Page 14 of Return of the Scot
“Is there anything else I can help ye with, sir?”
“Aye. I want ye to hire men to find Gille. I’ll be working my damndest to discover him myself, but I’ve been gone a long time and lost touch with my brother years ago. I’ve no idea what he’s been up to, and I have to find out. I want my money back, or what’s left of it.”
“Already on it, Your Grace. I made inquiries last night.”
“Excellent.”
“We’ll get everything straightened away. And ye just say the word when ye’re ready for me to contact Miss Andrewson.”
Lorne stood. “And any information ye have on the Andrewson family and shipping company, I’d like that as well.”
“I also thought ye might.” Lindsey handed him a file. “This is a copy for ye.”
Lorne took the thick file, glancing inside for a brief moment, seeing Shanna’s name blaring on the first record, and he slammed it shut. “Thank ye.”
“I’ll be in touch, Your Grace.”
Lorne returned to Sutherland Gate and marched straight into his study. The room was clean and looked the same as it had the last time he’d been in town. Gille might not have even touched this room, though he knew his half-brother must have. How could he have run the estates and satisfied his duties as duke and a member of Parliament if he’d not?
Throwing the file onto the desk, Lorne opened the drawers, finding the pack of cigars where he’d left it. That was a clue as much as anything else that Gille had not been in the study; else, he would have pilfered every last one of them.
Lifting one of the cigars, he twirled it around in his fingers, feeling the smooth paper, smelling the pungent tobacco. It had been over eight years since he’d had a cigar, having declined one offered in the club last night. These were not a luxury afforded a soldier fighting in the Peninsular War, nor a prisoner. And after the whisky he’d had, he knew a puff would have tossed him right over the edge.
Still holding the cigar, Lorne walked to the window that faced the street, taking in the sights of women walking arm in arm and servants scurrying about their duties, shopping or running other various errands. A stray dog darted in and out of the crowd, slinking behind a house down the lane. He leaned against the frame, watching as everyone went past, none of them the wiser for what it was like to sit in the bleak darkness with only the company of other miserable souls. To not be free to walk the street. To smoke a bloody cigar.
Lorne didn’t want to think about those dark moments. He wanted to put it past him. To move on. Lord knew he had enough to worry about, dealing with his brother right now. The last thing he needed was to sit there and commiserate about the suffering he’d been through. He had problems to solve. Big problems.
With a groan, he turned away and went to his desk, replacing the cigar and sitting down in the creaking, old leather chair that had belonged to his father, and if he remembered correctly, his grandfather as well.
The Andrewson folder that Lindsey had given him was the only thing on his desk. He should look through it because if he were going to convince Jaime to either give him back his castle or marry him, he’d best know everything there was to know about her and her family.
Which meant he’d be finding out what happened to Shanna since he’d been gone. Lorne grimaced. He didn’t give a shite what had happened to that conniving wench. But he did feel sorry for the child she’d ended up bringing into the world. Poor whelp. And for the backlash that must have come down heavily on Jaime. Was Shanna’s indiscretion the reason she’d yet to marry at the age of four-and-twenty?
Instead of flipping through the folder then, Lorne opened his study door and summoned his housekeeper. “Coffee, please, and keep it coming.”
If he was about to fall into the past, then he needed to stay awake for the journey.
* * *
Jaime pinchedthe cuff of her sleeve, the only sign that she was extremely vexed. Over an hour she’d spent in Mr. MacDonald’s office, and no matter how many minutes ticked by and solutions hashed, she was still not hearing the answer she wanted.
“My sister can no’ be expected to vacate the home I gave her.” It was probably the eighth time she’d said it.
Mr. MacDonald let out a long-suffering sigh that made her irritated with herself as much as he was losing his patience. “I understand your position, Miss Andrewson, but the fact remains, the Duke of Sutherland is alive, and his property was sold without his consent and is therefore not a legal sale.”
That truth smarted. If he’d handed her a sack full of banknotes yesterday, she would have had to give him the deed and somehow tell her sister that she’d failed. Poor Gordie’s birthright stolen from him all over again. As if it wasn’t bad enough that the lad was the duke’s unclaimed child, and Shanna should have been married to him.
That castle was Shanna’s home, but even saying that to Mr. MacDonald had not helped the situation. And only served to deepen the pitying look he gave her. A regard she’d seen all too often in society.
“There are plenty of other castles for sale, Miss Andrewson. I would be happy to look into drawing up a legal deed of sale for any others that ye might desire.”
“I wanted that one.” God, she hated how she was starting to sound like a petulant child.
“I understand.” And his expression said as much, but what he understood and what she implied seemed to be two different things.
“So what do I do now? Wait for the duke to grace my threshold once more?”
Mr. MacDonald nodded. “Or ye could seek him out yourself with the deed. He must, of course, return the money ye paid for it.”
