The Scottish Bride (Sherbrooke Brides 6)

Alex said, “Is the new and very worthy Baron Barthwick ready for some of Cook’s thin-sliced ham?”

“How very odd that sounds,” Tysen said thoughtfully, then he added in a very serious voice, “And be sure that I am seated above the salt cellars, Alex. I am now that important.”

She laughed, as did Douglas, but Tysen didn’t. He merely acknowledged with a slight smile that he’d said something that could be construed as moderately witty, then asked about his nephews’ health.

“Their health is splendid,” Douglas said. “It’s their damned good looks that are driving me to the brink of madness. Both James and Jason will slay the women, Tysen. By God, they are only ten years old—the same age as little Meggie—and already all the local girls are showing up on our doorstep at all hours, presenting colorful bouquets of flowers wrapped up in pink ribbons for Alex, presenting me with homemade slippers, even plates of tarts that they claim they baked with their own small hands—anything to bring themselves to the twins’ attention. Most of the time, they have no idea which twin is which, so you can imagine how many pranks the boys play on them.” Douglas shook his head, then added, “Thank God, so far the boys take it in stride, but it’s nonetheless nauseating and portends bad things for the future.”

Tysen said as he seated himself at the small dining table, “I suppose they do greatly resemble your sister, Alex.” He added matter-of-factly, “It’s true that she is the most beautiful woman I have ever seen. Isn’t it strange that the twins should look so much like her and not like you or Douglas?”

“Tony, damn his eyes, just laughs and laughs whenever that is pointed out,” Douglas said and handed Tysen a plate of Cook’s famous thin-sliced ham, sprinkled with her renowned Secret Recipe that always had badly crushed basil leaves in it. “At least Tony and Melissande’s children look like we could be their parents, so that’s something. Now, Tysen, let me tell you the rest of what Great Uncle Tyronne’s solicitor wrote.”

2

Eden Hill House, the Vicarage

Glenclose-on-Rowan

August 16, 1815

“NO, MEGGIE, AND that’s an end to it.”

But it wasn’t, of course. He realized suddenly that he was now seeing Meggie with Douglas’s eyes. Another Sinjun? Sinjun had driven him beyond sanity when he’d been young, and then he’d tried to ignore her because life had become serious for him and Sinjun was always mocking and teasing him. She laughed a lot, and she’d called him a prig when she was thirteen, which was probably true. He sighed and looked down at his daughter, waiting, but not for long.

“Please, Papa, it’s more than necessary.”

Ah, that serious little face, that intense voice. He felt himself weakening and stiffened his back.

“You need me. You know what a help I can be to you, truly. You won’t even know I am there. I’ll just help you all the time and then disappear.”

Reverend Tysen Sherbrooke, a devout man of God, a man who loved his children, who seldom ever had a cross word no matter how far off the path of righteousness a member of his congregation had strayed, said yet again, “Please, no more, Meggie. I will not tell you again. You will not come with me. You will go to Northcliffe Hall with your brothers. Don’t you understand? I’m going to Scotland. I do not know what to expect. I was there years ago and all I remember is rutted paths, sheep everywhere, and barren stretches that went on and on until you wanted to collapse. It is probably still barbaric, with outlaws lit-t

ering the roads—if there even are roads. I don’t remember any. I truly have no idea what I will find. I want you here, safe with your aunt and uncle.”

Meggie, as reasoned and calm as Sister Mary MacRae, the only Catholic nun in the area, said, “Aunt Sinjun lives in Scotland. It can’t be savage, Papa. If there weren’t any roads when you were there, there will be now. Aunt Sinjun would have had them built. We don’t need roads, anyway. We will ride. It will be wonderful. You need me.”

Tysen stared down at this child of his loins, at this wondrous creature who was, for the very first time, bringing back more memories of Sinjun, memories that he now realized had made him many times want to strangle her. Ah, when Sinjun had tied the tail of his kite around Corkscrew’s neck. He realized now as he looked down at his daughter that he’d rather exaggerated a bit to Douglas about Meggie’s placid self. Had he truly said she was obedient, gentle? Maybe not. If he’d ever really believed that, he’d been blind. He’d been a doting papa, not recognizing what was right under his nose. Actually, he realized in that instant that Meggie could be gentle and obedient or she could be utterly outrageous, like Sinjun.

He just didn’t want her to be like her mother, Melinda Beatrice. He immediately closed his eyes against such a wicked, disloyal thought. No, Melinda Beatrice had been a sainted woman, perhaps just a bit on the unctuous side, but that wasn’t something to bring despair, perhaps just an occasional sigh when a parishioner’s face tightened after she’d offered well-meant advice. He shook his head and looked down into his own Sherbrooke blue eyes, Sinjun’s Sherbrooke blue eyes as well, and touched his fingers gently to Meggie’s soft, Sherbrooke light hair. “Why, Meggie, do you believe I need you?”

She looked at him straight on and said, “You are far too nice, Papa. You are too good. You don’t see the wickedness in people. Sometimes you don’t really see people at all. Your thoughts are too elevated, perhaps too refined and aloof. You need me because I will keep bad people away from you. I will keep females away from you who would try to make you love them and marry them. I will—”

He laid his finger on her lips. He didn’t see wickedness? His thoughts were too elevated? Too refined? Was that truly what she believed? He supposed that when he’d asked her why he needed her he’d expected her to fold her tent somewhat, at least retreat to embrace another argument. He shook his head at her, bemused. He didn’t recognize wickedness? He was too nice? Blessed heaven, he was easy prey to females who would try to trap him into marriage? He said, with just a touch of irony in his voice, “I appreciate your belief in me, Meggie, although I do not know what I have done to make you believe me such a weakling. As for the ladies, I promise you that I am always on my guard.”

“But Miss Strapthorpe nearly nabbed you, I heard her talking of it to one of her friends. She said she was this close to having you. Just one kiss, she said, and you would feel bound to marry her. Then there was that time she trapped you in the vestry.”

“But I didn’t kiss Miss Strapthorpe, and I managed to escape the vestry with my clerical collar still around my neck.”

“Papa, was that a jest?”

“Certainly not, Meggie.”

“I didn’t think it could be, since you don’t waste your time in anything frivolous. Now, Papa, I know you didn’t kiss Miss Strapthorpe—if you had, she would be my stepmother now, and let me tell you, Papa, that would have made even Max turn green around his collar. As for Leo, I’ll wager he would have run away from home.”

“Enough about Miss Strapthorpe. I am a grown man, Meggie. I can see to myself. I promise not to bring back a stepmama to you and the boys.”

“But—”

He touched his finger to her mouth again. “Now, sweetheart, for the last time, you will not accompany me. You will remain here. I swear to you that I will be on the alert for wicked men and for females out to nab me. No, don’t say anything more. You will not strain my patience. It is not appropriate for a man of God to yell at his child. It would cause consternation if it got out.”