Hamish was aggravated when they finally returned to London. For one thing, the day they arrived, Henley informed them that Lady Esmeralda had gone out on calls. Jamison was understandably relieved—he’d been increasingly skittish about facing the matron—but Hamish was frustrated. He wanted to get started on his search for Elizabeth at once. He was fully determined to find her. He desperately needed to know she was safe.

And now he had to wait.

He saw Jamison and Mary to their quarters, and when the boy expressed discomfort living in the family wing, Hamish told him, in no uncertain terms, to get used to it.

He’d really come to like the young man during their journey, and he felt that he and Mary were a good match. He agreed completely with Bower’s decision to hire the lad. Their business was growing and they could use another good man back in Halkirk, but the boy’s station in life had changed and he had to learn to accept it. His servant’s mentality did not become the husband of a wealthy lady.

Once the newlyweds were settled, Hamish headed for the parlor. To wait. He wanted to be right there when Esmeralda returned.

When he heard a bustle at the door, he shot to his feet.

Esmeralda pushed through and stopped short at the sight of him. Her face scrunched up, which he interpreted as her way of holding back her excitement. Or her dismay.

With her, it was difficult to tell.

“Henley. Tea,” she barked. And then she swanned into the room with Victoria in her wake.

Though he knew it was pointless, Hamish couldn’t help glancing into the hall behind them in hopes of seeing Elizabeth sweep in as well.

“Sit down,” Esmeralda barked. “And stop mooning.”

“Was I mooning?”

“You were. How was your journey?” She seemed stiff and unsure of herself, which was a first. “Did you find Mary?”

“We did. I brought her back—”

“Oh, thank God.”

“But . . .”

Esmeralda pinned him with a sharp glower. “But what?” Though it was clear she already knew. Or suspected at least.

“We found them in Gretna Green.”

“How romantic,” Victoria gushed. Her aunt singed her with a frown.

“So it was too late,” the older woman said on a sigh.

“Aye. They are happy, though.”

“Oh, I am so delighted about that.” Esmeralda’s tone was dry as dust.

“Bower has hired the boy, so he will have a good living. Mary will not starve.”

“And I am delighted about that,” Victoria said with a smile. “Where are they?”

“In their rooms.”

“Egads. Together? Alone?” Esmeralda appeared to be on the verge of apoplexy.

“They are married,” he reminded her, which did not seem to mollify her in the slightest.

“It will take time getting used to this,” she said.

“Indeed, it will.”

“And Anne? How is she taking it?”

“Quite well, I believe. The last time I saw her, she and Mary were laughing.”

Esmeralda stilled. “The last time you saw her?”

Och. He should have softened this blow. “She remained in Scotland with Bower for the time being. She was too ill to travel.”

“She always did have a tender stomach,” Victoria said.

“In Scotland?” Esmeralda warbled. “With Bower? Together? Alone?”

“Oh really, dear aunt. This is Anne we’re talking about,” Victoria said on a laugh. “Surely you realize nothing untoward will happen between them.”

Hamish had to nibble on his lip to stay silent. He very much suspected something untoward was happening between Anne and Ranald, but it did not seem prudent to mention it. At least, not at the moment. No doubt Esmeralda had had enough of a shock for one day.

“Right,” she grumbled. “He is a Scotsman, after all.”

Victoria nodded. “Exactly.”

“Where is Henley with that tray?” Esmeralda snapped. And of course, as though she had summoned him with her ferocity, he arrived.

And not a moment too soon. Hamish was famished.

He tucked into the finger sandwiches and cakes with an enthusiasm that left the ladies gaping.

“We hadn’t eaten today,” he said as he caught them staring.

“No?” Esmeralda said. “One could never tell.”

“The boat docked at dawn and we came straightaway.”

“Shall I ring for another tray?” Victoria asked.

“I think that would be advisable, considering the fact that Mr. Robb has devoured this one.”

It hadn’t been that bad, surely, but it was a good thing that Victoria did so because shortly after it arrived, so did callers.

To Hamish’s relief, included in that company were the two men he needed to talk to, the Duke of Moncrieff and Ewan McCloud, who arrived with their wives in tow.

He chomped at the bit as the ladies frittered about with their greetings, but once everyone was seated, he had no chance to broach the subject of finding Elizabeth because before he could bring it up, the duke huffed a sigh and announced, “We have news.”

Esmeralda leaned forward and warbled, “Do tell.”

The duchess folded her hands together primly. “You recall Twiggenberry attempted to pressure Elizabeth by insinuating that he was connected to the prince?”

