Page 54 of Miss Delightful
“Respect, admiration, and perhaps a smidgeon of pity. Melanie was abandoned by the man she eloped with, cut off by her family, and she hadn’t an aptitude for either venery or industry, but she tried her heart out for that boy.”
“And then committed the sin of ultimate selfishness by taking her own life. I pray for her soul nightly, Mr. MacKay, and I pray for the boy as well. Nonetheless, as the twig is bent, so grows the tree, and that baby is the fruit of a pair of very… Suffice it to say, he will struggle mightily against his parents’ legacy.”
“He’ll struggle, particularly if you treat him as if he’s some sort of blight on what appears to be a fairly humble escutcheon. Fortunately, Miss Delancey’s charitable inclinations are genuine, and it’s about her I’ve come to speak with you.”
“About Dorcas? She is honestly not at home, Mr. MacKay. A parishioner was brought to childbed yesterday afternoon, and I have not seen my daughter since then. Her life is one of irreproachable good works, as her willingness to monitor John’s progress doubtless proves.”
Alasdhair was about to deliver a tongue-lashing worthy of his Campbell granny—of courseDorcas was beyond reproach—but Delancey had steepled his fingers and was tapping his two index fingertips together.
Thomas Delancey was nervous, more likely worried, perhaps even terrified. Alasdhair had come to announce a plan to take Dorcas away from the vicarage permanently. Delancey apparently sensed that his little castle of rectitude was imperiled.
And the vicar was right to be scared, because once Dorcas won free of this prison, she’d not come back to it.
“Dorcas doesn’t permit herself to hold the boy,” Alasdhair said. “She has to be that careful with her heart. If she holds him, she might not be able to let him go, because he is so trusting and so vulnerable. She cannot refuse aid to the vulnerable. I love that about her—love her soft heart and her ferocious convictions.”
“You presume to call her Dorcas?” A note of bewilderment had slipped past Delancey’s bluster.
“I hope one day soon to call her Mrs. MacKay.”
Delancey’s mouth worked, his brows twitched. The tapping of his fingertips picked up speed. “You seek to courtmy Dorcas?”
“She’s not your Dorcas.” Alasdhair spoke gently, for he’d no wish to antagonize his future father-in-law. “She’s not my Dorcas either. She belongs to herself, and though I would much prefer to have your blessing, the lady has indicated that my addresses would be welcome. Her favor is what concerns me most.”
“Then you misunderstood her.” Delancey rose and paced to the window, hands behind his back. “As you say, Dorcas is very considerate of others’ pride. She clearly has no notion how you have interpreted her loyalty to a deceased cousin’s offspring. Such devotion is commendable, but look at the confusion her behavior has wrought. I am very sorry that you have misconstrued the situation, Mr. MacKay, but you’ll not turn Dorcas into John’s unpaid nanny and governess by virtue of taking her to wife.”
Oh, the irony. Dorcas was theunpaidpastor of the congregation, while Delancey donned the church finery and delivered a weekly homily.
Alasdhair remained in the creaky little chair. “Allow me to disabuseyouof some confusion, Mr. Delancey. My family traces its heritage back to the Bruce. We have three castles, counting only the ones commodiously appointed, and town houses in Glasgow and Edinburgh. Walter Scott is among my father’s boon companions, and I have been presented at court. I am an Honorable, not that I bother with such nonsense. Married to me, Dorcas’s children will also someday claim that courtesy, while she will be addressed as lady. I am happy to schedule an appointment for you with the family solicitors should you need the details of my situation.”
Delancey had turned to face Alasdhair somewhere in the midst of this recitation. “You’re Church of Scotland?” he asked, his earlier ire fading into chilly reserve.
“My father is Church of Scotland, but like many a Scottish family, we have Dissenters among our ranks and even Catholics not too many generations back.”
“But you are Church of Scotland now.”
“My immediate family is. My own loyalty is to the Church of Basic Decency. Shall I have my solicitors prepare you a report?”
Some shift in perspective had come over Delancey as a result of learning that Alasdhair was no penniless former soldier.
Delancey considered him for what was doubtless meant to be an uncomfortable, silent moment. “Do that, MacKay,” he said, “though in all candor, I must tell you that your prospects with Dorcas are slim. She has caught the eye of a colleague of mine, a churchman from a good family—goodEnglishfamily. He has known Dorcas much longer than you have. He grasps the nuances of her situation as you cannot. Dorcas might well like you and esteem you for taking in Melanie’s by-blow, but she would never marry a man who’d drag her off to Scotland.”
Alasdhair was tempted to inform Delancey that Dorcas despised Isaiah Mornebeth. That disclosure would shatter at least one wing of the castle of self-serving fancies in which Delancey dwelled, and Dorcas would feel bound by loyalty to sweep up the mess.
“We can agree that Dorcas is an eminently lovely young lady,” Alasdhair said, “and that she should have her pick of marital options. If I win her hand, I hope our union will have your blessing.”
To his credit, Delancey nodded. “My daughter’s happiness matters to me, and she is nothing if not sensible. I will abide by her wishes in this matter, though I cannot admonish you strongly enough to anticipate disappointment, Mr. MacKay.”
“I appreciate the warning, and I can see myself out.” Alasdhair rose, glad to be quit of the lumpy chair, and made for the door.
“MacKay?”
“Sir?”
“You’ll send the boy to Scotland to be raised?”
Out of sight, out of the eye of the gossips? “Is that a condition of your blessing upon the nuptials?”
“I doubt you have nuptials to look forward to, but no, that is not a condition. I am merely curious and concerned for the boy.”
