answer.
Having sent her shot across his bow, now might be the wise time to retreat. ‘Are you finished, Mrs Preston? If so, then perhaps we should leave the gentlemen to their port and adjourn to the drawing room for tea, where I hope we shall see them in a short while?’ She cast both men an inviting smile.
Mrs Preston fussed with her shawl. ‘Indeed. Indeed.’
Carrick grunted and half-rose to his feet.
Mr Gilvry stood and helped Mrs Preston from her chair. More pouring on the charm. Trying to impress his lordship, she presumed.
She dipped a curtsy and departed feeling as if she might have won a minor skirmish.
‘Did you know about this meeting with Gordon?’ she asked Mrs Preston as they walked the corridor to the drawing room.
The older woman shook her head. ‘I wish you would be less forthright with your cousin, dearest girl. More is accomplished with honey than with vinegar, you know.’
Was it? She’d tried both ways now. Being patient. Hurrying him. Nothing moved him. If his younger sons had been single gentlemen, she might have suspected him of wanting her lands and title for them. But they were married. And very advantageously, too. Was there more to these delays than the lack of time he always claimed? Ought she to be more suspicious? Certainly her estates were of no great import to him. He’d seemed barely aware of her existence while she was living with her aunt. If that dear lady hadn’t died, he might never have remembered he had a ward.
In the oak-panelled drawing room, the tea tray was already set out on the table in front of the hearth. It only wanted the delivery of hot water. Not that water was ever very hot by the time it made its way up from the kitchen in its separate building in the bailey.
One of the joys of having a history to maintain.
She had her own history to worry about. A Baron Aleyne had lived at Braemuir since the Dark Ages—until her father died. It was her duty to rectify the lack. Daily, the responsibility felt heavier.
And yet there was comfort in it, too. The thought of returning to the home she loved. All she needed was a wedding and a child or two, boy or girl, to know she had done her duty, honoured her promise.
‘Do sit down,’ Mrs Preston said. ‘All that pacing makes me feel quite bilious.’
She hadn’t realised she was pacing. She stopped short, staring at Mrs Preston.
‘What a charming young man Mr Gilvry is,’ Mrs Preston said, picking up her embroidery. ‘I had heard all the Gilvry men are as handsome as sin itself. Having seen this one, I can well believe it. Sadly, quite poverty-stricken, I understand.’
The kind of man she couldn’t possibly conceive of marrying, even if he was the closest thing to an eligible bachelor she had met in months.
Surely Carrick wasn’t thinking she would marry his poor relation? Without doubt, Mr Gilvry was young and attractive. Her heart gave a painful little hop. A reminder that it didn’t do to become too attached to anyone. It was too hurtful when they left one alone.
No, she would need to be careful around Mr Gilvry. He stirred up uncomfortable emotions she couldn’t control. And Braemuir required a woman of sense if it was to prosper.
If only she could bring Carrick to see the urgency of the matter. But how?
The butler arrived with the hot water and set it on the tray. ‘Will that be all, madam?’
‘Yes, thank you,’ the widow replied.
Jenna sat down opposite Mrs Preston and focused on the important issue of preparing tea. Or rather the important issue of how to ensure she would soon be pouring tea in her own drawing room at Braemuir.
Niall sipped at his port, though he would have preferred the traditional dram of whisky.
‘Lady Jenna is a determined young woman,’ Carrick muttered.
‘She seems set on this trip to Edinburgh,’ Niall responded in what he hoped were neutral tones. After all, this really was not his concern.
‘Aye, and if my wife wasn’t busy with my daughter, she would be there right at this moment. I certainly don’t have the time.’ Carrick stared into his wine as if it could provide answers.
Niall shrugged non-committally. The man just wanted to voice his frustration.
‘No doubt about it. She needs a husband,’ Carrick said moodily. ‘A man worthy of her title.’ He tossed off his glass and poured another. He grimaced. ‘I’ve already had one dubious offer. A lowlander and a shopkeeper to boot.’ He frowned. ‘Now what was his name? Davidson? Drummond? I think that was it. Verra unpleasant. Not the sort of family her father would want inheriting his title.’ He pinched the bridge of his nose between thumb and forefinger as if suffering a headache. ‘And who knows what sort of man she’d end up with if I let Katy Preston take her to Edinburgh.’
Did he really want to discuss bridegrooms for the lady? Yet he couldn’t help himself. ‘You don’t trust Lady Jenna to choose wisely for herself?’ It was as close as he could get to an objection of his employer’s high-handed dealings with the lass.
‘I promised her father I would see her well settled before I had any idea of the weight of debt his father had left him. If he’d had more time, he might have managed to see himself clear, I suppose.’ He shook his head and took another swallow of his drink. ‘I gave him my word I would do my best by the lass and make sure the family fortunes were improved. And I will. I just wish he hadn’t brought her up more like a son than a daughter. My wife could handle her, no doubt, but Mrs Preston …’ He subsided into silence. ‘She’ll need a strong hand on the reins, I’m thinking.’
‘She reminds me a bit of my youngest brother, Logan. The more you tell him “no”, the more he insists on his own way.’
Carrick puffed out his cheeks. ‘Wildness is a Gilvry family trait.’ He gave Niall a sharp look. ‘Except for you.’
As a child, Niall had sometimes wondered if the faeries had taken the real Gilvry son at birth and left him in its stead. A changeling. Pure nonsense, of course. His childish way of explaining why he never quite felt as if he belonged, why he preferred to read when his brothers wanted to rampage out of doors. ‘I’ve had my moments,’ he said, refusing to be thought any different to his brothers. And besides, while he might counsel caution, he always stood shoulder to shoulder beside them even if they did laugh at his occasional bouts of cowardice.
‘Drew was the worst of ye,’ Carrick said.
Niall stiffened. ‘Drew is dead.’
‘Let me down badly, too. He had letters of instruction for my agent in Boston. A position waiting for him. Instead he took off on some wild adventure.’
Niall frowned. This was the first he had heard about letters. ‘Drew might have been a bit reckless, but he usually kept his word.’
‘Not this time. He sloughed my task off to another, I know that. The letters arrived far too late to be of any use and cost me a great deal of money.’
Niall flushed at his sour tone. Carrick was famous for turning all his ventures