Hamish boggled. “He did what?” But everyone ignored him.

Esmeralda sniffed. “I most certainly do.”

The duchess nodded. “And we agreed to look into the matter?”

“Yes. And thank you.”

“We have news,” the duke repeated.

“Interesting news,” the duchess added with a smile.

Apparently McCloud was too impatient to string this out. “Twiggenberry is a complete fraud.”

“Wait.” Esmeralda paled. “What are you saying?”

The duke cleared his throat, but his wife answered for him. “He’s not a wealthy lord at all. In fact—”

“He’s quite broke,” McCloud said with a grin.

“He’s marrying Elizabeth for her money?” Hamish had to ask, but he did so through his teeth. He so sincerely wanted to break something.

Preferably, Twiggenberry’s face.

In lieu of that, a vase. Preferably an expensive one.

The only reason he did not was because Esmeralda would flay him alive if he did.

“That rat,” Victoria bleated. “Well, she’s definitely not marrying him now.”

“Indeed not.” The duchess’s smile was broad.

Hamish felt the extreme need to interrupt this orgy of delight with the bald facts. “This is all good and well, but the fact is, we have no idea where Elizabeth is. We must find her.”

She could be dead in the gutter for all he knew.

If she was, he wouldn’t want to live—

The duchess cleared her throat. “About that . . .”

All eyes snapped to her.

“I may have an idea where she’s gone.”

The duke whipped around and gaped at his wife.

She shrugged. “I couldna let her marry that beast.”

“My God, I love you, you Scottish vixen,” His Grace said, and then he kissed his wife.

And kissed her.

And kissed her.

“Ahem,” Hamish said. And again, until they surfaced. He hated to interfere with true love and all, but he really needed to know. “Where is she?”

“I sent her to stay with a friend.”

“A friend?”

“Well, a friend of a friend.”

“Aye?”

The duchess turned to her husband. “You remember Miss Claire?”

“Lovely woman.”

“She was Helena’s nurse. Now she lives in Cornwall.”

“Cornwall?” Hamish barked. Bluidy hell. He’d sailed right past her. Irritation welled in his gut and churned.

Esmeralda sniffed. “Cornwall is at the end of the world.”

“Only Devon,” the duke said amiably.

“Clovelly is a lovely village,” Her Grace assured them.

It did not assure Hamish. “She traveled by herself?” he croaked.

“She’s verra adept. We disguised her as a widow.”

Hamish blanched. Didn’t they know how men viewed widows? That they were practically fair game?

“She’s fine. Really.” The duchess patted his hand, the equivalent of a kitten patting an enraged tiger. Hamish sucked in a breath and glanced at her husband before he responded. To remind himself of her stature. It wouldn’t do to snap at her. Especially with Edward at her side.

He took a moment to contain himself before he responded. “Thank you for helping her, Your Grace.” If the duchess had not, Elizabeth would surely have been wed by now. “I have to go after her.”

Esmeralda cleared his throat. “You do?”

Hamish glowered at her. “Aye.”

“That would hardly be proper.”

“To hell with proper,” he practically roared. “I refuse to continue this farce.”

“Whatever do you mean?” the duchess asked with a glow in her eye.

Hamish leaped to his feet. “Elizabeth is mine,” he said. “We had agreed to marry before that idiot Twiggenberry compromised her, and let’s be clear, I have compromised her a damn sight more.”

Esmeralda gasped and pretended to swoon, but no one was paying attention so she sat upright again and proceeded to scowl at him.

“Ahem. How much more?” the duke asked.

“Quite thoroughly, Your Grace. When I do something, I doona see the point of doing it halfway.”

“Good man,” the duchess breathed. When her husband frowned at her she smiled brightly and said, “I’ve always fancied a holiday in Cornwall. What do you say?”

* * *

“How do you feel, dear?” Miss Claire asked. She tightened her arm on Elizabeth’s as they strolled along High Street. It wasn’t often that they came to town for fun, but there was a festival this afternoon and neither wanted to miss it.

“Wonderful,” Elizabeth said, and it was the truth. Whatever transition her body had been undergoing seemed to have eased. She had her energy back and was able to walk, and most of the time, her outlook was bright.

“I hear you crying at night.”

Oh dear. Elizabeth offered a brave smile. “I thought I was being quiet.”

“You were. I have good ears.” Claire stared out at the sea and sighed. “Do you miss him so very much?”

Elizabeth blinked. “My husband?”

Claire patted her hand. “If you wish. But between you and me, we both know better.”

