Page 17 of The Scottish Duke
Alex entered his suite, heading for the dressing room.
“Don’t hover,” he said to Matthews when his valet made an appearance at the door. “I’ve just come to change my shirt before I leave.”
“More soot, sir?”
“More soot, Matthews.”
“It’s devilish hard for the laundress to remove the stains.”
He glanced at his valet. Did the man realize they were having this conversation with increasing regularity lately or that Matthews was beginning to sound chiding? His mother didn’t even employ that tone. Matthews could take some lessons from the Dowager Duchess.
“Then you’ll just have to order some extra shirts for me,” he said. “That isn’t a problem, is it?”
“Of course not, Your Grace.”
He doubted it would be. He’d long suspected that Matthews received a bonus from the tailor based on the number of garments he ordered. He discovered the transactions when reviewing his expenses for the last quarter. What Matthews hadn’t figured out was that the tailor tacked the amount he paid the valet onto the cost of the shirts, effectively making Alex pay for the bonus.
He allowed the situation only because he hadn’t wanted to interview for a new valet, but he disliked being played for a fool. A thought that broughtherto the forefront of his mind.
Was Lorna Gordon the same woman he’d encountered at the fancy dress ball? Had she been responsible for the single most erotic interlude of his life?
Was she Marie?
If she was, she was trying to take advantage of the situation.
He didn’t believe a word of the note he’d read: that the writer was a friend and that her main concern was for the child he’d fathered.
What pap.
He couldn’t have sired a child from that one occasion. Marie had appeared to be a virgin, but that might have been either the whiskey or some sort of ruse.
He wished he hadn’t drunk so much. He’d not touched a drop of liquor since, his abstinence a penance for the excesses of that night.
He’d been a fool and he was paying for it now, wasn’t he?
It was one thing to attempt to blackmail him, but she’d made her biggest mistake by involving his mother. Because she’d done so, he would see her well and truly ruined.
He glanced over at Matthews, expecting his valet to be performing a dignified pout, but the man surprised him.
“Are you certain you don’t wish me to accompany you to Inverness, Your Grace?”
“Not this time. I’ll only be gone a few days.”
He turned away and finished removing the shirt. He held out his hand and Matthews, with perfect valet timing, placed a crisp white shirt in his grip, standing by in case he lost his mind and could no longer manage buttons.
Once he was ready, he made a mental check of his valise, determined that everything was in readiness for the trip to Inverness, and left the dressing room.
As he passed through the sitting room, Alex hesitated at the window. Here he could see Russell land stretching to the other side of Loch Gerry and to the far glens. For a moment he stood there, letting the sight fill him.
Never a day passed that he failed to see its beauty or to be grateful that it was his to steward and manage.
Sir Walter Scott’s words inThe Lay of the Last Minstrelcame to mind:
Breathes there the man with soul so dead
Who never to himself has said,
This is my own, my native land!
