Comprehension dawned on Georgiana.

Lord McIntyre was the father of Lady Isla McIntyre, the woman whom Callum was supposed to marry. She hadn’t dwelled on Lord McIntyre, envisioning him as some crotchety neighbor pressuring Hamish to ensure his brother fulfilled some long forgotten contract to whom Hamish was beholden for sheep grazing privilege or something equally unimportant when compared with true love and everlasting happiness.

She hadn’t imagined Lord McIntyre had passed away, but that Hamish still felt honor bound to see his desires fulfilled. Surely the man’s pull must extend beyond that of a wealthy landowner to be appeased.

“Lord McIntyre did so much for Callum and me,” Hamish said, and Georgiana averted her eyes.

“I see.” She kept her voice steady and light, even as Hamish confirmed everything she did not desire to know.

“It was always Lord McIntyre’s desire that Callum and Lady Isla should marry.” Hamish’s face darkened. Evidently the reminder that he might not fulfil his late guardian’s desire saddened him. “He raised us, much more than our parents did when they were alive. He taught us horseback riding and chess. He taught us the names of plants and trees. He loved Scotland. He trusted Callum to provide for Lady Isla.”

“What is Lady Isla like?” Georgiana asked, curious despite not wanting to know the answer. Perhaps Hamish would rush home to his castle in the Highlands, away from the pettiness of the ton, and propose to her out of some familial duty or actual desire. She must be wonderful, perhaps even spectacular, if he thought she would make such a good match for his brother.

Or perhaps he loved Isla and simply wanted her to fulfil her desire?

The notion was overly romantic. She shook her head. Perhaps she had been reading too many Loretta Van Lochen novels lately, and her sense of chivalry and the power of love had been overly heightened, but for some reason she still felt tense.

“Lady Isla is everything my brother should marry,” Hamish said.

The tension in Georgiana’s spine did not ease.

“She’s intelligent and pretty,” Hamish added. He may have listed more such positive traits, but Georgiana had no desire to hear them.

“Lady Isla has long dark hair and green eyes that all the other men are always complimenting.” Hamish, though, seemed to think it important to describe Isla in greater detail, a fact no doubt spurred on by the fact that Georgiana had asked about her. “I still don’t understand why Callum did not want to marry her. Everyone adored her, even other women, and I know you know how demanding their expectations can be.”

Georgiana stiffened, but Hamish continued.

“I could understand if he was reluctant to marry her if there was anything unappealing about her, but there isn’t,” Hamish concluded.

Perhaps Hamish had not really thrown ice over her, but her limbs felt stiff, and she shuddered. She had an urge to laugh, as if to express wonder at his brother’s foolishness, but when she attempted the action the voice sounded jarring, even to her own ears.

It would have been far nicer to hear that Lady Isla was imperfect. Georgiana cursed herself for being so uncharitable, but the fact remained. When the duke and Charlotte married—Georgiana had little doubt that they would—would the duke be forever musing about the life he could have had? With a woman who would have been an adept hostess, making excellent conversation with all the lairds and their families effortlessly? With a woman who would know what meals to serve and whom he would be confident that she would not pass any negative traits to her children?

Such as red hair.

Georgiana pushed away the thought. She was thinking about her sister’s happiness. Her own hair color had nothing to do with it, naturally.

Georgiana had relatives who shared her hair color; it must be something common in her family.

Red hair did not seem common in other people’s families.

She certainly was not imagining anything for herself.

After all, she abhorred Hamish. She’d told him so herself. But that seemed no longer true. She didn’t despise him, and she might even miss him later.

She’d not contemplate the precise degree that she would miss him: she had the feeling that she might find the answer unpleasant.

“But I was asking you about your parents,” Hamish said, perhaps sensing her discomfort, and Georgiana’s reverie was broken. His voice seemed almost concerned, as if he might be aware he had upset her.

“Most people think my parents are eccentric,” Georgiana said.

“I’m quite sure that in this case most people are correct.”

Georgiana smiled. “Perhaps. The thing is that they’re both intelligent. People don’t think they are, because I couldn’t identify each peer before I debuted, but mother knows so much about flowers and plants. She could have been a witch in the old days.”

“Some people might still consider her one,” Hamish observed.

“Excuse me?”

“The plants,” Hamish said quickly. “I meant the plants.”

