they’d seen each other, not because he needed legal advice, yet now there was a possibility he was going to get embroiled in a case he’d prefer to avoid.
Robbie gulped down his whiskey and when he looked at Gordon again, he appeared even more haggard, as if telling the truth was physically painful. Nevertheless, he smiled his merry, charming smile—only this time, it seemed more like a death’s-head grin to Gordon.
“No need to look so stern, Gordo. It was only a dalliance with one of the maids, the sort of thing that goes on all the time.”
He should have guessed it would be something like this. Robbie had always had “high spirits,” as their headmaster had called it when Robbie had been discovered with one of the maids at school. Indeed, he’d been famous for his liaisons and the envy of every boy in school.
But that was in the world of males. He could easily imagine—and sympathize with—a potential bride’s dismay at learning of her future husband’s lustful activities with a servant. “Did you assure her you’d be faithful once you were married?”
Robbie looked at Gordon as if he’d suggested giving up food and drink. “No. Why would I? Why should I?”
Gordon’s heart sank. “Because you were going to make such a promise when you said your marriage vows.”
“Gad, Gordo, don’t tell me you, with your profession, are naive enough to think any man’s really going to be faithful to his wife?”
“I’ve met several who are,” Gordon replied, recalling some of the happily married clients who’d passed through his offices.
Robbie slouched onto an armchair near the sofa and frowned like a petulant child. “Sometimes I forget you’re…” He fell silent and picked at a bit of lint on his lapel with his slender fingers that had never done a day’s work.
“Not of your class?” Gordon finished for him.
His friend blushed, the fire of his anger apparently quenched as he regarded Gordon with dismay, and the first sign of genuine remorse. “I’m sorry, Gordon.” He spread his hands in a gesture of surrender. “I’ll be perfectly honest with you. Yes, I dallied with one of the maids, but I never thought a fiancée or even a wife would really mind. I mean, you were at school. You heard the other boys talking about their fathers’ and brothers’ mistresses and lovers. It’s accepted in our world, or at least condoned. It was just a maid, after all. It’s not like I was keeping a mistress in the house. And I turned her out as soon as Moira learned about her.”
While Gordon was certainly well aware that many rich and titled men treated women like their personal toys to be used or discarded at will, he didn’t approve of that selfish behavior. And if Robbie thought hearing that the maid had lost her place because of their liaison was going to increase Gordon’s sympathy for his cause, he was even more mistaken. Gordon had helped too many servants who’d been seduced and cast out by their employers, suing for back wages at the very least, to have any sympathy for a master who took advantage of one.
In spite of his efforts to keep a blank countenance, his face must have betrayed something of his feelings, for Robbie’s next words had more than a tinge of self-defence. “It’s not as if the maid wasn’t willing. She was, I assure you. Very willing. Indeed, I think she seduced me.”
Gordon had heard this sort of excuse many times, too. “You were her master, Robbie. She might have felt she couldn’t refuse.”
“Of course she could!” Robbie retorted, hoisting himself to his feet. “I’m hardly some kind of brutal ogre.”
No, he wasn’t. Nevertheless…
“And I was honest enough not to make a promise to Moira that I wasn’t going to keep. But did she appreciate that? No, she looked at me as if I’d committed murder.”
Robbie ran his hand through his hair before starting for the cabinet again. “Maybe if she hadn’t been so angry…” Wrapping his hand around the decanter, he shook his head. “Oh, I don’t know what I would have done if she’d been calmer.” He walked away without pouring another drink and went to the fireplace. He picked up the poker and vigorously stirred the coals, sending ash swirling upward.
“Maybe instead of suing her, you should be grateful,” Gordon said quietly. “If you’d married her and strayed, and then she found out—”
“We would have been married and there would have been nothing she could do about it. She would have learned to accept that it’s a nobleman’s privilege, as my mother did and her mother before her.”
Gordon didn’t like what he was hearing. It smacked of brutal arrogance, of utter selfishness and a complete disregard for the feelings of another human being, the sort of attitude that spurred him to find justice for the weak and abused and cheated, and especially for women, who had so few rights under the law.
Rising, he went to face his friend, the better to see his face and read his expression, for eyes often said what words did not.
As a certain young lady’s eyes had spoken of desire before they’d kissed.
“What if your wife took a lover? Would you say then it was simply what people of your class do?”
Robbie clenched his jaw for the briefest of moments before he answered. “Of course. As long as I had an heir and a spare, my wife could take as many lovers as she liked.”
Robbie marched across the room to the cabinet, then turned to face his friend. “Obviously, I should have lied to you, and her. I should have said that of course I would be faithful. That I’d never even look at another woman.
“But I didn’t. So if you’d rather not represent me in this, I’ll find another solicitor who will. With you or without you, Gordo, I’m suing Moira McMurdaugh for breaking our engagement.”
Gordon regarded Robbie steadily. While Robbie never made any reference to what had happened at school, Gordon could never forget what he owed Robbie McStuart.
And if it was the same woman he’d rescued from the tree and kissed?
He still owed Robbie his career. “Of course I’ll represent you, Robbie.”
Chapter Three
Three days later, Moira leaned over the pedestal table in the book-lined library, studying the builder’s drawings of the future school, as well as his notations. She wanted to be sure that she was right before she addressed the prosperous middle-aged man standing before her with his thumbs in his vest pockets, rocking back and forth on his heels.
She was, but having dealt with tradesmen for many years, she didn’t begin with a direct accusation. That would only lead to confrontation, arguments, denials and, eventually, the pronouncement that women couldn’t be expected to understand business or the arithmetic that went with it.
“Mr. Stamford,” she began, “I must confess that I find your estimates rather…excessive.”
The plump man merely smiled with frustrating condescension. “Perhaps, my lady, we should wait for your father’s return from Glasgow. He’d due back today, is he not?”
“Yes, he is,” she replied, hoping with all her heart he would return as promised and hadn’t
