can do will stop me.”
He hadn’t seen that salvo sailing toward his quarterdeck, but he should have.
“My dear, if Lord Colin hares off, he’s all but incriminating himself, and the scandal will be all over Town before you can pack your trunks for Scotland. I don’t suppose you know his lordship’s present whereabouts?”
When had little Anwen grown so pretty—and so fierce?
“If I did know, I’m not sure I’d tell you, Uncle, but I don’t know. I begged his lordship to make a strategic retreat, but he wouldn’t listen. He’s convinced Montague took the funds, and so am I.”
Percival was willing to consider that possibility, and yet, Montague had made a convincing case against not only Lord Colin, but also the old headmaster, the groundskeeper, and even the children.
“Anwen, to some extent, it doesn’t matter who took the money. Our friends and acquaintances opened their purses and their hearts on behalf of this orphanage, and their trust has been betrayed. The institution will soon flounder, and I will never hear the end of this from your parents.”
Esther would serenely soldier on, despite the discredit to her card party, and Percival would hurt for her on a level he shuddered to contemplate.
“Uncle, I love you and respect you,” Anwen said, very calmly, “but I don’t care one hearty goddamn for the friends and acquaintances who gave up their eleventh cravat pin or eighth pair of pearl earrings in a public display of generosity.
“I care about the children,” she went on, “and so does Lord Colin. If the only result of this thievery were a slight to his honor, he’d have taken me north last night. He’s standing against this slander because he gave the children his word they’d be kept safe. Hang the scandal. Let the tabbies and dandies gossip all they please while they squander fortunes on outlandish wagers and new bonnets. You are a duke. What about the children?”
The question rang with quiet dignity in the elegant comfort of the town coach.
The only other person who dared confront Percival like this was Esther. She’d been born a commoner, granddaughter to an earl, her family well off and respected, but she’d been beneath consideration when a ducal son had gone in search of a bride.
And yet, when Esther was sufficiently provoked, she’d ring a peal over her husband’s head that put the bells of St. Paul’s to shame. Truth, honor, integrity, generosity, compassion—she had expectations of her husband and children with regard to each virtue, and became indomitably steadfast in her views.
“The children will be cared for,” Percival said, feeling both proud of Anwen…and chastised. “I give you my word on that. I cannot speak as confidently on behalf of the Scotsman you claim has become their champion.”
* * *
Where was Colin?
Uncle Percy had asked the only question to which Anwen needed an answer. The money could hang, the scandal could hang with it, and Winthrop Montague…
He paced along at Anwen’s side as they made their way from the coach to the front door of the House of Urchins. Uncle Percy marched ahead, leading a charge into God knew what, while Montague’s hand rode at the small of Anwen’s back.
“You had best not have been telling tales out of school, madam,” he said, leaning close. “I purposely did not ask Moreland for permission to court you, because I do not trust you’ll honor your word to me. If you make so much as one more peep of protest before your uncle, I’ll rethink my resolve to see Lord Colin transported rather than hanged.”
Vile, foul, arrogant…Anwen gave up concocting a retort as Montague’s hand slipped lower. Because he crowded her so closely, nobody would see him taking liberties.
Nor would they see Anwen driving her elbow hard into his belly, or her heel coming down on the toes of his boots.
“I do beg your pardon,” she said, turning on him with mock solitude. “I can be so clumsy. Your Grace, let me take your arm, please.”
“Come along, you two,” Uncle Percival said, pausing at the front door. “Montague, now is not the time to dawdle about displaying your finery.”
“The chairman’s office is upstairs,” Anwen said. “Mr. Hitchings’s office is two doors down and across the corridor.”
Would Colin be in Hitchings’s office? And where were the boys?
If Colin had failed to find the money, the boys might well have already left the premises, despite all the promises made to them.
“Anwen,” the duke said quietly, “a bit of decorum, please.”
She slowed her pace, when she wanted to untangle herself from Uncle Percival and bellow at the top of her lungs.
Colin, where are you?
