Page 16 of Ghost of the Ton

He approached her and lifted his hand. She flinched and stepped back. Though her jaw was still firm, tilted upward in defiance, he could discern a faint gleam in her eyes of unshed tears. “Tell me yer name, lass,” he said.

“D-don’t you know it?” she replied, a faint tremor in her voice.

“Tell me,” he growled.

“M-my name is Euphramia.”

She stepped back, holding her valise to her chest as if she wished to shield herself against that which might harm her—Hamish’s horror, Lord Young’s hatred, the Honorable Aurora’s screams…or the fear and revulsion of the congregation.

“E-Euphramia Mary…” She blinked, slowly, and her throat bobbed as she swallowed, before she held up her left hand to reveal the plain gold band he’d placed on the third finger in that dreary little bedchamber in London. “…MacLennan.”

Hamish’s mother rose, trembling. “Son—is it true?”

A hush fell over the congregation, as if the world awaited his response, praying that it was merely a jape and that the beautiful and wealthy Miss Young would become Lady MacLennan and her dowry would save the estate.

Hamish nodded, slowly. “Aye, Ma. It is.”

“No!” The Honorable Aurora let out another scream. Lord Young grasped her by the arms and she dissolved into sobs.

“Desist, girl!” he snarled. “Would you disgrace my name by acting in such an indecorous manner before these savages?”

Savages, eh?

“You wanted me to marry that savage, Papa,” Aurora cried. “I had no wish to—Oh!” She screamed again as her father backhanded her across the face.

“Silence, slut! I arranged this marriage because no other would have you after your disgraceful behavior. But you’re not even good enough for them.”

“Lord Young,” Hamish began, “there’s no need to—”

“There’s every need, MacLennan,” Lord Young snarled. “Rest assured, you’ll pay for the insult.”

“I heard it on good faith that this woman was dead.”

“Then my misfortune is also yours, MacLennan.”

Lord Young wrinkled his nose and glared at Euphramia, who stood as still as a statue, save a slight tremor in her skirts.

“I wish you joy of her,” he continued. “She’ll be your misfortune, but I have every intention of seeking recompense for mine.”

“I’ll reimburse ye for any expenditure incurred in bringing yer daughter here, Lord Young,” Hamish said, his voice a low growl, despite the turmoil in his heart. “Would twenty pounds suffice?”

“The wedding gown alone cost—”

“Fifty, then,” Hamish said, “provided ye leave forthwith and release me of any obligation toward yerself and yer daughter.”

“But…”

“It’s fifty or nothing.”

“Very well.” Lord Young grasped his daughter’s shoulder and steered her along the aisle, her feet tripping as she tried to keep pace.

Hamish ought to have spared some sympathy for the girl, but despite her father’s contempt, she at least had a future ahead of her—marriage with another, and a dowry large enough to ensure financial security.

Whereas I find myself not only with no dowry, but an increase to my debts.

How the bloody hell was the estate going to survive when, in his mind, he’d already spent half of the Honorable Aurora’s dowry?

“Ahem.” The vicar cleared his throat, a habit that now made Hamish’s fists itch with the urge to plant them squarely on the man’s nose.