“It is if your eyes were set on the ten-thousand-pound prize.” She paced away from him, her ire burning a path from her throat to her belly. Everything about this situation was wrong—it left no room for anything but suspicion and heartbreak. There was truly only one way to be absolutely sure of his motives. “Very well—you want to know what you can do? Accept none of my dowry.”
The muscles worked at the corners of his jaw. “I can’t do that.” His words were flat. Final. “Without that money, we won’t even have a place to live after we are married. And by we, I doona just mean you and me. I mean my whole family, including Cora, Rhys, and Gran.”
“You see? Proving your intentions to me is impossible when the blasted money is so fundamental to the union.” It was hopeless. Nothing he could do would ever take away the hollowness that filled the place in her heart once overflowing with happiness. And love. No matter how misguided, she couldn’t deny how she had once felt about him.
“I’ll come up with something. By the time we marry, I’ll have proved myself to you.”
“If we marry.”
It was as if a steel plate slammed shut in his eyes. Hard, dull, impenetrable. “The announcement has already been made, the contracts signed.”
She crossed her arms tightly in front of her chest. “I don’t care. I’d rather live my life as an outcast than marry a fortune hunter.”
“I could sue. Your father would be forced to pay for restitution.”
“Then I guess you’ll get what you wanted, won’t you?” She hated the words, even as she said them. She hated the pain that flared in his eyes moments before his expression became hooded.
“How much time do I have?”
She lifted her shoulders, shaking her head at the hopelessness of his task. “I don’t know. A week? A month?” What did it matter? It was an impossible task.
His nod was sharp, just like his features. “One month. And, Beatrice?”
She met his iron gaze, unable to deny him that.
“Doona give up on me yet.”
Chapter Twenty-five
The sight of the austere stone house rising above the leafless trees and barren winter gardens was a relief for more reasons than simply the promise of the blessed warmth within, though after four days of traveling north in a cramped and half-frozen mail coach, he’d kill for a hot bath and a good scotch.
But that had nothing to do with the emotions seeing the house elicited within him.
He was home.
Colin pressed close to the glass, eager for the hack to reach the manor house at last. He needed his family’s counsel. His success in convincing Beatrice of his true intentions would impact them every bit as much as it did him. It was why, within half an hour of her departure from his aunt’s house, Colin was packed and on his way to see them.
Which meant none of them had any idea he was coming.
He didn’t relax until the wheels crunched over the gravel drive, heralding his arrival. He had barely opened the door when a commotion at the house had him looking up, just in time to see Cora rushing toward the carriage, her dark wool skirts swishing around her booted feet.
“Colin! Whatever are you doing here?” Apparently she was in too great a rush to have thought to grab a hat or proper coat. Her dark hair was coiled in a neat braid atop her head, leaving her neck bare to the frigid wind. “We’re all set to come to London at the end of the month for the wedding. We dinna think we’d see you before then.”
He dropped to the ground, holding his hat in one hand and accepting her eager hug with the other. “I canna say I expected it either. Come. Let’s get us out of the freezing wind before you catch your death.”
“Oh pish. You’ve been gone from Scotland too long if you think this is freezing.” Her brown eyes danced with excitement, making him smile for the first time in days. He had been right to come home. Together they could come up with a proper plan; he felt sure of it.
“I believe you are correct, Cora-belle.”
“Colin! You mustn’t call me that. I’m not a wee lass anymore.”
Rhys appeared in the door then, a wide grin on his face. “Doona be daft, Cora—you’ve only just given up your dolls. You’ve years yet to be a proper woman.”
Colin’s smile grew larger, even as it felt oddly foreign on his lips. “Listen to your brothers, Cor—the pair of us are far from ready to see you grown.”
“Oh, stop with you both. Gran was already married by the time she was my age.”
The house was so warm as to be almost stifling after hours in the thin-walled coach. As his siblings continued to tease, he shed his outerwear, reveling in the familiar smell of the old house. It might not have been in their family long, but it had always smelled like home. Wood, beeswax, and lemon oil, he thought, plus something else entirely unique to the place. After hanging up his hat and coat, he herded his siblings into the main drawing room, where Gran always spent her afternoons.
As expected, she sat bundled in her favorite knitted blanket on the antique sofa that had come with the house, darning what looked to be a pair of Rhys’s socks. It didn’t matter that they still had a maid of all work—she’d keep her hands busy no matter how many servants attended to her. It was one of the things that made Gran, Gran.
She looked up at their noisy entry. “As I live and breathe, my dear Colin.” She started to set aside her work, but he put up a hand.
“No, no, doona get up.” He went to greet her, kissing both of her soft, papery cheeks. She smelled of wool and lavender, just as she always had. “I’m happy to see you looking so well.”
“Havers, boy.” She chuckled, her voice strong despite the rasp of age. “If ye believe that, perhaps ye should be getting yerself to the doctor’s for a check of those lying eyes of yers.”
“The God’s honest truth, Gran. You look hale enough to tackle any bear that should wander into the drawing room.”
She pursed her lips in mock severity, even as her blue eyes twinkled with delight. “Such cheek, lad.” She paused, taking him in from head to boot. “And where is the lass whit keep ye in line?”
Leave it to Gran to get straight to the heart of things without even trying. “Back in London, far away from this miserable weather. Speaking of which, Cora, can you see about ordering a tea service? I’m chilled straight through to the marrow, I swear.”
She nodded and set off to do his bidding, and Colin settled onto his father’s favorite chair, stretching his hands to the fire burning behind the decorative iron screen. The room was huge, extending from the front of the house straight through to the back, with windows at both ends. Despite its large size, the massive stone fireplace and the low ceiling helped keep the space warm and cozy, making it the primary gathering spot in the house. Of course, Gran’s knitting helped keep it homey as well, with throws and blankets draped across the comfortable, decades-old furnishings.
His brother plopped down next to Gran, linking an arm with hers. “So, if your lady love is in London, what the devil are you doing here?”
“Rhys,” Colin admonished, widening his eyes at his brother. “Watch your language, please.”
Gran clucked her tongue, shaking her head. “Och, I’m not going ta wither at the sound of a wee curse word. Answer the question, if ye please.”
Direct as always. Colin rubbed a hand over his eyes, which felt dry and gritty after days on the road. He’d come here for their help, hadn’t he? The sooner they tackled the problem, the sooner they could come up with a solution. “Let’s wait for Cora, at least. I’d rather not have to hash it out twice.”
“I’m here, I’m here—doona delay on my account,” Cora said, hurrying through the doorway and settling on Gran’s other side. His siblings towered over their adopted grandmother, but Colin had no doubt Gran could still ring a peal over their heads, if she should be so moved.