Chapter 2
Two
Having retrieved his horse and hunched his head down inside his collar, Alec’s thoughts unknowingly echoed Finn’s. “I could almost wish myself back in Spain,” he muttered. With resignation, he set out through the downpour and the crowded streets to make his way to his temporary home.
The return to his lodgings, however, did not improve his mood.
Hours later, a now dry, fed, and weary Duke of Selkirk sat in front of his own fire, nursing a drink of something not quite up to the quality of his earlier glass at White’s, and staring at the flames which crackled at him from the fireplace.
Based on his present mood, the sound appeared to be mocking him.
His daughter and household were settled comfortably in their beds.
All upsets had been soothed. He had dismissed his man, Archibald, a few hours earlier, telling him that, duke or not, he could see himself to his own bed. All should be well.
But he was still restless. His meeting earlier in the afternoon with Finn rankled him.
It didn’t matter how many times he had this conversation with himself, it didn’t matter that he had come to a decision, and it didn’t matter that he had acted on said decision and travelled down to London with his daughter.
This business of finding a wife was an itch around his neck and a roiling in his belly.
If he boiled it down, it was a circular conversation consisting of two phrases: “I do not want to do this” and “I must do this.” The only way he could stop the whirling was to tell himself, “This is for Marjorie.”
He tugged at his neckcloth, but he had already loosened it when he sat down with his drink.
He stared at the glass, which held only a thin line of whisky.
Gulping down the last taste, he half rose to refill it and then sank back down.
He had better not. Drinking himself into oblivion was tempting, but it would not help.
And tomorrow there would be an outing. For Marjorie.
He leaned his head back and extended his legs toward the flames.
He let his mind wander to their first morning in London, after the long ride from his estate in Scotland.
He had woken up to find the sun had broken through the clouds and decided to take his daughter for a walk to see some of the town.
She was eager to release her pent-up energy from the close quarters of several days in the carriage.
Regardless of all his grumbling about having to leave the peace of home for a duty he was loathe to fulfill, he too had been eager to get back out into the hubbub of the enormous city.
The streets of London were crowded that morning.
Sidewalks were thronged with strollers and shoppers and the roadways clogged with carriages, riders, and carts.
Horseshoes clanged on the stone-paved streets, wheels rumbled, wandering sellers shouted out their wares, cries of outrage followed a young pickpocket as he made a quick getaway clutching a lady’s elegant reticule.
Mud and other unmentionables flowed down the gutters, and ladies hoisted their skirts as they attempted to shield themselves from the occasional splashes.
Days upon days of rain had momentarily lifted, and the city had burst into human bloom.
A touch of chill was still in the air, and a few hot chestnut sellers were doing a brisk business as people paused to buy a bag of warmth to clutch in their gloved hands.
Alec had vaguely recognized he and his daughter had drawn a few looks, more of wonderment than judgement.
It was not often you saw a gentleman of his class out walking with his child, with neither hide nor hair of a nursemaid in attendance.
It was also the complete comfortableness evident in the pair.
They formed a close unit, secure in their own company.
Peg had bundled eight-year-old Marjorie up in a sturdy coat with a fetching bonnet that matched.
Well, he had found it to be fetching; his daughter could not have cared less.
Clutching his hand as they walked, she took in everything and engaged him in a steady stream of observations.
As the occasional passing cart drowned out her words, he’d had to lean down to hear her clearly.
The happy spark in her dark eyes gave him a feeling of buoyancy, and he reached over to tug an errant bright curl behind her ear.
Marjorie was eager to look at everything, and, occasionally, she let go of her father’s hand to jump up and down to emphasize a point in what she was recounting.
“Marjorie!” he exclaimed. “Hold onto my hand! These carriages and wagons are dangerous. You could be trampled.”
She skipped back to him, undeterred. “Oh, pooh, Papa! I would not be such a ninny as to hurl myself into the street.”
“Excellent. Let us keep any hurling at bay for the present, imp. Now, we are almost at the bookshop. Shall we see what treasures they have for us in the window?”
“Ooh, yes.” Tugging free again, she darted ahead for the few remaining feet and took up position in front of the wide window. “Oh, look, Papa! Ever so many. Imagine, so many books all gathered together for sale.”
“Yes, just so,” he replied. And father and daughter came to a stop, nearly pressing their noses against the glass.
The latest titles were tastefully and temptingly arranged behind it.
No need to order and wait for an item to be shipped far up to the north where they lived.
You could see something you liked, step inside the shop to purchase it, and carry it home to read that very day.
