Page 119 of In Search of a Husband
“It wouldn’t be the first time I quickly left a home in a state of undress.”
She would have laughed, but his caustic remarks were no longer funny or charming to her. Had the marquess always held himself with such little regard? All Kate remembered was the wild, frenzied crush she had harbored for him, mooning about London and placing him on some pedestal as perfect.
Perfect was an illusion.
That she had learned.
“Come,” she said again, leading them down the hallway in search of the girls, his missing clothing, and the stable block. “I will have Gabriel help with your baggage.”
He followed behind her quietly as she walked through the castle, struck with the sudden notion that this was her home. Once her parents left, so did her connection with London. Beyond Charlotte and Lily, she no longer would have a place to return to.
Now she belonged at Dunsmuir Castle.
“They all love you very much,” he said behind her.
Kate picked up a drawing from the table in the grand hall as they passed. One that Lorna had drawn of them all dressed as fairies and fighting off a dragon. She smiled to herself.
“Not half as much as I have come to love them. They have taught me a great deal.”
Oscar trotted into the room, nudging against her thighs and tugging at her skirts as if he were a puppy.
“That is a beast,” the marquess quipped. “Not a dog.”
“He makes the perfect lapdog.”
“They’re gettin’ married, Mrs. Malcolm. Can ye believe it?” Lorna shouted.
Kate couldn’t wipe away the grin that floated to her face.
“Och, yer uncle? Are ye sure?”
“Swear it on Marcel and unicorns,” Maisie shouted.
“And kelpies!” Lorna added.
“Right, and kelpies.”
Kate burst into the kitchen with Oscar and the marquess, her hands on her hips. “I see you are spreading the news.”
Mrs. Malcolm glanced up from her spot at the sink, her apron smeared with blood. “Well good on ye, lass. Ye’ll manage well enough, ye will. Ye’ve yer hands full with these wee ones here.”
“What a poignant offer of congratulations,” the marquess whispered behind her.
She shot him a knowing look, then focused on the oldhousekeeper and smiled. “Thank you, Mrs. Malcolm.” Kate turned to Lorna and Maisie. “Girls, the marquess is in need of his clothing back, please. It’s time for him to leave us.”
“Leave us? Why would he do that?” Maisie asked, popping up from under the table and struggling to hold Ben.
The old cat went limp, as if accepting his fate.
“London calls, girls. Still, I must thank you for your hospitality and the fine adventure we all experienced yesterday.”
“Finn might die,” Maisie grumbled as Kate wrestled away the poor, old cat.
“Nae, it’s only a scratch. Heard him say so to Aunt Elsie,” Lorna chimed in, folding her arms and lifting her nose into the air.
“Scratch or not,” Kate continued, “Lord Brookhouse will be leaving us. Can you say your farewells and return his things?”
“It’s a fine hat…” Maisie skirted around the table before disappearing underneath. “Oh nae, I’ve lost it.” She popped back up, her hands empty.
