Page 20
“But they do sell papers,” said Moray, handing his stack over.
The black ink smudged Gavin’s fingertips as he peered at an item tucked away in a low corner. “That new football club that was formed last year looks respectable.”
“Heart of Midlothian?” asked Moray.
“That’s the one. It was about time Edinburgh got its own club. Mind if I take this?”
“Not at all,” said Moray, who was already leaning over the paper-strewn table once again, lost in some nuisance of layout that needed to be resolved.
“Go home and sleep,” said Eva.
“Remember me to Catriona,” he said.
His friend smiled but then bowed her head too, already back in her world of newsprint and column inches.
The carriage ride back from Mrs. Sullivan’s was tense but mercifully silent. Ina’s aunt sat bundled up in a corner, disapproval oozing out of each one of her pores. It wasn’t until they shuddered to a stop in front of the house that Mrs. Coleman turned on her niece.
“I suppose this has worked out just as you planned,” said the older woman.
“As I planned?” Ina asked, stunned. “If you mean to imply that I wanted to be ruined and forced to marry—”
“That man has been waiting for his chance for years,” said Mrs. Coleman with a sniff.
The idea was so absurd she couldn’t help but laugh. “Gavin?”
“Mr. Barrett has few prospects and nearly no money. He’s had his eye on your fortune for ages now.”
“You may say whatever you like about me, but Gavin has been my loyal friend for years. He’s sacrificing his own happiness to help me, and I won’t hear an ill word against him.” Her aunt opened her mouth as though to protest, but Ina leveled an icy look at her aunt. “Not a word.”
Mrs. Coleman snapped her mouth shut with a clack as the driver opened the door to help her down and flounced through the house’s open door without stopping to divest herself of her wrap. Ina gritted her teeth and followed her in, nodding to the family butler as she undid the closure of her cloak.
“Good evening, Cappleman,” said Ina. “Is my father still awake?”
“Mr. Duncan is writing in his study, miss.”
“Did he take any supper?” she asked.
“Some consommé, a beefsteak, and a half bottle of claret in the dining room,” said Cappleman.
Good. If her father had eaten outside of his study, that meant he wasn’t in the deepest of writing spells.
Exhaustion seeped into her bones as she climbed the stairs to the second floor. A faint light emanated from under the study door. He was still awake and at work. He was always at work.
Tentatively, Ina knocked.
“What is it?” came her father’s voice, distant and scratchy with lack of sleep.
“I’m home, Papa.”
The pen stopped its incessant scratching for a moment before picking up again. “I didn’t realize you’d gone out.”
Ina took his response as all the invitation she’d get and entered the study.
“I’ve returned from one of Mrs. Sullivan’s salons.” She addressed her father’s back. “She inquired after your health and asked whether she might not expect you in the future.”
Her father didn’t even look up. “If I were to attend one of Mrs. Sullivan’s salons, I would be required to take time away from my work. It would be an interruption.”
Interruption. The word stung as sharp as an angered bee. She was an interruption. Not a daughter. Just a nuisance. It shouldn’t hurt, not after this many years, but Ina couldn’t help but feel as though every carelessly slung insult chipped away at her heart just a little bit more.