“I . . . How did you guess?”

“I’ve been around for a long, long while, my dear. But fear not. Your secret’s safe with me.”

“Thank you, Claire.”

“Thank you for coming to brighten my days. I’ve really enjoyed having you.”

“I’ve enjoyed being here. This will be a lovely place to raise a child.” Though she said this with a wistful tone.

“I imagine it would be.” She shot Elizabeth a sharp glance. “You could always marry Lord Hamlyn. He seems devoted.”

“I couldn’t. I don’t love him.”

“Many people marry without love.”

“I’m sure they do. But I cannot be one of them. You do understand, don’t you?”

Claire huffed a laugh. “I wasn’t always old. I was in love once too.”

“Were you? What happened?”

“He married someone else, of course.”

Given her tone, Elizabeth decided not to pry any further. “Oh, look,” she said. “Pies!”

They made their way to the vendor hawking warm meat pies and paid for two, and then they strolled along the stalls as they nibbled away. They stopped to watch performing ponies and a man toss knives with frightening accuracy. In the center of the cacophony was a string quartet playing Beethoven.

“This is lovely,” Claire said.

“It most certainly is.”

The older woman sighed. “It reminds me of a Frost Fair I attended when I was a girl.”

“A Frost Fair?”

Claire smiled. “The River Thames froze over and a carnival sprang up on the ice. Dancing, food, entertainments . . . It was great fun.”

“I imagine it was cold.”

“Oh, yes. It was,” she said with a fond smile.

“I much prefer this.” Elizabeth tossed back her head and the warm spring breeze danced through her hair.

“You know, I think I do too.”

“Shall we sit down?” Elizabeth suggested when she saw her companion was tiring.

“That would be nice, dear. All this up and down does take a toll.”

Elizabeth laughed. “That is does.” But when one lived in a village perched on a steep cliff running down to the sea, there were hills.

She found an out-of-the-way bench and they both sat and watched the crowds frolic.

After a while, by mutual consent, they headed back to their cottage. By the time they arrived, night had fallen.

“I enjoyed that immensely,” Miss Claire said, “but I am exhausted, my dear. Do you mind if I turn in?”

“Not at all.” Elizabeth smiled. “Can I bring you some tea?”

“I don’t think I could stay awake that long.” She patted Elizabeth’s hand. “Thank you though.” And then, yawning, she headed to her bedroom.

What a pity that Elizabeth was not tired in the least. She had counted on Claire’s chatter to keep her distracted from her deep thoughts.

Now that her body had accepted the pregnancy, she no longer even had her nausea to divert her attention.

Naturally, thoughts of Hamish came flooding in to fill the void. For once, she allowed them. She sat by the crackling fire and closed her eyes and thought of him. Remembered his touch, his voice, his kiss.

She knew she was one of the lucky ones, to have known such love.

It was petty and small of her to have wanted it all. Wasn’t it?

Now that scandal no longer mattered to her sisters, she could have had him, as hers, forever, if he had wanted her.

But he hadn’t.

He’d preferred her. That other woman.

She stilled. He had come back from Scotland, though. Did that mean anything? Perhaps it did, and perhaps it didn’t. If he felt obliged to return with Mary, he would have done so. If he felt obliged to the Duke of Caithness to stay until the end of the season, the same applied.

It would be foolish for her to assume he’d come back for her.

A part of her railed in exasperation. Because honestly, how would she know unless she asked him?

She owed it to him to ask him, didn’t she?

Of course she did.

She owed it to him to tell him about the child too, but even as the thought descended, she knew she would wait until she knew how he really felt because she did not want him to conclude he was obligated to marry her.

Knowing she’d trapped him into a marriage he didn’t want would be worse than never seeing him again.

But she had to see him again. She had to ask him if they had any chance together.

And she would.

It was surprising how quickly peace descended on her soul when she made the decision to return to London. Not forever, certainly, and not publicly. Even though Twiggenberry had left town, the hubbub about her disappearance would still be swirling.

But she had to speak with Hamish one more time. To be sure there was no hope for their love. And if there was . . . Oh. If there was.

She would tell Miss Claire first thing in the morning. Perhaps she would be inclined to make the journey to her childhood home too.

With that decision made, Elizabeth stood and headed for her room, but before she got far, there was a knock on the door.

She and Claire rarely had visitors, other than Lord Hamlyn, so Elizabeth was curious as to who it could be. When she opened the door, her heart stopped.

There, standing on the front step, was Wallace Twiggenberry. And he did not look happy in the least. In fact, he looked rather ferocious.