Page 63 of Lyon of Scotland
Chapter Twelve
Whitworth—and Dove too!Hands shaking, Hannah grabbed a linen napkin to mop up the spill. She caught Dare’s eye as he picked up broken porcelain pieces.
“Let me see your arm,” Linhope said. “That was very hot tea.”
“I am fine,” she said hastily, pulling at her wet, hot sleeve. Her arm hurt, but she hardly felt it as she stared at Dare, eyes wide. Why would Whitworth come north with Sir Walter Scott? And Frederic Dove arriving in Edinburgh was even worse.
Perhaps Jonathan was only here on behalf of his father’s business, as he had done before. He would not know she was back in Edinburgh, much less married. All she had to do was avoid him, she told herself. And perhaps Sir Walter and Oliver had just become acquainted with him on the steamship.
But Frederic Dove—that was another matter entirely.
“I imagine Scott is at his Edinburgh home on North Castle Street this morning,” Dare said. “I will call on him there.”
“You may miss him, as he said he would look for you either at home or here at your offices this morning,” Linhope said. “He seemed anxious to talk to you but did not want to disturb you last evening.”
“I wonder if he knew Sir Frederic was heading north as well. As for Dove, I intend to find him as well.”
“We will come with you,” Linhope said. “My carriage is outside.”
“Thank you. My dear,” Dare said, turning to Hannah. “Let me take you home.”
She had no desire to see Whitworth or Dove, but realized neither would have the address of Dare’s townhouse. But she did not want to be alone there. “You could take me to Papa’s house. I can visit the Pringles for a while.”
“Good. I will fetch you in an hour or two.”
She nodded, but could not subdue the sense of dread rising in her. “Be careful,” she said.
After making arrangementsto move and store the whisky cargo until his travel plans were in place, Dare left Captain Johnston and theNewhaven. Worried about Dove’s presence in Edinburgh, and wondering why Whitworth was in town as well, he then went with Hugh and Linhope to inquire at nearby hotels in Leith to find where Dove might be staying.
“My guess is only the best in the city would suit that lout,” Linhope said.
“Right. The Waterloo, then,” Dare declared, and they set off in the carriage. But he soon learned that while Dove was a guest, he was not in the hotel at that moment.
“Is there a message, Lord Lyon?”
“None.” Grim, determined, Dare returned to the vehicle to direct the driver to Scott’s house on North Castle Street.
“Sir Walter was here, sir, but went out with his guests,” the butler reported. “Lady Scott is at home. Would you care to see her while you wait?”
“I must go, but please give her my regards.” Dare felt dread spinning in his gut as he returned to the carriage. Dove, hewas sure, was here to drive home his grudge. “I must go fetch Hannah at the Gordon home.”
“I wonder if Scott called at your house while you and your lady were gone,” Linhope said.
“My housekeeper is gone for the day, but one of the maids should be there. Perhaps she will ask him to wait. My bigger concern just now is Dove. Where the devil is he, and what does he want?”
“This Dove fellow—is he the one who harassed you about smuggling? That is no threat now,” Hugh Cameron said. “All handled. Send the man back to London. He has no recourse here.”
“Would it were so simple,” Dare said. “He has a grudge against me and Hannah as well. And I have a bone to pick with him. I mean to find him and clear that up today. Then, Cameron, my friend,” he said grimly, “I will need your services as a lawyer, as I intend to file a charge against him. But that may be after the fact.” He made a fist and punched it into his opposite palm.
“I did some wrestling at university,” Hugh remarked. “Should you need it.”
Hannah hurried upa side street toward Dare’s townhouse, her skirts and bonnet ribbons rippling in the cool November breeze. After waiting in her father’s house for hours, she had finally decided to walk home—hers, shared with her husband. Visiting with the Pringles had been a lovely respite that afternoon, even as she worried about both Whitworth and Dove being in Edinburgh. But renovations continued up in the garret of the Gordon house, the noise too much, the commotion at times shaking the cut-glass candelabra in the parlor. When more than three hours had passed, she had decided to walk to the Strathburn house on Northumberland Street.
Reaching a corner where she glimpsed the house, she paused as a carriage lumbered past and turned. Seeing it halt on the corner of Northumberland, she crossed the corner, hoping the vehicle carried Dare, Linhope, and Cameron. Passing the carriage, she saw that it was empty. They had gone inside.
At the tall blue door of Dare’s house, she tried the handle, finding it unlocked. Hearing voices inside the hall, she eased the door open, stepped inside, and stopped abruptly.
Two men stood with their backs to the door in the foyer beside the curving staircase. The larger man was Frederic Dove; the younger, slighter one, his son Charles. Dove was confronting the little housemaid.
