Page 27 of Lyon of Scotland (The Lyon’s Den Connected World)

The moment slowed. Love. He leaned a shoulder to the wall again, needing that support, astonished.

He had thought about this, but now the feeling struck him almost physically, with astonishing force and truth.

He loved Hannah Gordon. It had begun in this very house, in the parlor down the hall, years ago.

He desperately wanted her, wanted this marriage, wanted to be part of this family. The feeling had been evolving for a while. Now he knew for certain how deep it was, how strong it could be as it continued to grow.

“We—” Hannah said again, and glanced up at him.

“Aye, what is it?” Marian Pringle looked from one to the other.

“Lord Strathburn and I were married in London,” Hannah blurted.

Silence. Then Marian Pringle cried out and clapped her hands, and even Pringle, usually unexpressive, smiled in surprise. As Mrs. Pringle hugged Hannah, Pringle reached out a hand to Dare.

“If I may, sir,” Pringle said, apologizing for forwardness.

“Of course,” Dare murmured.

“Married!” the housekeeper said. “When—oh, my dear, your father will be so pleased. He admires Lord Strathburn—Lord Lyon, I should say.”

“Strathburn will do nicely, madam,” he murmured. “And thank you.”

“I will write to Papa. It happened so fast.” Hannah gave a tremulous smile. “Though now I know that Lord Strathburn…had this in mind for a while.”

“I did,” he affirmed. Relying on that story was far easier than the truth of what had happened in England. “The idea has been in my mind for a while. I was honored that she accepted.”

“It was in my mind too,” she said. “We have known each other for a while, after all.” The Pringles—and Hannah’s family—would understand that.

“We knew that Mr. Whitworth broke off the engagement,” Marian Pringle said. “We expected you home sooner, but we knew nothing of this. Such good news!”

“Whitworth left me brokenhearted, but it was all for the best. I was mistaken, I see that now. But all is well now, aye?” She glanced at Dare. He nodded.

“A surprise, but a very good one, Miss Hannah,” Pringle said, recovering his composure.

“Lady Strathburn now, is it? Excellent. Sir Archibald will not return for a while yet. Perhaps a letter could reach him. We have his itinerary. They are in Aberdeenshire, I believe. Is it so, my dear?” He glanced at his wife.

“Aye, but traveling again soon. It is unlikely a letter would reach them.”

“If you have any word, please let me know,” Hannah said.

“Of course! Will you both stay here?” the housekeeper asked.

“I thought—it would be appropriate to live in Strathburn’s home now,” Hannah said. “It is just on Northumberland Street. Not far.”

“Of course you must go with your husband,” Marian Pringle said.

“I wanted to tell you both our good news before we went there on our way up from the harbor,” Hannah said. “Would you help me gather some things, Mrs. Pringle?”

“Certainly, dear.”

As the women left the hall, Pringle nodded to Dare. “My lord, perhaps you would like to wait in the library. Sir Archibald keeps a decanter of whisky if you feel the need.”

“I just might.” Dare smiled and followed the butler to the large library.

“My lord, if it is not too forward of me,” Pringle said, standing by the door, “I know Sir Archibald has been concerned about Miss Hannah. When he heard about her broken engagement, he was quite upset. He planned to arrange a more suitable marriage for her as soon as she returned from London.”

Frowning, Dare wondered what that meant. “Arrange a husband for her?”

“Mrs. Pringle, being a cousin of the family, is sometimes a confidante for Sir Archibald. She mentioned to me that you, sir, were precisely the gentleman Sir Archibald had in mind. I wonder if you were aware.”

“I was not,” Dare said in surprise, relief too. “He asked me to look in on her when he learned I was going to London, but said nothing otherwise. I am honored to know that. Thank you.”

“My lord, perhaps that is why Sir Archibald asked you to visit Miss Hannah in London. It seems you had a similar thought. If I may say so,” the butler added.

“Of course you must say what you think. Your understanding is helpful. And I did have an interest in her. So this is—very fortuitous indeed.”

“I am sure this will ease Sir Archibald’s mind. He was distressed about Hannah in London. The entire household was distraught over it, I assure you. But the young lady refused to come home. Something about independence, I believe. Her art, and so on.”

“Independence, and art as well. Aye. She can have both here.”

“The family will be quite pleased with this turn of events. I do not mean to be forward. But I thought you should know.” He bowed his head and closed the door.

Feeling as if a weight had lifted from him, Dare swung about and spied a decanter and glasses on a shelf. Pouring himself a good dram, he sipped.

In going to London, he had intended to visit the College of Arms to discuss the need for his heraldry office to design the king’s new Scottish armorials—and he had promised Sir Archibald that he would visit Hannah.

The last thing he expected was to discover Hannah in a dire situation, be threatened himself, and then resolve their troubles as best he could, with marriage and an escape to Scotland.

But he did not yet know if resolution was truly at hand.

More than ever in his life, he wanted happiness and finally saw it was within reach.

He had longed for it, never quite believing it was possible after the tragedies of the war, the sights he’d seen, his injuries, the death of his fiancée all within a matter of months.

He had yearned for love someday, had watched Hannah Gordon from afar, had not acted on those wishes when he could have.

Perhaps he did not feel he deserved it. But now he loved and felt loved, and he was determined to protect that for both of them.

Yet he had not told Hannah of his concern regarding Frederic Dove’s deep grudge toward her—toward both of them now. Time would soon tell if his unease was warranted.

Nor had he told her that he very much needed a new heraldry artist—and most desperately needed the drawings that she had in her possession.

He sipped the whisky, judging it good, though he regarded Glenbrae whisky, made by good friends, as superior. Then he paced the library floor until his wife appeared.