Page 57 of Lyon of Scotland
“Sorry.” He suddenly remembered his promise to stop at a certain milliner’s shop in London to pick up a bonnet. “I forgot. Can they send it?” He grinned, unable to help himself.
“Of course. What is it? Why are you smiling so?” She shook his arm.
“Have you made tea?”
“Tea and porridge. Do not change the subject!”
“Prepare tea for three, would you? We have a guest. Well, not quite a guest.”
“Alasdair Iain Drummond,amadan amaideach, tell me! Who is your guest?”
He had not heard all his names in years, including the nickname their childhood nurse had sometimes called him. He smiled wider.Amadan amaideach—silly fool—always made him chuckle.
“In your condition, perhaps you should sit.”
“Alasdairamadan!” She folded her arms. “Tell me! Who is your guest?”
His smile sobered. “Not my guest. My wife.”
Gasping, she set a hand to her chest. “Wife? You, married? Who? When?”
“The day before yesterday, in London. I married Miss Hannah Gordon, Sir Archibald’s daughter.” His lip trembled. Suddenly it felt so important to tell his sister his news and see her joy.
“The painter?” She stared. He nodded. “You married his daughter? I am so happy. And so confused.”
“Aye so.”
“The Gordons… I have heard of the family but have not met them. How did this happen? And why did you not tell us?”
“It happened quickly, though I have had it in mind for a while. There was no time to tell anyone. When I was in London, I saw her at the College of Arms. And she—well, it was just the right time. I feared she might slip away from me.”
“What brought this about? Did you elope? Was there a—reason for it?” Her hand flexed on her upper bosom and concern flickered in her hazel eyes.
He took her hands in his. “Just be happy for us. All is well and I will explain.” He was not yet sure how much he wanted to share.
“Well, if you took the leap at last, your lass must be very special.” She tipped forward to kiss his cheek.
“Very.”
“And she is upstairs? Oh, my.” Nell patted her hair, smoothed her gown. “Let me get the tray ready. Will you bring it to her?”
“Sit and rest. I will ask if she is ready to come down so we can have breakfast together, and tell you more.” But not all of it, he reminded himself.
Guiding Nell to a kitchen chair, he found the tray he and Hannah had used the previous night and set the tea things on it. Nell stood to fetch scones warming atop the brick oven, and stirred the porridge in the kettle.
“I was distracted. The porridge is burned on the bottom.”
“I like it that way,” he said, though he did not. He stacked scones awkwardly on a plate. “That will have to do. Is there butter and jam? The larder is fair empty—”
“I brought some things—oh! Good morning!”
At Nell’s remark, Dare looked up and saw Hannah in the kitchen doorway.
“Lady Strathburn, my dear Hannah,” he said, “meet Lady Cameron—Mary Eleanor Drummond, wife of Sir Ewan Cameron. My sister, Nell,” he added.
Nell took Hannah’s hands. “My dear, I am delighted to meet you!”
“And I you,” Hannah said, leaning as Nell kissed her cheek. “Strathburn mentioned you. He said you were very efficient, and here you are doing this for us when you need not. But thank you!”
