Page 9 of A Rogue in Firelight
“Read!” Juliet urged.
“‘Visiting the dungeon to see the prisoners is a popular outing this summer. Even notable citizens appear. Recently seen were—’” Ellison stopped.
“Who?” Juliet asked.
Corbie plucked the page away from Ellison. “Ah! ‘Lady Strathniven and Miss Graham in the company of a gentleman were admitted privately—’”
Juliet squealed, leaning forward in a flurry of white muslin and red-gold curls, but missed grabbing the newspaper. “You all went there? Does Papa know?”
“In my defense, Miss Juliet, the ladies hounded me like harridans.”
“Mr. Corbie! We asked nicely, and you agreed,” Ellison said. Surely her father had seen the newspaper by now, she thought. “But how didThe Observerknow?”
“Journalists are busy, curious, and always interested in our sort,” Corbie said.
“Our sort? Papa is of interest due to his position, but we are not.”
“Papa must let me see the Highlanders too,” Juliet said.
“You are too young,” said Lady Strathniven. “Married ladies, especially widowed ladies, may do as they please. Your sister Deirdre is married and might have gone too if she had not chosen isolation in the north.”
“The Isles are cooler in summer, and Deirdre and her husband have a beautiful estate there,” Ellison said. “Besides, she is expecting a blessed arrival and should not travel. She must be disappointed to miss the royal visit.”
“Deirdre invited me this summer, and asked Cousin Lucie to bring me with her this very week,” Juliet said. “So I suppose I will miss seeing the famous prisoners and the king’s visit too. Deirdre and Lucie will not treat me like a wee girl.”
“One day you will have more privilege, my dear. You and your sisters have all grown up too quickly, I vow,” Lady Strathniven said.
“My lady, Mother would have been so grateful to you for all you have done for us these years,” Ellison said gently.
“Thank you, dear. I have tried to do my best. Shall we hear the rest of the article?”
“Let me read it!” Juliet reached for the paper. “‘The Highland criminals may display a noble spirit, but poor actions invite poor circumstances.’”
“Indeed, they would look as noble as clan chiefs, given proper Highland dress,” Lady Strathniven said dreamily.
“I hope this entire debacle ends soon,” said a deep voice from the doorway.
Ellison looked up as her father entered the dining room. Tall and imposing with iron-gray hair, his broad torso encased in black with a brown damask waistcoat, Sir Hector Graham was a fine-looking man even in his late sixties. But deep lines framing his mouth had replaced the smiles Ellison remembered.
As he entered, a little dog trotted in on his heels. Sir Hector narrowly avoided stepping on the long-haired terrier that sat to look up at him.
“Ellison, your pup is always underfoot,” Sir Hector muttered.
“Here, Balor!” When the dog came to her, she broke off a bit of bacon for him.
Sir Hector went to the sideboard and peered at the silver samovar as if it might magically produce coffee. Ellison rose and filled a cup, adding cream for him.
“Good morning, my lady,” he told Lady Strathniven as he took a chair. “How goes the work at your house?”
“Endless, Hector,” Lady Strathniven said; they had known each other since childhood. “I am heading to the Highlands for the summer and will leave them to it. Will you come up to visit as usual?”
“This summer will be too busy. We will miss seeing you, of course.” He took up a newspaper from the stack and snapped its pages open.
Ellison felt her stomach drop. “Would you like sausages and eggs, Papa?”
“I had breakfast earlier. Coffee will fortify me until luncheon. Ah, theObserverhas another piece about the Highlanders,” he said, turning a page. “TheCouranttoo.”
“Papa, may I see them before I leave for the summer?” Juliet asked.
