Page 45 of A Scottish Bride for the Duke (Scottish Duchesses #1)

THREE MONTHS LATER

“ M ama!” Isobel burst from the carriage and ran toward her mother, her arms outstretched.

Her mother caught her, and then her father joined in, picking both women up. He was a burly man, a man who looked as though he’d been born from the salt of the earth.

Adrian instantly thought he liked the look of him. A man who knew what it was to protect his family in all the ways that mattered—first and foremost by loving them.

That was a lesson Adrian was still learning, but thanks to Isobel, he had a chance to learn it. Rather, she was teaching him.

Isobel detached herself from her parents, smiling so widely he feared her cheeks would split.

“I missed you both so much!” she said, dabbing away a tear.

She’d been particularly emotional over the past few days, but Adrian had assumed she’d merely been overcome with excitement at the prospect of seeing her parents again.

“We missed you too,” her mother said.

Her father looked across at Adrian. “And this is the duke she married,” he said in his booming voice, the soft burr of his accent stronger even than Isobel’s. “I hope ye will endeavor to deserve her.”

Isobel slapped his arm. “Papa!”

Adrian dipped his head. “I will always do my best.”

Her parents both exchanged a smile. “That is what marriage is, aye,” Lady Glenrannoch said, approaching to enfold Adrian in a warm, scented embrace. “Welcome to the family, Yer Grace. We are delighted to have ye.”

“Please, call me Adrian.”

“Then ye must call me Catherine,” she said. “How is ye dear maither? I miss her every day.”

“She is well! Wishing she could be here, but she is too busy in London.”

“London, you say?” A strident voice sounded from the doorway to the rambling old house Isobel had called home all her years.

A tall, thin lady emerged, greying hair in neat curls and her eyes alight with fierce interest.

“Catriona, did you hear that?” the thin lady said.

“Cousin Cat?” Isobel gaped, her eyes wide. “Aunt Mary?”

Catherine pinched her nose, and her husband looked as though he was praying for patience. Isobel reached for Adrian’s hand.

“I’m so sorry,” she muttered.

“When she heard you were returning from London with an English duke in tow, she insisted on being invited,” Catherine murmured. “I apologize.”

Adrian glanced between the two. “Why are you apologizing?”

“And you , I suppose, must be the Duke of Somerset?” The lady Isobel had termed ‘Aunt Mary’ came to a stop before Adrian, her eyes narrowed and her entire demeanor stiff, as though she expected Adrian to bow before her.

Once, perhaps, she might have been beautiful—and her daughter trailing behind her certainly was—but she had an expression on her face, as though she had smelled something foul, that detracted from her appearance.

“I am, my lady,” Adrian said, bowing. As she was Isobel’s family, he would be polite, though he longed to take her down a notch or two.

“I am Lady Craigleith,” she said haughtily. “Tell me, what are your connections in London?”

Lord Glenrannoch coughed. “Perhaps if we are to have this conversation, we should do so inside?”

Isobel squeezed his arm. “She has been looking for an excuse to take Cat down to London,” she muttered. “I suspect you and I will be her excuse.”

“I cannot promise anything but to house your parents.”

Isobel snorted. “Good luck.”

Adrian rather thought, as he entered Isobel’s family home, he would need it.

Isobel found herself looking at Adrian again and again over the course of dinner. She had never seen him so warm and kind in the company of strangers. Then again, she had spoken about her family often enough that she supposed they hardly seemed like strangers.

Beside her, Cat gained enough courage to speak about her interests—reading and the arts—and Isobel found quiet amusement in watching Adrian deftly avoid Aunt Mary’s attempts at reeling him into to promising they could spend a London Season with him.

For good reason, too, although he didn’t know why just yet.

He caught her glancing at him and leaned over. “What is it? Do you want me to accept?”

“Heavens no.”

“Then why are you staring?”

“Can I not stare at my own husband if I so choose?”

“You can, but it might look odd,” he warned, a small smile on his face.

“We are a newly married couple. Let them think what they like.” She grinned at him, and looked across at her mother, who beamed.

Isobel’s heart swelled. She had not known happiness could feel like this.

Like all the wind on the Highlands had blown away the last of her fear and reserve—she had nothing left in her heart but gladness.

And Adrian.

She had so much of Adrian in her heart.

When they finally emerged from dinner and an unfortunate episode where Catriona had to play the harp at her mother’s insistence—very poorly—Isobel finally had the chance to lead Adrian upstairs to the suite that had been made up for them.

This rambling old house, for all its drafts, made her soul feel alive.

It had been the source of everything she had been as a child.

When they made it to their rooms, Adrian shut the door behind her and kissed her. Isobel placed her hand on his chest.

“A moment of your time, husband.”

He tilted his head, visibly amused. “Oh? What for, wife of mine?”

“I have something I would like to tell you.” She toyed idly with the buttons of his coat. “It is a good thing you did not allow Aunt Mary an opportunity to stay with us.”

He shuddered. “I would not have that woman in my house if you paid me.”

“Besides that, I mean.”

“Do I need a better reason?”

She took his hand and placed it on her stomach. “I haven’t had my courses in two months,” she said, and the amusement in his face fell away to reveal something entirely more raw. “I spoke to your maither and she recommended I wait until I missed my next to be sure, and now I have. I am sure.”

“You’re with child.” His fingers flexed on her stomach, but she doubted he could feel anything.

Sometimes, when she stood in front of a mirror and turned this way and that, she fancied she might be growing thicker, but he had never noticed thus far, and she doubted he would.

“Are you telling me the truth?”

“I am.”

“Then—” He wrapped his arms around her and spun her in a circle, putting her back on the floor. “Our child,” he whispered against her lips. “I feel as though I’ve been waiting a lifetime.”

Isobel wrapped her arms around his head. “So ye see, I cannot be hosting when we return.”

“When we return?” He returned his hand to her stomach.

“I have made inquiries, but I haven’t yet chosen anywhere—but I thought we might buy a residence closer to the border, so you might see your family more easily, and they might travel down to see us.

Particularly when the child is born. What do you think? ”

He looked at her with such love shining from his eyes.

“I think ye are the greatest husband a lady could wish for,” she said, combing her hands through his hair. Tears ran down her face, and he wiped them aside. “If I could, I would marry ye all over again.”

He bent and kissed her stomach. “I love you both,” he said fiercely. “You have made my every dream come true.”

And so had he.

Isobel smiled as he carried her to the bed and worshiped her body, her head falling back.

There was nothing more in the world she could possibly want than what she had right here, and what she would have in the future.

The End?