Page 10 of A Rogue in Firelight
“Absolutely not. I’d prefer none of you saw them, but it seems I am too late.” He peeked past the page. “Juliet, you have music lessons today. I pay dearly for your tutors. Go practice.”
“Yes, Papa.” She rose and left the room. Ellison wished she could leave too.
“Hector, please do not be cross with us,” Lady Strathniven said.
“My dear Marjorie, a widow of your standing may do as she pleases.”
“Your daughter, as a widow, has that right too.”
“I am sorry, Papa,” Ellison blurted. “We did not want to trouble you.”
He lowered the paper. “Mr. Corbie could have troubled me with this. I thought the permission I signed was for you, sir. Harangued, were you?”
“In a word,” Corbie said.
“My fault, Hector. I asked Ellison to come with me. Adam obliged as our escort.”
“So you could indulge in a common spectacle.” He lowered bushy eyebrows over gray eyes. “Ellison, I hope it was an unpleasant lesson in the consequences of poor decisions.”
“The girl is hardly planning a life of crime,” Lady Strathniven said.
“I have a bigger problem regarding these whisky runners. Mr. Corbie, I will need you to compose a reply to the royal secretary. A letter was delivered to me last night.”
“Yes, sir.”
“And Ellison, I will see you in half an hour in my study.”
She gulped. “Yes, sir. But Papa—what if those men are wrongly accused? Everyone assumes their guilt.”
“Leave that to the Court of Justiciary, Miss Ellison,” Corbie said.
“True, men are sometimes unfairly accused,” her father replied. “But our legal system usually discovers such things. Highlanders have some hardships, but we must pursue and punish those who break our laws, whether the writ is Scots or English. The government is not so mean an institution as you may think, Ellison.”
“These Whisky Rogues have captured your daughter’s fancy, sir,” Corbie said.
“Our Ellison is not easily dissuaded of dreams and ideals,” Sir Hector agreed.
Not eager to hear a fresh analysis of her faults, Ellison set down her napkin and stood. “I must go. I have correspondence to finish.”
She went to the door, Balor trotting along behind her. Stepping out of the room, she sighed. Somehow she always managed to displease her father. Deirdre lived an idyllic life with her handsome earl now, after a harrowing year; Juliet was outspoken but charming. And Ellison had made an impulsive, romantic mistake that her father would neither forget nor forgive.
As she walked away, she heard Lady Strathniven.
“Hector, leave her be. She has been through enough at twenty-six. Her dreams have given her a fine talent for writing, to her credit.”
“Her poetry is good. But her dreamy nature will be her undoing. I had hoped she’d marry again, but I fear her impulsive character counts against her.”
“Sir, and my lady aunt—if I may speak,” Corbie said. “You may have guessed already how fond I am of Miss Ellison. I would like your approval to court her with an intent to marry. I am aware of her—foibles.”
“Oh,” said Lady Strathniven. “I wonder if she—”
“We can discuss it later, Adam. I must go back to my office.”
Ellison hurried to her room, fighting tears. If Papa wanted her to marry stiff-necked Adam Corbie, a man with no imagination and a lofty opinion of himself, her refusal might cause strife. Corbie was sole heir to the wealthy Strathniven estate, which would be enough to decide the matter for everyone but her.
As a widow, she had earned the right to make her own decisions. But her father consistently dismissed that.
This summer, she decided, she would make sure to enjoy her independence somehow. She would ask Lady Strathniven if she could go to the Highlands with her. There, she had the freedom to write, and recover from lingering heartbreak—and perhaps she could restore her fading spirit before it was too late.
