Page 16 of The Nabob's Designing Daughter
“I found my way to the kitchens this morning.”
“Did you? Well done.”
“With some help. A tweeny sent me in the right direction, and I followed my nose the rest of the way.”
They descended two floors, headed down a corridor, took a short flight of stairs up, and turned more corners before descending another staircase. “I still sometimes get lost in the Castle,” Ann said.
Double doors stood open at the end of a corridor, and the reassuring smells of bacon, fresh scones, kidneys, baked beans, and haggis led them into the room.
As the duke welcomed them, Ann scanned the table. Her father’s frown at seeing her still in company with Errol was to be expected, as was Mr. Warton’s friendly greeting. Lord Cottingwith’s head was bent toward Edme, who sent Ann a dazed smile. Mr. Henderson had not arrived, thank goodness.
A man appeared and bowed before her with a glittering smile that made her catch her breath. He was quite the handsomest man she’d ever seen, in his own way, with a head of golden curls, sapphire blue eyes, a strong, straight nose and square jaw. He was, like the other younger men, dressed to leave immediately for hunting in tweeds, trousers, and top boots.
He bowed over her hand. “Allow me to be so bold as to introduce myself, since mine host is not doing the honors.”
The duke’s rumbling laugh reached them. “Miss Strachney, Dr. Robillard, this fellow pushing himself forward is the estimable Marquess of Hatherot. Hatherot, Miss Strachney of Glenthistle, and Dr. Errol Robillard.”
He beamed another smile that left her feeling as dazed as Edme seemed to be, nodded to Errol, and led her off to a seat at the table and claimed the one next to it for himself.
She glanced back at Errol but he’d turned away and was filling a plate.
Hatherot pushed her chair in. “I’ll fetch you some breakfast. A little of everything, I think.”
She nodded, distracted. Across the table, Father’s eyes glittered. Oh, he was mentally rubbing his hands together anticipating a marquess in the family and calculating the financial value of that connection. Father’s aspirations were not entirely a matter of social climbing. He wanted power and money.
She accepted the plate—indeed it was a little of everything. Miss Lancaster would have told her to take only a piece of buttered toast. She picked at the food and set about making small talk with the marquess and checking on Errol when father was turned away.
The way Errol refused to meet her eyes told her he might, possibly, maybe, be jealous. No one had ever been jealous on her behalf before.
She shared a look with Edme. Lord Cottingwith was discussing shooting with the duke, and Edme had shed some of her dazzlement. Ann’s Adonis continued pouring out charm like treacle from a bottomless pitcher.
Errol ate quickly and issued a general farewell, leaving Ann feeling bereft and anxious.
Errol headed down the corridor,hoping to check on his patient. The sooner the child arrived, the sooner he would leave Kinmarty. He had no wish to hang about watching that golden lord woo Ann.
He tried to shake off the creeping jealousy and his damnable pride. He’d written to her, sharing tidbits from his pharmacy lectures. Not that he wanted to encourage her dabbling in herbals, but it was a harmless enough pursuit for a woman, wasn’t it? And it was pleasant to speak with someone who thought about the healing possibilities of medicines, instead of how much they could be sold for.
When she didn’t bother to reply, he’d swallowed his pride, put her out of his mind, and devoted himself to his studies. Though he had proved his abilities in the surgery, he’d ruffled some feathers by wholeheartedly embracing the notion of improved sanitation. He’d had to prove himself better than most and navigate the vanities of professors in hopes of graduating and finding a good position. The call to London had been a godsend. With a few years of hard work, he’d be able to buy a home and support a wife and children.
The duchess had breakfasted in her room and then gone to the drawing room, her maid said. When he pushed through the door, he suppressed a groan. The only occupant was Benedict Strachney.
AN UNEXPECTED BEQUEST
Strachney looked up, his complexion an unhealthy shade of orange, his eyes bulging. His edema was likely caused by a poor heart, an improper diet, or some other illness. Errol couldn’t be sure without a thorough examination. One he wouldn’t offer the pompous old arse.
“Good day to you, sir,” he said. “I was told I might find the duchess here.”
“She just left.”
“Do you know where she went?”
“No. You’re the one, aren’t you?”
“I beg your pardon.”
“You wrote to her. Without my permission. I heard about you. Son of a black innkeeper, and a particular friend of the family. I won’t have it, you know.”
His pulse pounded in his ears, and he knew his color must be rising along with the heat of his anger.