“Oh.” This time Georgiana giggled, and he soon joined her. “I thought you might have thought—”

“I didn’t,” Hamish said.

“Well,” Georgiana said. “She’s too fond of turbans to ever desire to switch to a pointed hat.”

“That is quite sensible of her,” Hamish said.

“You probably thought my family was mad,” Georgiana said.

“I did,” Hamish agreed, and Georgiana stiffened.

He squeezed her hand, and she attempted to ignore the butterflies swirling inside her. “But I thought that was quite nice.”

“Madness appeals to you? You should have visited Bedlam while in London.”

He chuckled. The sound was deep and appealing, reminding her of warm amaretto.

“I think it’s nice that your family is so lively.”

“My mother is lively.”

He shrugged. “But your father was always present. That means something. Something nice.”

Oh.

How odd that Hamish was the first to comment on it.

“How old were you when your parents passed away?” she asked.

“Four.”

“Tell me about them. What were they like? Do you remember much?”

His lips quirked into something resembling a smile, though Georgiana thought it closer to an expression of bravery.

“I shouldn’t have asked,” Georgiana said. “Forgive me.”

He shook his head. “It’s a good question. One I’ve asked myself many times. I remember other things from then. I remember my room, and how the light hit the curtains and the sound of the waves. I remember my third birthday and thinking time moved far too slowly. I remember some of the servants, and of course, I remember my brother.”

She waited, and then her heart clenched when she realized that was the end of his memories.

“I would have thought that my parents would have made more of an impression on me than my curtains. I’m not even interested in fabric, as my valet would be the first to attest.”

“Perhaps you would have grown closer when you were older.”

“Perhaps,” Hamish said. “I hope so.”

She frowned. “But I don’t quite understand. Why do you worry so much about the estate? I thought you were maintaining it for the memory of your father, but he didn’t even...” She stopped abruptly. She didn’t want to tell him that his father had never made an impression on him as a child, a definite sign that he’d rarely visited Hamish as a child. There were some things that one should never utter out loud, but Hamish seemed to understand her all the same.

Hamish, she realized, was always understanding everything. For a man with definite roguish tendencies, at least when it came to chamber trespassing, he was not a partygoer. He’d never once mentioned a gaming hall or told her of horse races in excruciating detail as had some other men in her acquaintance.

He cared for others. He looked out for others. He was admirable.

She mused over last night’s agonies. She’d been so suspicious of him, but he hadn’t harmed her.

“Why are you so eager for your brother to marry Lady Isla?”

“Must we discuss it?” he asked.

“I believe your schedule is free now. You do not even have to worry about driving. Or if perhaps walking requires your full concentration—”

“We can talk,” he said abruptly. He raked his hand through his hair, obviously uncomfortable.

“Why is my sister not suitable enough for him? Is it because of Father’s position? Or because we’re English? Because you don’t seem conceited all the time, but—”

“Not all the time?” He turned his head toward her and grinned. “I suppose I should take that as a compliment.”

She was silent, willing him to share more.

“It’s because of the castle,” he said finally. “Montgomery Castle. My parents weren’t gifted at money management. Apparently they saw the fact that they lived in a castle as an excuse to spend all manner of money, so much so that they had to mortgage the property that had been bequeathed them. I’m told they hosted the best balls on the isles. When they died, our guardian—”

“Lord McIntyre?”

He nodded. “The estate was never tied up with the title. When my parents died, Callum and I were still children, and so he bought the mortgage for us, with the understanding that we could live in the castle when we were older as long as Callum married Lady Isla.” He shrugged. “I suppose he wanted his daughter to be a duchess, but the offer was still kind.”

“Not that kind.”

He frowned. “I don’t understand the match. I’d never heard about your family before. I just don’t want him to regret his decision.”

“You’re just trying to protect your brother.”

“And future Montgomerys,” Hamish added, and she smiled.

“It’s easy to marry in Scotland,” Hamish said. “They don’t even require posting banns. God in heaven, they don’t even require a minister. Everyone knows the blacksmith in Gretna Green has a nice side business, simply by virtue of his location over the Scottish border. But dissolving the marriage? That’s difficult. And it can cause pain.” He turned to her. “I don’t need to remind you about Henry VIII.”

“I’m aware.”

“Good.”

“I always did like history,” she mused.

“Aye, then you do have some taste, lassie.”