Page 10 of The Texan Duke
Mr. Glassey glanced at her and then away.
She thought he wasn’t going to answer, but he finally sighed before turning to her again.
“It’s his way of thinking that takes some adjustment, Miss Carew.”
She remained silent, waiting for him to elaborate on his answer.
“His Grace didn’t want to come to Scotland. He even asked me if there was a way he could turn down the title.”
“He couldn’t have been serious, Mr. Glassey,” she said, surprised.
“I’m afraid he was, Miss Carew. Each day of our journey, he regaled me with tasks that he needed to perform at home. He is not pleased to be here.”
She had the distinct impression that Mr. Glassey had not enjoyed either his visit to America or the journey home. When she said as much in as tactful a manner as possible, the solicitor shook his head rapidly.
“It isn’t America, Miss Carew. It’s Texas, a fact that I was reminded of almost hourly. The 14th Duke of Lothian is a Texan.”
“What’s a Texan?”
He shook his head again. “I have no doubt that he will inform you soon enough.”
The solicitor said nothing further, but he also refused to budge from the door. When all the trunks had been distributed and sent to the various rooms, Mr. Glassey looked longingly up at the staircase.
“I don’t suppose you could tell everyone that I’ve taken ill and retired to my room?”
The solicitor rarely socialized with the family. He didn’t even eat dinner with them when he was at Bealadair, choosing instead to take a tray in his room. She’d always wondered if it was because he didn’t like the McCraights personally or if he considered himself staff more than their social equals. It wasn’t a question she could come out and ask.
“Do you really wish me to?”
He sighed again. “No, I don’t suppose so. Such behavior would be rude and Her Grace might have questions for me.”
Mr. Glassey offered his arm and she placed her hand on it, the two of them heading back to the Laird’s Hall.Bearding the dragon, Gavin would’ve said.
A Texas dragon, at that.
Where had the woman gone? She’d entered the Laird’s Hall, taken his coat, and then disappeared. Connor stopped himself from following her only because Sam was glaring at him.
With some difficulty, he applied himself to his manners. As the only brother to five sisters, he’d often been put into the position of being a dummy cow. When a bull didn’t seem interested in mounting a particular female, they sometimes brought in a ringer, another cow that might just get him interested in the act. He was the dummy cow for his sisters whenever they needed an escort, accompanying them to cotillions and parties, getting years of practice in hiding his impatience and learning to charm the matrons who’d assumed the task of watching them all with a critical eye.
He sat next to Muira, helping himself to some of the fried pies on the tray in front of him. To his surprise they weren’t sweet but savory. Three pies later he was decided he was going to take the recipe home for his mother.
Anise hadn’t said anything directly to him. Lara was involved in conversation with her husband. Connor might not have been in the room for all the attention she paid him. Muira was the only one he talked to, their conversation about food.
He was fine with being ignored.
All the women were dressed in dark colors with large swaths of plaid material draped from shoulder to waist. His mother still wore black, but by the time he’d gotten home, his sisters had come out of mourning.
The door opened again and there she was with Glassey in tow.
Her hair was black, her eyes gray, which should have rendered them cold and disinterested. Instead, when she looked at him, he had the distinct impression of heat. He wondered if she wanted to say something, offer some words of welcome, something soft and sweet. Something to warm him down to the bones that still felt cold and brittle from the journey.
A foolish reaction to a woman and one he’d never before experienced. No doubt he was simply tired.
His aunt glanced at her. “Elsbeth, would you please arrange to have the shutters closed? I’m afraid it looks like an intemperate night.”
Elsbeth nodded, turned and left the room again. This time, her absence wasn’t as extended. She returned with a half dozen footmen as the duchess was expounding on the wonders of a Highland winter.
Sam was his usual diplomatic self, not mentioning that they’d both shivered for hours during the last leg of their journey and had spent considerable time lambasting the snow and the cold. You would think, from listening to him, that he was overjoyed to have been nearly frozen.
