Page 33 of Lyon of Scotland (The Lyon’s Den Connected World)

Whitworth—and Dove too! Hands shaking, Hannah grabbed a linen napkin to mop up the spill. She caught Dare’s eye as he picked up broken porcelain pieces.

“Let me see your arm,” Linhope said. “That was very hot tea.”

“I am fine,” she said hastily, pulling at her wet, hot sleeve. Her arm hurt, but she hardly felt it as she stared at Dare, eyes wide. Why would Whitworth come north with Sir Walter Scott? And Frederic Dove arriving in Edinburgh was even worse.

Perhaps Jonathan was only here on behalf of his father’s business, as he had done before. He would not know she was back in Edinburgh, much less married. All she had to do was avoid him, she told herself. And perhaps Sir Walter and Oliver had just become acquainted with him on the steamship.

But Frederic Dove—that was another matter entirely.

“I imagine Scott is at his Edinburgh home on North Castle Street this morning,” Dare said. “I will call on him there.”

“You may miss him, as he said he would look for you either at home or here at your offices this morning,” Linhope said. “He seemed anxious to talk to you but did not want to disturb you last evening.”

“I wonder if he knew Sir Frederic was heading north as well. As for Dove, I intend to find him as well.”

“We will come with you,” Linhope said. “My carriage is outside.”

“Thank you. My dear,” Dare said, turning to Hannah. “Let me take you home.”

She had no desire to see Whitworth or Dove, but realized neither would have the address of Dare’s townhouse. But she did not want to be alone there. “You could take me to Papa’s house. I can visit the Pringles for a while.”

“Good. I will fetch you in an hour or two.”

She nodded, but could not subdue the sense of dread rising in her. “Be careful,” she said.

After making arrangements to move and store the whisky cargo until his travel plans were in place, Dare left Captain Johnston and the Newhaven.

Worried about Dove’s presence in Edinburgh, and wondering why Whitworth was in town as well, he then went with Hugh and Linhope to inquire at nearby hotels in Leith to find where Dove might be staying.

“My guess is only the best in the city would suit that lout,” Linhope said.

“Right. The Waterloo, then,” Dare declared, and they set off in the carriage. But he soon learned that while Dove was a guest, he was not in the hotel at that moment.

“Is there a message, Lord Lyon?”

“None.” Grim, determined, Dare returned to the vehicle to direct the driver to Scott’s house on North Castle Street.

“Sir Walter was here, sir, but went out with his guests,” the butler reported. “Lady Scott is at home. Would you care to see her while you wait?”

“I must go, but please give her my regards.” Dare felt dread spinning in his gut as he returned to the carriage. Dove, he was sure, was here to drive home his grudge. “I must go fetch Hannah at the Gordon home.”

“I wonder if Scott called at your house while you and your lady were gone,” Linhope said.

“My housekeeper is gone for the day, but one of the maids should be there. Perhaps she will ask him to wait. My bigger concern just now is Dove. Where the devil is he, and what does he want?”

“This Dove fellow—is he the one who harassed you about smuggling? That is no threat now,” Hugh Cameron said. “All handled. Send the man back to London. He has no recourse here.”

“Would it were so simple,” Dare said. “He has a grudge against me and Hannah as well. And I have a bone to pick with him. I mean to find him and clear that up today. Then, Cameron, my friend,” he said grimly, “I will need your services as a lawyer, as I intend to file a charge against him. But that may be after the fact.” He made a fist and punched it into his opposite palm.

“I did some wrestling at university,” Hugh remarked. “Should you need it.”

Hannah hurried up a side street toward Dare’s townhouse, her skirts and bonnet ribbons rippling in the cool November breeze.

After waiting in her father’s house for hours, she had finally decided to walk home—hers, shared with her husband.

Visiting with the Pringles had been a lovely respite that afternoon, even as she worried about both Whitworth and Dove being in Edinburgh.

But renovations continued up in the garret of the Gordon house, the noise too much, the commotion at times shaking the cut-glass candelabra in the parlor.

When more than three hours had passed, she had decided to walk to the Strathburn house on Northumberland Street.

Reaching a corner where she glimpsed the house, she paused as a carriage lumbered past and turned. Seeing it halt on the corner of Northumberland, she crossed the corner, hoping the vehicle carried Dare, Linhope, and Cameron. Passing the carriage, she saw that it was empty. They had gone inside.

At the tall blue door of Dare’s house, she tried the handle, finding it unlocked. Hearing voices inside the hall, she eased the door open, stepped inside, and stopped abruptly.

