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Lila sat heavily on the steps to catch her breath. She couldn’t wait to tell Valentin about this. She had every hope he would be here soon.
When she’d caught her breath, she stood and began to walk, taking the time to feel the sun in her hair and on her face. She followed a path she knew well now. It led around the hall and into the woods. As she came to the corner of the hall, she could see the drive, and noticed someone had just come up on horseback.
Lila paused, shielding her eyes from the sun with one hand. A smile slowly lit her face when she realized who it was. “Well, well, well, my lord. You can’t stay away, can you?”
She watched William Douglas hand his reins to a groom. He had something in his hand, which he dropped. He quickly bent to retrieve it. It was a book. He was bringing the princess abook.He dusted it off and held it firmly as he strode to the door, taking the steps two at a time.
Lila smiled. How she loved it when all her plans came together.
Now it was time to begin to prepare Robuchard for a match that would not come from his list of names. She began to compose that letter in her head as she strolled into the woods.
BEFOREWILLIAMHADarrived at Prescott Hall, he’d been very busy.
The first thing he did was send a telegraph to Robuchard.
Your matchmaker is deplorably bad at her occupation! It is good for all involved that I am here to keep a complete catastrophe at bay! I suggest you recall her immediately!
Ewan nervously pointed to the exclamation marks. “They donna like them, milord. The wee fellow, his face gets as red as an apple when he sees them.”
“Those marks, as you call them, are a necessary part of the written language, Ewan. Give him this—” He fished a crown out of his purse and handed it to MacDuff. “Tell him it’s important the marks stay, as they assist in explaining the urgency of the situation.”
Ewan sighed. Off he’d toddled, mumbling under his breath.
The next thing William had done was go to Beck’s house. Quite unannounced, which was rude, but he didn’t care, as his situation, both internally and externally, had reached a crisis. He was shown to the house garden, where he found the Hawke family quite at their leisure. Frankly, that was the way he found them every time he’d ever called at this house. Beck’s wife was seated, flipping through the pages of a fashion magazine. Her belly swelled under her gown—she looked like she would burst forth with another child at any moment.
Beck was lying flat on his back in the grass. Three little lassies climbed over him and moved his limbs about to suit whatever it was they were doing. The fourth girl, the smallest of them, lay next to Beck in the grass, sucking her thumb.
And Donovan, the mysterious governor—and friend, he supposed?—was sitting under a tree, a book in his lap.
William greeted them all and shifted his weight impatiently from one hip to the other.
“Douglas,” Beck said jovially. “To what do we owe the extraordinary pleasure of your visit?”
“I need advice.”
“Advice! He needs advice, my love,” Beck said as if his wife hadn’t heard.
“We all need advice from time to time,” she said. “I need advice on what gown I should like to commission. There are so many designs from which to choose.”
“I beg your pardon. I very kindly offered you advice and you refused it,” Donovan said.
Lady Iddesleigh put down her magazine. “I told you, Donovan, I will not wear yellow. With my ginger hair?”
“That’s precisely why yououghtto wear yellow,” Donovan insisted.
William was on a mission, and he didn’t want to be distracted...but whowasthis man?
“Douglas, is the question that weighs on you appropriate for four sets of enormous ears?” Beck asked.
The oldest one—Mathilda, William thought he recalled—looked up. “Who has enormous ears, Papa?”
“You do. Ears as big as an elephant’s. Look at them now, flapping in the breeze.”
“I don’t have elephant ears!” the lass cried, and together with her sisters, they attacked their father at once, bouncing onto his stomach and his legs while Beck made suitable sounds of distress and pretended to flail his arms.
It was a lovely tableau, this family, and had he not been in such a rush, William might have admired it and marveled at how Beckett Hawke was the very last man in the world he would have pictured in this way. “Ah...no,” William said.
Beck ignored him—he was tickling the girls now. At least Lady Iddesleigh took pity on him. “All right, my little darlings. The gentleman needs your papa. Katy! Katy, where are you? Why do you always disappear?” she called, obviously looking for a servant.
