Page 56 of The MacGregor's Lady
“One can quiz me. Asher went back to Canada to keep an eye on Mary Fran’s English husband, or so we were told. I suspect he went to ensure his maternal antecedents were faring adequately, given that most of them were incapable of writing, and word of his relations was scarce indeed. Then too, he was a physician, and perhaps wanted to hone his practice in foreign climes.”
Hannah was going to pry. She was going to ring a peal over Malcolm’s head if he so much as intimated Asher’s mother was deserving of anything less than complete respect, but first she was going to pry. “His maternal relations?”
“His mother was of native extraction.” The words were offered with studied neutrality, which was fortunate for Malcolm. “I gather you didn’t know, though it’s not exactly a secret. Asher’s father was off seeking his fortune in trade as a younger son will do, and took a wife in the wilderness, which I understand was not unusual for the times.”
Hannah knew enough of the trapping culture herself to understand that many of the men deriving their livelihoods from such trade hadtwofamilies—one in the interior, and one at the trading post, with the twain never intended or likely to meet.
In the New World, Asher’s father had had one family, and only one.
“And then he became heir to the earldom?”
Malcolm sat forward, his evening coat pulling across shoulders that sported a complement of muscle. He was an attractive, fit man, and why he wasn’t twirling some other lady down the room at that moment was a small puzzle.
“Asher’s father married his native wife, and was careful to do so in a manner that would leave no doubt about the legitimacy of their progeny.”
Puzzle pieces started to line up, to form edges to Hannah’s image of the present earl. “The marriage took place before Asher’s father was in line for the title, and then an older sibling or uncle or cousin died, and the union took on a different and far less convenient significance.”
“We can’t know that. He returned to Scotland, and she did not. He observed every formality in solemnizing their vows. That is what we know. Lady Mary Fran’s first husband parted from her because his regiment posted to Canada, and yet nobody accuses him of deserting his wife.”
Malcolm’s words defended Asher’s father, and yet his tone cast doubt on the man’s intentions. But then, in this society thirty years ago, what would have been the requirement of honor for a man in line for an earldom and married to a woman whom most would regard as a savage?
If he cared for the woman, would he have tried to make her over into a countess?
If she cared for him, would she have tried to deny him his earldom? Despite Malcolm’s invitation to answer Hannah’s questions, she posed the next query reluctantly. “How did it come about that Asher was declared dead?”
Malcolm sat back, as if getting comfortable because this question had been anticipated. “Simply the passage of time, I suppose. I’m told entire settlements disappear on the frontier routinely, and the North American wilderness makes the New Forest look like Green Park.”
A tame analogy, at best. “Why are you telling me this, Malcolm? Many would say this history does not flatter the MacGregor family.”
Most would. Not Hannah.
“I want you to hear the truth, Hannah Cooper. The fair maids of London Society have no interest in seeing an attachment form between you and the present earl. Their version of the story will flatter no one and nothing, except their own chances to marry Asher MacGregor. I hope this is not news to you.”
“It is not, not entirely.”
“You can see how, presented in the wrong light, doubt might be cast on Asher’s claim to the title, on the family’s fitness to belong among the peerage. If there’s one thing lower than a dirty Scot, it’s a dirty mongrel Scot.”
Or a dirty Irishman, or a dirty Chinaman, or a dirty Red Indian… Here at the throbbing epicenter of civilization, the list of humans populating the bottom of Polite Society’s scale of worthiness was long, diverse, and included members of Hannah’s own antecedents, if not Hannah herself.
“You assured me Asher is legitimate.”
Hannah realized she’d used the earl’s given name only when Malcolm’s gaze narrowed. His scrutiny was fleeting, but hinted for the first time that he, too, could be formidable when crossed.
“The documents were examined by the College of Arms, Miss Cooper. There is no higher authority excepting Almighty God. Victoria herself has taken a hand in the matter. Your host is legitimate and legitimately an earl.”
An earl who felt it necessary to attend church each Sunday, when his titled neighbors all over Mayfair couldn’t be troubled to stir from their beds. An earl who had called upon each and every duke and marquess to be found within two weeks of returning to London. An earl who… had offered to marry a tarnished American heiress, when he clearly had alternatives better situated to improving his address.
Hannah pushed that realization aside and rose, the twinge in her hip negligible compared to what she might have expected even weeks ago. “I appreciate the family background, Mr. Macallan, but this is a social occasion, and we’ve had our breath of air.”
He was on his feet in an instant, his understanding smile in place, his arm winged at her with friendly courtesy. “I want you to like my cousins as much as I do. I also want you to like me—I hope I haven’t offended?”
“Not in the least. Family stories are always fascinating, often more interesting than novels. I do like your cousins.”
“And the earl?”
Behind his approachability and good manners, Malcolm Macallan was watching her closely. Her answer mattered to him, and for that, Hannah liked him a little more.
“I respect him,andI like him.”