“I am ready to step inside, Marjorie. Are you? Only one book, mind.”
The lack of a response caused Alec to turn abruptly to the spot where his daughter stood, or rather, had stood. He’d found himself alone in a sea of people heaving themselves up and down the sidewalk. A cold panic gripped him. Damnation! He had told her. Why didn’t she listen?
“Marjorie? Marjorie!” The fear in his voice cut through the street’s tumult.
“Marjorie?” He looked frantically in both directions.
He could see no trace of her anywhere. It was as if she had been swallowed up by the city.
How could she have vanished so utterly? “No, no, no, no, no!” His stomach plummeted, and a fist squeezed his heart as he turned in circles, cursing his momentary inattention.
“Marjorie!”
He felt a tug on his leg. He looked down, trying to swallow back the terror. A little boy of about six, wearing a filthy cap with a streak of dirt across his forehead, stood there. Silently, the child turned and pointed.
And there, about halfway back down the row of shops, sat his daughter on the curb’s edge, rubbing her face into that of a tiny black-and-white dog.
The gutter’s muck flowed, ignored, over her boots as she petted him with great delight and energy.
Taking off at a fast clip, Alec reached her and scooped both girl and dog up in a bruising hug.
“Oof, Papa! Leave off! Isn’t he wonderful?”
Alec strengthened his grip on her. “I believed I had lost you!” he bellowed. “Do not ever do that again. And put that animal down at once. I am sure it is completely infested with fleas!”
“Oh, but Papa! He found me! He ran up to me and then started to run into the street. I couldn’t let him get hit by a carriage. Isn’t he the best puppy you have ever seen? Shouldn’t we take him home and keep him safe?”
Alec spared the briefest of glances at the tiny dog while he clutched Marjorie even tighter. “Absolutely not. No dogs. We can find a puppy for you when we get home. Now, we must put him back down where you found him.”
He glanced around to see a small girl of about Marjorie’s age, who was sitting next to where his daughter had been.
Her grimy face, hands, and clothes, along with her bare feet, indicated she had an intimate knowledge of the less salubrious aspects of London.
A second look, however, showed him blue eyes filling with tears as she looked with longing at the puppy.
More gently, he said to Marjorie, “Sweetheart, the puppy already has someone who he belongs to. Look,” he directed her attention to the little girl, “I think she would be very sad to lose her puppy.” With great reluctance, he set his daughter back down on the ground.
Marjorie looked at the other little girl in surprise. She had been so engaged with cuddling the dog, she had not noticed her sitting down on the curb next to her.
“Go on,” he said, as she turned and cast an imploring look his way.
Slowly, Marjorie walked back to the other girl and held out the puppy to her. “Is he yours? Did he run away from you?” she asked. She received a tremulous nod in response.
“Then I am glad I could rescue him for you.” A pause, and then a reluctant, “Thank you for letting me hold him.” The other girl did not say anything but snatched the puppy, took a final agonized look at Marjorie and her Papa, and then ran off down the street as fast as her legs could carry her , clutching her pet tightly.
A few protesting barks—of joy at being reunited with its owner?
At being squeezed?—were heard before the sounds faded into the general roar.
Marjorie almost took off again at those barks and then sighed. “I had grown very fond of the puppy, Papa.”
“I know you had, imp,” he said, putting his arm around her and pulling her close to him.
“But that was observant of you, and big-hearted, to realize the puppy belonged to that little girl.” And then he gave a grimace.
“And I think we shall have to delay our bookshop visit so I can get you home and into a tub. You need a good scrubbing now.”
“Really, Papa, I do not think that is necessary.”
At that, Alec threw his head back and laughed, ignoring the crowds on the sidewalks and a few passersby who gave him a startled glance. “Well, I do. And I am the papa. What I say goes. Come along, Sailor Raeburn. It’s a hot bath and flea removal for you.”
“But—!”
He raised a finger and shook his head. Recognizing the gesture, Marjorie planted her feet and saluted, but the “Aye, aye” which accompanied the salute bordered on mutinous.
“Hand!”
She reached up and grasped his hand. And so, connected, they had retraced their steps back the way they had come. Alec leaned down as they went and said close to her ear, “And while you are in the tub, I shall send out for something delicious for tea. Pax?”
Marjorie had looked up at him and grinned. “Pax, Papa.”
The memory brought a smile to Alec’s lips.
“Pax, Papa,” he whispered, then pushed himself up to standing. “I’m doing this for you, Marjorie. Always and forever for you, sweetheart.” And, rejuvenated by the thought of his daughter, he banked the fire and took himself to bed.