Page 1 of A Heart Worth Loving

Chapter One

“Beasts, all four—and brawny, too.” Mrs. Bilson fanned her pink cheeks.

China teacups rattled. Lemon souffles forgotten, the conversation around the tea table lowered then stopped, and five pairs of expectant eyes swiveled in Kyla’s direction.

Kyla jarred from the wonder of where her mother had disappeared to. “Pardon?”

The women, who leaned toward the white linen-covered table, frowned, lips pursed.

“The men at the abbey,” Mrs. Bilson tittered, obviously thrilled to have dropped the latest juicy tidbit of gossip at Lady Ainsley’s tea party. “Do you not live just over the hill from the abbey?”

She frowned. “Blackstone Abbey?”

The women giggled. A few rolled their eyes.

“Is there another abbey hereabouts?” Mrs. Bilson sniffed.

Kyla tensed. Had Mrs. Bilson said four men? Four? Anger tightened her insides. Her father had expanded his business behind her back. When had that happened? When she’d accompanied her sister and mother to Inverness, that’s when. No wonder he’d insisted they spend a month shopping for Margaret’s upcoming wedding.

Kyla had spent the past year warning him that his luck wouldn’t hold out. Smugglers always met one of two fates: death during the commission of a crime or death by hanging. Her heart squeezed. She could still remember the days when her father wasn’t a smuggler and her mother—

Mother.

“Four Beasts of Blackstone Abbey,” Mrs. Bilson, eyes sparkling, added in a whisper. “Belted kilts. All four men wear belted kilts.”

“Pardon?” Kyla blurted.

Neither her father nor his partner, Mister Johnson—or Mister Mallatratt—wore belted kilts.

“Do listen, dear,” the elderly Mrs. Todd, seated at Kyla’s right, chided softly.

“The men,” Mrs. Bilson repeated, this time with a touch of impatience. “The men who purchased the abbey, a viscount and his brother, and two captains.”

Purchased the abbey? Kyla forced her hands to remain steady as she lifted her teacup to her lips and sipped. Had these beasts discovered the goods her father had stored at the abbey?

“Lord Kilbreck,” Mrs. Bilson told her rapt audience. “Mister Pettigrew said the viscount’s name is Ewan Fraser.”

A viscount? Why had a viscount purchased the rundown abbey? More important, how would her father get the goods stored at the abbey away without being caught? A horrifying thought struck. He often had her open the door so that Mister Mallatratt could haul the goods away. Nae, once he learned the abbey was no longer vacant, he wouldn’t send her.

Damn his stubborn soul. Why wouldn’t he give up smuggling? Her mother, that was why. Born in the servant class, her mother’s obsession with titles bordered on madness, and the prospect of her youngest daughter attaining those coveted letters before her name fostered such a fine sense of greed that Kyla scarcely recognized the woman who had given her birth. She was determined that Margaret marry Richard Burke, the future Earl of Ainsley, and smuggling provided an ample dowry to entice any money-hungry nobleman. Kyla’s thoughts came to a halt.

She’d forgotten her dear mamma.

Kyla rose. “If you will excuse me.”

The women, deep in their Beasts of Blackstone conversation, made no comment on her departure. Kyla forced herself to maintain a stroll. She passed a cluster of pots overflowing with exotic ferns. Soon, Lord Richard Ainsley would whisk her little sister off to the Mediterranean, to villas filled with such plants, where she would dance in the courts of foreign kings. Margaret, with her sea-blue eyes and wealth of blonde curls, captured the attention of all when she entered a room. The marriage couldn’t come soon enough. Kyla sent up yet another prayer that neither her father’s smuggling nor her mother’s thieving ways would bring the plans to a screeching halt. Did God listen to the prayers of a smuggler’s daughter?

“Kyla,” a frosty, female voice interrupted her thoughts.

Kyla halted as Lady Ainsley swept through the open hallway door. Kyla blinked before catching herself. Good God, the bright red velvet dress Lady Ainsley had worn earlier when she’d greeted her guests had been garish enough. She’d changed into a hideous yellow muslin day dress trimmed with orange ribbons and white lace. The ensemble warred with Lady Ainsley’s practically orange hair. Kyla was reminded of the lemon soufflés that decorated the garden tea table—even down to the taste, judging by the sour expression on the woman’s face.

She halted before Kyla, and Kyla curtsied. “Lady Ainsley.”

“Your sister?” The lines around her mouth deepened. “Where is she?”

“Lord Richard and Margaret are in the garden,” Kyla replied.

The woman’s eyes narrowed. “Surely, your mother is with them?”