Page 43 of Walk on the Wildsyde

She gave him a searching look. “You are?”

He nodded. “Ye were brave and ye did right by the laddie, despite knowing it might bring ye trouble. Ye acted when so many others would have flapped their gums and wrung their hands but not actually lifted a finger.”

“Thank you,” she said, and somehow the compliment had lit her up from the inside.

Hamilton thought she glowed with pleasure and the knowledge that he had done that made him feel quite ridiculously pleased with himself. Wanting to mend bridges and encourage her to think well of him, he carried on.

“Jimmy will need to learn a trade, though. He cannae live in the kitchen all his days.”

“I know,” she said, and the pleasure in her eyes dimmed, replaced by worry for the future. “But I do not know how to find such a place for him, or even if someone would take such a boy. I would speak for him, of course, but…”

“But that might look a little odd when yer father is ignorant of his existence,” he suggested.

She nodded, and he smiled, knowing he could take the anxious look from her eyes. “I’ll see to it.”

Clara blinked at him. “You will? You would do that for Jimmy?” she asked in wonder, gazing at him with an expression that made him feel he had won something quite extraordinary.

Hamilton held her gaze, his voice soft as he replied. “Of course I would, and if ye gave me the opportunity, there’s not much I wouldnae do for ye either, lassie. Ye need only name it.”

She looked away from him, but he heard the sharp intake of breath, noted the way her gloved fingers fidgeted in her lap. He had flustered her, and the sight of her confusion was at once endearing and wonderful.

“I cannot think why,” she replied after a long pause.

“Can ye nae?” he asked, careful to keep the words gentle and with no edge of amusement that she might misread. “Then ye are nae half so clever as I imagined.”

She glanced around at him, a searching look in her eyes but the main course arrived, and Mr Barker had been given the challenge of carving the lamb. Hamilton noted the care the man took to select the most succulent pieces for Clara and wished the fellow to the devil.

The food was excellent as it always was, and Angus was careful to ensure the wine flowed steadily. It was clear everyone was having a marvellous time, all except Malcolm Stewart, who had the look of a sulky boy condemned to finish his sprouts. He was drinking heavily and taking no trouble to disguise the fact, either. Now and then Hamilton would be on the receiving end of a look of venomous dislike, which he found no difficulty in ignoring. The nagging worry that the fellow might cause trouble for Clara, however, was one that he could not dismiss. He might need to have words with the little rat.

Hamilton was careful with Clara for the rest of the evening, keeping the conversation light and doing his best to make her laugh. Though she was obviously still wary, he kept her attention for most of the night, and knew he’d given her something to think about.

After a wonderful meal and an enjoyable time lingering over port and then tea with the ladies, the evening was finally over. Mr Fraser, Miss Fleming, and Mrs Scott all lived on the same side of town, so Mr Fraser took it upon himself to escort them home. Moyra whispered in Hamilton’s ear before she left, reminding him to come and fetch his watch.

“I’ll leave the back door open, but I’ll not have you visiting me again if you mean to court Miss Halliday. Fetch it tonight and we’ll have a drink to wish you happiness.”

Hamilton said nothing but nodded. Whatever happened with Clara, he needed to end things with Moyra, and he was only relieved she seemed so reasonable about it.

He was just wondering how to dispose of Mr Barker so he could escort Clara the short distance to the vicarage when Angus came to his rescue.

“Harold,” he said in an undertone, so the ladies could not hear. “I need help to get Malcolm upstairs. He’ll have to sleep here tonight.”

“Ah,” the fellow said with immediate understanding. “Yes, he appeared to be dipping rather deep.”

“And not for the first time,” Angus replied with obvious frustration.

“Ah, well, these young men will push their luck at times, I suppose. I’ll give you a hand, of course,” Mr Barker said with a smile, and headed back to the parlour.

Angus turned to Hamilton, a serious glint in her eyes. “You will see Miss Halliday safely home, I know. If her father finds out, I’ll be in the basket and—”

“Aye, Angus. Of course, I hear ye,” Hamilton said at once, not about to give him a reason to think better of it and make other arrangements. “Don’t fret, and I thank ye for ye thoughtfulness.”

“I’ll see ye married yet,” Angus replied with a wink.

Hamilton snorted and turned to see Mary’s maid handing Clara her cloak.

“Allow me,” he said, taking it from her and settling it around her shoulders.

Clara avoided his gaze, staring instead at a button on his waistcoat as if it held the answer to everything as he did up the fastenings under her chin.