Page 52 of The Nabob's Designing Daughter
With a nod from the duke, the footman departed.
“Perhaps, Hatherot, you’d like to depart with Strachney and enjoy the hospitality of Glenthistle?”
Hatherot’s hand paused on the jaw he’d been rubbing. He smirked. “Gad, no. Don’t mind a mushroom, you know, but this fellow…” He dropped his hand and bowed to Ann and Errol. “I beg your pardon, Miss Strachney… er Mrs. Robillard, I suppose you are now. And Dr. Robillard. All’s fair in love and war, eh? Good fight. If you’re ever in London and want to go a round or two, look me up.”
He bustled his way to the door, and suddenly turned. “The heir’s arrived safely, duke?”
The duke escorted the marquess out, discussing his son, quickly turning the conversation to his plans for hunting.
Ann hurried to the dressing table and fetched a towel. Tears blurred her vision as she dabbed at a cut on his face. “No one’s ever fought for me before.”
He tossed the towel away, pulled him into his arms, and kissed her. She tasted blood and pulled away. “Your lip… and your eye, and… Sit down and let me check what other injuries you have.”
“Get out of my bedchamber,” Father roared.
“Not here, my love,” he said, grinning. “Is your room nearby?”
A giggle pierced her consciousness. Edme covered her mouth. The earl was biting down trying to hide a smile.
“I shared with Edme.”
“Mine then.”
Her heart filled and stretched and started to overflow. She cast a look back at her father. She’d waited so many years for his return from India, prepared to love him. Maybe someday she would.
“Goodbye, Father,” she said.
EPILOGUE
Ann closed the bedchamber door softly and settled the lantern on the scratched and faded wood of the bedside table. The room was blessedly warm, Forbes having arranged for a couple of the older servants to tend to the cottage while Ann and Errol attended Kinmarty’s grand Hogmanay celebration.
Not long after midnight they’d trudged home through the fresh fallen snow. This year’s cèilidh, and the more refined party for local gentry in the great hall, had been far more subdued than the one the year before. All the Kinmarty guests had left: her father, Warton, the marquess. Even Cottingwith had been unexpectedly called away.
And even Edme. Though Edme denied any tendre for the earl, Ann knew her cousin. Edme’s hopes for a romance of her own had been dashed, so Mrs. MacDonal had escorted her home to Edinburgh.
In the short few days since their hasty marriage, Errol and Busby had laid out a plan for the Darleton estate and its tenants. Improvements for the crofters would come first. In the meantime, she and Errol would reside in the snug, warm, convenient rooms of the doctor’s surgery.
Hurrying out of her gown and stays, she slid a flat box from under the bed and opened it. Peeling back the layers of tissue paper, she lifted the filmy white silk and lace gown and spread it gently on the counterpane. It was, Mrs. MacDonal assured her, new and never worn. She’d bought two of them as gifts for the duchess, but, she’d added slyly, a hastily married bride would need it more.
For Ann, it was another wish fulfilled. She hoped Errol would like this New Year’s present.
The silk felt cool against her skin, and she moved close to the fire, raking her fingers through her loose hair.
“Ann.” The muffled growl came from behind the closed door and sent shivers up her spine.
“Come in,” she called, her voice shaking.
Errol stepped in, his gaze moving over her, a slow grin forming. With shaking hands, she picked up the decanter and splashed whisky into two glasses. “A toast to the new year?”
Errol took the glass and slid his other hand around her waist. His gaze moved again and hovered on her lace covered breasts.
“Here’s to you, my love,” she whispered, clinking her glass against his, and taking a sip. The whisky heated a path through her, making her shiver.
“My love,” he murmured. He drained his drink, took hers in the same hand, and set them both aside.
“Well?” she asked.
One large finger traced along the lace edge of the gown’s bodice, and then back again, lifting a strand of hair at her neck. Ann swallowed a gasp, waiting, but Errol said nothing.