Two men stood with their backs to the door in the foyer beside the curving staircase. The larger man was Frederic Dove; the younger, slighter one, his son Charles. Dove was confronting the little housemaid.

“Where are Lord Strathburn and the lady?” Sir Frederic demanded. The girl faced them, appearing to quake in her boots.

“They are nae home at the moment, sir.” She glanced past him at Hannah, looking away as Hannah put a gloved finger to her lips and moved quietly toward them.

“Where are they? They must have said where they were going!”

“They dinna tell me where they went. I am just the maid, sir.”

“Where is the butler?” the larger man snapped.

“No one here, just—”

A door at the end of the main hall opened, and Nell Cameron came forward. She took in the scene, saw Hannah, and then stood calmly before the two men. She rested a hand high on her rounded stomach, a shawl tucked over her shoulders, and gave Dove a flat smile.

“Can I help you? If you wish to call on Lord Strathburn, you will need to come back later.”

“Where is here, and when do you expect him? Surely he told his housekeeper.”

“I do not know.” Nell motioned the maid away, who fled down the hall.

Hannah shut the door loudly behind her and walked toward them as the men spun around.

“Ah! The wife is home, I see,” Sir Frederic said.

Charles looked surprised and remorseful. “Miss Gordon! Er, Lady Strathburn.”

“Mr. Dove,” she said, ignoring Sir Frederic’s title. “Charles. Why are you here?”

“Came to finish some business. Where is Strathburn? Your housekeeper will not tell me.”

“She is not—” Before she could say more, Dove grabbed her arm and led her into the parlor, Charles and Nell following.

“Come here!” Dove took Hannah toward the sofa and pushed her to sit.

“Sir, let her go!” Nell said. “I do not know who you are, but you must leave.”

He spun. “You! Out!”

“My lady, shall I stay?” Nell widened her eyes at Hannah, who understood she was willing to play the housekeeper for now.

“Fetch tea, please,” Hannah said, hoping she would send the maid for help.

“Now,” Dove said, turning to Hannah. “I am here to collect something you have.”

“I cannot pay you. You know that. Go back to London until my husband decides how to deal with you.”

“Not that. I want the king’s coat of arms,” he barked. “Where is it?”

“What?” She stared at him, astonished, then looked at Charles. He turned red.

“Charles said you created the new royal Scottish coat of arms without Naylor’s permission. I came to collect it.”

“Charley?” She looked at him again.

“I am sorry, Miss Gor—my lady.”

“Do not deny it,” Dove said. “The boy says you have it.”

“Your son is not a boy. And my artwork is not yours.” She could not rise from the sofa, for he blocked her way, his big feet in front of her.

“I am the legal authority at the College of Arms. I can take it from you.”

“Why do you want that so badly?”

“Tell her!” he snarled at his son. Before anyone could speak, the parlor door swung open and Nell entered, carrying a tray with teapot and cups.

“Get out of here!” Dove roared.

“Just tea, sir,” Nell said, her eyes meeting Hannah’s. Nell set the tray on a table and stood by. Hannah realized she had no intention of leaving.

“Go on, Mr. Dove,” Hannah said.

“He told me you designed the king’s Scottish crest. But Sir George wants my son to do that,” Dove snapped. “So I want that coat of arms—drawing, painting, I do not care what it is. Give it to me. Charles will design it instead.”

Charles was a competent artist, Hannah knew, but his research skills in the archives were lacking, especially for Scottish emblems. If he tried to design the royal Scottish armorials, there would be flaws. “The Scottish office needs to do that.”

“Lord Lyon requested that, but the Crown rules Scotland. England’s College of Arms takes precedence in this matter. And my son will have credit for the work.”

She lifted her chin. “I gave them to Lord Lyon. He will decide how to use them.”

“You had better get them back,” Dove snarled.

“You know that I have some sway over you—some things you do not want known. Listen, girl. Give me those drawings now, or send someone to fetch them. Or I will get them myself with a police escort if I must. And while I am here, you can pay that debt now as well.”

“Why do you want the drawings and the money so badly that you would come all the way up here? You do not need the money. And they are just sketches. It makes no sense, sir!”

“It does to me,” he said, leaning down and lowering his voice. “I needed you out of the way, so I made sure you were responsible for the debt. I knew you could not pay it. Then I arranged for Strathburn to marry you—he had no choice. I wanted to make sure you were never available.”

“Available!” she said. “What on earth—”

“My son is still smitten with you, a Scottish nobody!” he snapped. “He would have married you, the fool. I had to get rid of you.”