It didn’t occur to him that he was committing sins of lust in his brain, that he was actually compounding sins by the moment. All he was aware of was the closeness of Mary Rose’s bottom. It wasn’t until some time later, after he’d given her over to Sinjun with instructions to sit on her if she tried anything else stupid, that his sins started coming home to roost.
Even while he was contemplating those sins, the list compounding itself by the hour, Pouder informed him of their newly-arrived guests.
When he saw Sir Lyon, he decided he would rather spend eternity cataloguing his sins than be in this man’s company again. However, this time Mary Rose’s mother was with him. It was mid-afternoon, and there were more delicious smells sweeping through the castle. The freshly baked bread had everyone sniffing the air.
Tysen just stood there watching Sir Lyon sniff the baked bread, then escort Gweneth Fordyce into the drawing room. Why had she refused to come into the castle before? Why was she coming in now?
Mary Rose, thankfully, was upstairs, now in Meggie’s bedchamber, being entertained by his daughter, who, at his instruction, was keeping a very close eye on her. Sinjun, he’d been told, was visiting ever so often, just to make sure that Mary Rose hadn’t climbed out a window. As for Colin, he was in the stables determining what stock was needed to purchase.
“Sir Lyon, Mary Rose’s mother,” Tysen said, not knowing what to call her. “Thank you, Pouder.”
“I will adjourn to your bedchamber, my lord, and see to the freshening of your clothes.”
“An excellent notion, Pouder. I wanted to thank you for the fine ironing of my cravats.” He turned to his guests.
“Would you like to be seated? I can have Mrs. Golden prepare some tea.”
“Mrs. Golden shouldn’t be here,” Sir Lyon said, then seemed to realize that this approach wasn’t at all conciliating, and added, chin out, “Mrs. MacFardle, for all her abilities, is a bitch. You’re better off without her. That bread smells delicious.”
“I shall have her bring some bread with the tea,” Tysen said and gave orders to Pouder, who hadn’t yet left his chair by the front door to freshen Tysen’s clothes upstairs.
When he returned to the drawing room, Gweneth Fordyce spoke. “I have many times wanted to poke a knife through her middle. Over the years, she was very unpleasant to my daughter. She wasn’t to me, because she was afraid of me, the madwoman.”
“I don’t doubt that she will find a suitable position,” Tysen said. Once everyone was seated, he stood by the fireplace, his arms crossed over his chest, and simply nodded.
Sir Lyon cleared his throat and cleared it yet again. He shot a sideways look at Mary Rose’s mother, then said, “My lord, I understand that a very few minor difficulties arose here last night.”
“No, nothing that we couldn’t handle,” Tysen said, nothing more, and just waited.
Sir Lyon girded his loins and said, “As Mary Rose’s uncle and her guardian, I am willing to give Mary Rose my permission to wed you, if she is willing to provide me with payment from the dowry provided by her father, for all the money I have spent on her and her dear mother over the years, over a very lot of years. Nearly twenty-five to be exact.”
“I see,” Tysen said. “Knowing that you were charitable and kind to your sister-in-law and her child aren’t sufficient?”
“No, they are not. Tell him, Gweneth.”
Mary Rose’s mother rose very slowly. She looked down at Sir Lyon, and there was no liking at all on her still-lovely face. “Ah, so that’s it. Tell him what, Lyon? That I have always thought you a pompous bully? That now I think you are merely pathetic? You are, you know, trying to extort money from Lord Barthwick.”
Sir Lyon’s face turned so red, Tysen feared that he might fall over with apoplexy. Sir Lyon jumped to his feet and shouted, “You are ungrateful, Gweneth! Damnation, woman, I opened my home to you and your bastard. I have never begrudged you anything. You have been part of my family.” He paused a moment, and if anything, his heavy face grew even redder. Tysen tensed his muscles, preparing to catch him when he collapsed. “Damn you, Gwennie, I am beginning to believe that you are not mad at all, that you were never even remotely mad, that you have merely pretended to madness so you wouldn’t have to do anything yourself for your poor daughter.”
“No, I am not mad,” Gweneth said. “Actually, the madness kept you away from me—at least for the most part—until recently. I was a fool to tell you about Mary Rose’s trust from her father. I never considered that you would go to Erickson and bribe him to marry my daughter so you could get even more money. You are a pathetic human being, Lyon.”
Sir Lyon shouted, “That is a lie! You will be quiet! Dammit, I need the money!” He pinned Tysen again, and he was panting from his anger. “Attend me, my lord, if I do not receive the money to which I am entitled, I will wed Mary Rose to Erickson MacPhail.”
Tysen regarded the man with his red face, his fists bunched atop his knees. He waited until Sir Lyon’s face began to recover its natural color. He then motioned for the man to be seated. Once he was, Tysen said, “Ten thousand pounds, wasn’t it? I believe this is the amount you and Erickson MacPhail agreed upon?”
Gweneth Fordyce, who had sat down again, now leapt to her feet. She stared down at Sir Lyon, so much anger getting ready to erupt that Tysen said quickly, “No, ma’am, please be seated again. I have something to say to both of you that perhaps you do not know. I have already been in contact with Donald MacCray, Tyronne Barthwick’s solicitor in Edinburgh. He tells me that Mary Rose Fordyce has no legal guardian, that you never applied for such a position. Therefore, Sir Lyon, you are here to extort money from me or from Mary Rose, and you have no leverage at all. I would suggest that you consider praying to God for forgiveness for this elaborate deception.” He didn’t add that he would be doing quite a lot of praying himself, for that quick and clean lie about the guardianship. He realized he was right, of course, just looking at Sir Lyon’s face. He’d been caught out. It was there for all to see.
Sir Lyon didn’t jump up this time, just shouted at the top of his lungs, “So I am not her legal guardian. It wasn’t necessary. I am the bloody girl’s uncle! Gweneth, you will set this aright, you will see to it that I get the ten thousand pounds, or you will never again be welcome at Vallance Manor. Damnation, it’s probably a very small part of what her father left her.”
Gweneth looked down at her brother-in-law for a very long time. Then she smiled at Tysen. “My lord, he forced me to come with him today, hoping I would help him. I did not know what he intended, but I knew it was likely something dishonorable. As to the amount of money her father left her in trust, I do not know the exact amount. Her father simply assured me that it was very substantial. Now, would you mind if I had all my belongings and Mary Rose’s sent here to Kildrummy?”
Tysen bowed to her. “I would be delighted, ma’am.”
Gweneth Fordyce looked down at her brother-in-law and said, “I assume that you will allow me to have our things taken from your precious manor? You will provide me a carriage to come back to Kildrummy?”
He had no choice at all, Sir Lyon realized, or before nightfall he would be known as not only a bloody fool, but also a bounder. “Of course,” he said, and wanted to strangle her. He knew he had to think. Nothing was going the way it should. He hadn’t managed this well. He never should have trusted Gwennie to come with him today and plead his case. He should have known she’d turn on him. Damnation, he still wanted Gwennie in his bed, but faced with the economies he would be forced to make, even that desire was fast fading into the woodwork. With outward calm, he bade Lord Barthwick—the damned vicar who should have been easy to outwit and intimidate—good-bye and escorted Mary Rose’s mother back to the
carriage.