Page 70 of The Texan Duke
“He can’t sell the house,” Anise said.
“I’m afraid he can,” Elsbeth said. “Bealadair belongs to him, after all.”
Anise stopped and glared at her. “Well it’s not fair. It’s certainly not right or proper. He’s just a rude American.”
“Texan,” Elsbeth said. “He prefers to be called a Texan.”
“I haven’t the slightest interest in what he prefers to be called. Evidently, you do. I saw how solicitous you were at his bedside. You were nearly in tears. It was barely a scratch.”
Anise was given to announcing her opinion with authority, as if it had the weight of truth. In actuality, she was rarely challenged and was therefore allowed to get away with the most idiotic pronouncements.
This was one of those occasions.
It was simply not worth Elsbeth’s time or effort to try to convince Anise otherwise. Mrs. Ferguson said that the bullet had been a good two inches deep and had required some effort to remove. Consequently, Connor had lost a great deal of blood.
For the next few hours he’d be fed one of Addy’s restorative hot tonics. A mixture of ground-up herbs and vegetables, it was supposed to work wonders when you were ill. All she knew was that it smelled horrid and tasted the same.
“You were quite friendly with him,” Muira said. “Surprisingly so, Elsbeth.”
Lara only turned her head slowly and looked at her. She didn’t say anything, but there was condemnation in her gaze.
Why? Because she liked the man?
“I merely showed him around Bealadair,” she said. “I got to know him a little.”
They didn’t need to know about the kisses.
Elsbeth moved to the grouping near the fireplace, sat on the end of the settee and arranged her skirts.
The Ladies Parlor was a place they normally congregated in the evening. Elsbeth rarely joined the McCraight women, visiting Mrs. Ferguson instead. If the housekeeper was not up for a visit, Elsbeth would take tea with Addy in the kitchen.
However, the duchess had sent word that she wished to speak with her. Better to face her now and get all the unpleasantness out of the way.
She’d behaved in an improper manner and she was certain the duchess would enumerate all the instances. She’d been alone with Connor as she’d performed her errands this morning. She’d spoken of topics other than the weather. She’d sat next to his bed and held his hand.
She’d kissed him. More than once.
Surely the duchess didn’t know that. Dear heavens, hopefully the duchess hadn’t heard that part of their exchange. If she had, Elsbeth could anticipate a long lecture as to her morals, what was expected of her, and her great good fortune in being practically adopted by such a renowned and famous family. How dare she act like a doxy?
If the duchess was feeling exceptionally cruel, she’d say something like,I’m so glad Gavin hasn’t lived to see your perfidy. A remark similar to what she’d said this morning.
No doubt there were a few more rules she’d broken, a few more dictates, all selfishly done, of course. She’d had no consideration for the family—that accusation had been made numerous times in the past few years. She was ungrateful, never mind that she worked on their behalf each day and sometimes well into the night.
She knew better, however, than to make that comment or anything similar to it. No, the best option was to simply sit there and allow the words to wash over her like water.
Tonight, Rhona would fuss and she would apologize and in the end it wouldn’t matter. Elsbeth knew all the rules she’d broken, but she hadn’t cared and that was the truth of it. Being with Connor had been worth any type of penance she’d have to pay, even another of Rhona’s innumerable lectures.
On another night, she might have marshaled her arguments, deciding how best to convince Rhona that she wasn’t an ungrateful foundling. Now it didn’t matter. There were other considerations much more important.
Who had shot Connor?
The only person who had seemed remotely interested in that question was Mr. Kirby. Would he find anything at Castle McCraight? Would he tell her?
Why hadn’t anyone in the family expressed their outrage? Why hadn’t one person acted the least disturbed? That fact was telling, wasn’t it?
She had the horrible thought that someone in the family was responsible. If Connor died, they’d have to find a new duke, wouldn’t they? But Bealadair wasn’t entailed, according to Mr. Glassey. It wouldn’t pass to the next duke, but to Connor’s heirs.
Did the family know that Connor’s death wouldn’t solve anything?
