Dirk snickered. "If you did, I was in full agreement with it."
'Twas clear to everyone they had a strong marriage, with a fine son and another bairn on the way. Cyrus envied them this.
He had met several young ladies in the past few years, but none had seemed right for him. But now, 'twas the ideal time for him to marry and sire an heir, just as he had started building a grand new castle on his recently acquired eastern lands. No more delays.
Lady Lily would be perfect—she had to be. He was determined in this, just as he had been determined in bringing the rebels on Isle of Lewis to heel months ago. He accepted naught less than victory and success in everything he did. This included a wife. He would not settle for second best.
He watched his wee nephew grab a bannock off the trencher and try to stuff the entire thing into his mouth. Cyrus grinned, hoping Lady Lily would bear him many strong sons, and the MacKenzie name would live on for centuries.
"Be sweet and romantic or the lass may refuse your suit," Isobel advised, taking the bannock before Griff could choke on it.
Cyrus snorted. "I have no inkling what the wordssweetandromanticmean. Either Lady Lily will accept me for who I am or she won't." He shrugged, unwilling to prostrate himself before any young lady, regardless of her status. Besides, she was more than a decade younger than he was. "Rebbie will put in a good word for me." Cyrus had become friends with him through Dirk.
"As will I." Isobel grinned.
"You know her?"
"I've never met her, but she's a woman. I can get to know her quickly. When she sees how friendly I am—and how charming our brothers are—she will hopefully realize you're not just a growly bear who thinks of naught but military campaigns."
Cyrus rolled his eyes. "I ken how to get things done. If she's intelligent, she will see the benefit in that."
He did not expect love to be a part of the marriage deal. As a youth, he had experienced love and knew how destructive and painful it could be. He never wanted to be torn down by it again.
Aside from himself, he'd seen many other men brought to their knees by emotion, smitten with the wrong woman and unable to think straight. Such sentiment was useless to Cyrus's way of thinking. Why would he want a woman distracting him from his ambitions?
∞∞∞
"This dress shop is not for sale at any price, Mr. Thorndyke," Elspeth Seton, Baroness Grey told the pompous, rotund man. "Why are you interested?"
Lifting his bushy brown brows, he glanced around at the many bolts of fabric stacked neatly on the tables. When his gaze landed on her assistant, Audrey, she grimaced and busied herself with straightening patterns and spools of thread.
Turning his attention back to Elspeth, the odious man peered down his bulbous nose at her. "'Tis a valuable piece of property on one of the busiest streets in Aberdeen, but clearly your business is failing."
She bristled. "Nonsense. My dressmaking business is highly profitable." Well, mayhap that was an exaggeration, but she had made a modest profit thus far this year. Thankfully, her millinery, cordwainer shop, and tenements brought in a more respectable income. 'Twas her dressmaking that she enjoyed most, and she wished to make it more lucrative.
Smirking, he held out his hands. "Where are your customers?"
"'Tis early. Gracious! The shop has only been open a quarter-hour this day."
Surely the man was daft. There was no way in hades she would ever sell this shop or any of her other properties. These buildings had belonged to her father, a merchant, and cordwainer.
She was the one who had turned her father's former tailor shop into a dressmaking business just a few years ago. Being a woman, she naturally preferred working with female clientele and creating elegant women's clothing.
Elspeth enjoyed making design enhancements to the dress patterns from the continent. At times, she could become completely obsessed with creating the perfect gown. She preferred hiring skilled local seamstresses, mostly unmarried women or widows, who could earn money and provide for themselves and their family members.
Her late husband, Baron Grey, had almost caused her to lose this property. Never again would she allow a man control of her future.
The buffoon Thorndyke fingered a charcoal wool near him. "This cloth looks more suited to servants' clothing or scullery aprons. You'll not lure in the wealthy ladies with this tripe."
Elspeth wanted to call him a bastard and other vile names but kept her teeth clenched tight. 'Twas none of his business, but she kept her most expensive fabrics in another room. The private salon was reserved for wealthier ladies who could afford silks from around the world. She didn't want her regular customers to feel inferior about not being able to afford the extravagant materials. And she certainly didn't allow men in there.
Thorndyke glanced at the doorway leading to the salon, then headed toward it. "What is in there?"
She stepped in front of him, blocking his path.
Thorndyke stopped just short of barreling over her.
"If you're in need of shoes, my cordwainer shop is next door, sir!"
