Chapter 4
A BEST FRIEND CONFESSES
Later that night, George IV Bar
Standing at the New Town end of George IV Bridge, Daniel winced at the reminder that two of Old Town’s traditional streets, Old Bank Close and Liberton’s Wynd, had to be demolished in order to make way for the elevated street that connected New Town to South Side.
The George IV Bar was located where the bridge crossed the Cowgate—right in the middle. At the south end was Candlemaker Row.
“Can I afford this?” Callum Watson asked when he joined his friend.
Daniel glanced at the clerk and shrugged. “It’s a pub,” he replied, before leading them to the new limestone building, its exterior decorated with columns and corbels. Inside they found a gleaming wood bar lit by hanging lamps and new tables and chairs not yet marred from repeated use.
They both ordered ales and studied the menu board before placing their orders for Scotch pie. Before Daniel could bring up the topic of Isabella Farnsworth, Callum beat him to it.
“I ran into an old friend a couple of days ago,” Callum said.
“Oh?” Daniel replied, settling back into his chair, his mug of ale nearly to his lips. He took a sip as Callum nodded and seemed torn as to what he would say next. “Was her name Isabella Farnsworth, by chance?” Daniel asked, leaning forward to place his elbows against the edge of the table.
Callum’s eyes rounded. “How did you know?”
Daniel scoffed softly. “She paid a call on me at my office. But you already knew that.”
Pretending ignorance, Callum set his mug on the table. “She mentioned she wished to see you again,” he hedged.
“Everyone in Edinburgh knows she paid a call,” Daniel said on a sigh. “Everyone knows kissing was involved, although I have yet to learn if I am the rake or she is a tart.”
“Izzy is not a tart,” Callum whispered hoarsely. “How can you say such a thing?”
“She kissed me.” Daniel pointed to his cheek. “Here, and then...” He pointed to his lips. “Here. It was... quite passionate.” This last was said in a whisper.
“Did you return the kiss?” Callum asked, his manner suggesting he had been waiting for the answer for days and could no longer abide the suspense of not knowing.
Daniel blinked. “Uh, I suppose I did.”
“Did you like it?”
“Uh, I suppose I did.”
“So... you would do it again?”
Daniel rolled his eyes. “In private perhaps, but not right out in the open for my secretary—or anyone else—to see.”
The two clammed up when the server appeared with their order and set the plates of food in front of them.
“I know where she lives,” Callum said before he lifted his fork to stab at the crust covering the Scotch pie.
“Oh, do you?” Daniel countered, deciding he needed to ask Peabody for Isabella’s calling card when he was next in the office. He fished in his waistcoat pocket for his small note pad and pencil to make a note of it when the move reminded him of the hole in the side seam.
He had discovered it earlier that morning, immediately reminded of how Isabella’s finger had felt when she had been touching him during their kiss.
For a brief moment, he had a thought she might have created the tear as a means of ensuring he pay her a call or send a missive about its repair, but then Arthur had made mention of having seen the tear the week before.
Tempted to scold his secretary for not sharing what he had noticed, Daniel had instead decided he could stitch the seam once he was back in his bachelor rooms.
Callum regarded him with surprise. “Have you paid a call on her?”
“Of course not,” Daniel said, using his fork to lift the crust from the top of the pie. He set aside the pastry and took a bite of the filling. After he swallowed, he added, “It wouldn’t be proper.”
“It would be if you were courting her.”
Having taken a drink from his mug of ale, Daniel nearly sprayed the liquid over the table.
He choked and sputtered before saying, “You of all people know I have every intention of building a house before I even think about courting. Anyone.” Although he didn’t have any young women in mind for the position of his wife, his brief time with Isabella had awakened something inside him.
The desire for a woman.
He wished he hadn’t been so addled by her kiss. If he’d had his wits about him, he would have wrapped his arms around her. Pulled her hard against the front of his body. Felt how her soft curves might fill his voids.
He already knew what it felt like to have her palm pressed against his arousal. His manhood hardened, forcing him to shift in his chair to give it more space at the top of his pantaloons.
Unconsciously, his hand moved to the side seam of his waistcoat, and he poked his finger through the hole. Although he was sure he could see to the repair, he decided he could afford to hire Isabella to do it.
He wanted to hire Isabella.
He wanted to see her again.
She was a reminder of simpler times. Of summers in Derbyshire. Of yellow and sunshine and the scents of lemon and honeysuckle.
He also wanted to scold her for what she had done.
“Her father left her a dowry.”
The simple statement brought Daniel out of his brief reverie, and he furrowed his brows. “So that’s how she can afford a room in New Town,” he murmured, glad she wasn’t in one of the crowded buildings in Old Town.
“Well, she is a seamstress,” Callum reminded him. “But that’s not why I mentioned it.”
Daniel took another bite of pie. “Oh? Why then?”
“You wish to build a house. Perhaps her dowry would be enough to pay for it.”
Scoffing softly, Daniel considered the suggestion. “I would have to marry her to gain the dowry,” he reasoned.
“You’re going to marry her anyway,” Callum replied, shrugging before he took another swallow of his ale.
Chuckling softly, Daniel said, “You sound terribly sure of yourself.”
“That’s because I am.”
Although Callum continued to eat his pie, Daniel set his fork on his plate and stared at his friend. “What do you know?”
Callum finished the last bite and used his napkin to dab the corners of his mouth. He leaned back in his chair and folded his arms over his chest. “I’ve heard the gossip about you. She may have been the one to initiate the kiss, but it’s you everyone thinks is the rogue.”
Daniel sighed in response, wishing there was a way to turn back time. Since it was unlikely he would be able to do that, he pondered hiding for a week or two.
Surely the gossip would die down. It would simply take time, and hopefully not too much of it.
He had a business he wished to keep free from scandal.