Page 51 of The Nabob's Designing Daughter
“I’ve nursed me own five bairns,” the housekeeper said. “Don’t ye fret, doctor. I’ll show her grace just what to do.”
“Well then. I’ll return anon. Let her sleep if she wishes. Ann, my love…” He pulled her aside and swept her into a kiss.
“Enough of that,” the duke called. “Go and announce your marriage at luncheon.”
Errol pulled her along into the corridor. “I must see your father first and tell him our news myself.”
“I’d like to go with you.”
“Then so be it.”
They traversed the corridors until they found the room where Strachney had been recuperating. Pausing outside the door, they heard voices.
“I tell you, it’s not possible,” Strachney said.
“No?”
That voice belonged to the marquess.
“It’s all the buzz of the stables.”
“I’ll take a horsewhip to—”
Ann slammed the door open before he could stop her.
“To whom, Father? To me? Or to my husband, Dr. Robillard, Baron of Darleton?”
The marquess’ angry gaze moved from Ann to Strachney and back again. “So, it’s true.”
“Aye,” Errol said stepping forward. “And you, Hottentot, your wager in the public house with your friend, Warton, what you said about snatching up Ann to fix your gambling debts, is all the buzz of the stables and the village. And for that…” He planted a facer on the arrogant prick.
“Why you…” Hatherot lunged, and Errol dodged him.
“Do you deny it?” Errol asked.
The marquess slid a glance to Strachney, who had sat up, his lip jutting out. “Of course, I do.”
A melee ensued,and Ann opened the door to call for help, but found two footmen and a maid already standing by. The men rushed in; Ann sent the maid to fetch more aid.
Hatherot was no dandified nobleman or drunken crofter, and he landed a punch that would have broken Errol’s nose had he not moved away in time. Errol was no delicate flower either, but a braw man who’d dealt with drunks in his father’s inn and the hard men who worked the warehouse and docks.
She’d seen fights like this between the Beecham boys when they were younger, and once or twice on the street. She stood back, biting her nails.
Errol landed a staggering punch that knocked Hatherot back into the wall.
“I say, Robillard.” The marquess rubbed at his jaw. “If doctoring doesn’t work out, you could make an excellent living in the ring.”
Errol’s fists came up. Ann ran and pulled him back. “Thank you for defending my honor,” she said.
“Honor?” Strachney waved a hand. “Ye rattlebrained girl. What did ye expect? A marquess wanting to marry so low, and a plain girl to boot. Dammit. Pigheaded, headstrong… ye ought t’ have obeyed. I’d have negotiated a proper settlement; ye’d have the title without him getting all my money. Now ye won’t have anything from me, nor a title except a paltry Scottish barony. My daughter, married to a black innkeeper’s filthy brat.”
“That’s quite enough, Strachney.” The duke stepped near the bed. Lord Cottingwith hovered in the doorway behind Edme.
“Pah.” Strachney threw back the covers. “Fetch my clothing,” he told the footman. “And have the stables ready my coach. I’m leaving.”
She glanced out the window. The snow was still falling. “You’re the pigheaded one, father,” she said. “It’s been snowing all night and all morning.”
“I won’t stay another night here.”
