Once Upon a Tartan

“Do you suppose I do not love her, Hester? Is that why I and my relations are such a poor choice for the child? Can a child be loved and cared for properly only in Scotland?”

She didn’t know how to answer that. He looked troubled and tired standing by the window, and very much alone.

“I wasn’t going to go south with you, you know.”

“Ah. You were toying with me, then? Striking a blow for beleaguered women everywhere?”

She didn’t quite believe the mockery in his tone. “I was not. I wasn’t going to refuse you, either. I was going to ask for some time to consider our situation when my head wasn’t so muddled.”

He nodded, a cautious inclination of his head that gave nothing away.

“I don’t trust my judgment, Spathfoy. I laughed with you, you see, and this was… oh, why am I bothering to explain when I am so confused in my own thinking?”

“Go on, by all means. If you’re rejecting a man’s offer—the first such offer I’ve made, by the way—you can at least tell him why.”

“That is not fair, Tiberius.” He waited until now to tell her he’d never proposed to anyone else? And damn him to Hades, for she believed him. He’d lied about the purpose of his visit, but she believed him about this.

And about almost everything else, too.

He shifted away from the window and took the place beside her. “I tried to warn you, if you’ll recall.”

“You said not to trust you, is that what you mean?”

He scrubbed a hand over his face and nodded. “Yes, but then I got muddled too, you see. When I set out for Aberdeenshire, I thought I’d be plucking an orphaned child from very humble circumstances and gaining every advantage for her. I’d appease my father, set some other matters to rights, and be back in England within a week.”

“Are you admitting you’re perpetrating a wrong?” It would put Hester in quite a quandary if he were.

“I’m admitting I gave my word on a matter without properly researching it, and that as a consequence of my negligence, there are now results contrary to what I intended.”

He was back to making grand, obfuscatory speeches. “That is not an apology.” Which ought to relieve her, but did not.

“It is an explanation, also very likely a waste of time in present company.” He closed his eyes and leaned his head back against the cushions, the image of a weary, defeated man. “I am sorry, Hester, for misrepresenting myself in the guise of a guest, and for not clearing up my purpose for being here before I became irrevocably intimate with you.”

“What do you expect me to say to that, Spathfoy? That I’m sorry as well?”

“I am sorry I’ve given you cause to doubt your judgment again.” He spoke very softly. “I would do anything to redress that wrong, but, Hester, has it occurred to you we might already have conceived a child?”

* * *

The list of reasons why Tye could properly label himself an imbecile—and worse—was endless.

He’d egregiously misjudged Hester’s reaction to having Fiona placed in her grandfather’s care.

In the alternative, he’d miscalculated Hester’s reaction to not learning of this eventuality sooner and from Tye himself.

He’d also completely misunderstood Hester’s hesitance in giving him an answer to his proposal. She hadn’t been being coy or manipulative, she’d been… muddled, doubting herself.

He’d underestimated Balfour’s commitment to the child, and shuddered to think what manner of legal and social havoc was going to result when Clan MacGregor took up the cause of Fiona’s repatriation.

He’d badly, badly bungled matters when he’d allowed himself the ultimate intimacy with Hester last night, and for that, mere apologies would not do.

“If you are carrying my child, I hope you will reconsider my proposal, Hester.”

“Our child.” She shot to her feet and marched off on a circuit of the room. “How likely is it that I’m with child, Spathfoy? I know very little of these things.”

“It’s not impossible, not by any means. My mother would have me believe I was conceived on her wedding night.” Despite the wreckage all around him and the travail lying ahead, Tye found this recollection cheering.

“Merciful Saints. I thought there were things a man did to prevent conception. Jasper assured me I couldn’t get pregnant.”

Tye did not dignify that with a reply.

“He was lying, wasn’t he? And those things to prevent conception, we didn’t do them last night, did we?”

He was not going to give her the Latin now. “I did not do them. I presumed unforgivably on my marital expectations with you.”

“Are you trying to make me hate you, Spathfoy? Or is that grave tone to make me think you’re sorry?”

She was growing increasingly agitated, for which he had only himself to blame. “I do not want you to hate me, Hester. If you’re carrying our child, I want you to marry me. I dare not insist that you do, but I can ask if marriage to me would be so terribly objectionable.”

She stopped her pacing and whirled to face him, hands on her hips. “You’ve betrayed my trust, Spathfoy. I cannot marry you.”

“Your judgment is not trustworthy when you’re tempted to accept my suit, but it’s faultless now that you’re rejecting me? Do you trust that judgment enough to visit bastardy on a child who might otherwise be heir to a marquessate?”

She was once again his personal tempest, ire and indignation radiating from her posture, from her eyes, and her words. “I almost can hate you when you’re like this, Tiberius, all cold reason and precise diction. Do not threaten me with ruin. Thanks to my previous bad judgments, I’m already ruined. I did not permit you into my bed, I welcomed you there. I’ll bear the consequences of that folly on my own, thank you very much.”

She sounded exactly like his own mother when she was in high dudgeon over some folly of his lordship’s. In such a mood, a man could say nothing right, could not appeal to reason or sentiment.

Tye was halfway to the door when he realized he’d just word for word applied the very defenses he’d heard come out of his own father’s mouth on so many tiresome, sad occasions. He stopped, turned around, and kept his tone civil with effort. “What are your terms, Hester Daniels?”

“I beg your pardon?”

He advanced on her, pleased to see she stood her ground—it wasn’t as if he’d ever intend her bodily harm, for God’s sake. “What are your terms? On what terms will you marry me if you’re carrying our child?”

“I don’t know what you mean.”

At least she wasn’t shouting, and when he leaned over her like this, Tye could catch a whiff of her lemony fragrance and see the gold flecks in her uncertain eyes.

“I mean,” he said softly, “we are two intelligent people who will want what is best for our child. We can argue over whom to blame for the child’s conception—though I cannot view the matter as entirely unfortunate—but we must not allow an innocent child to suffer for our decisions. On what terms would you marry me?”

She blinked, some of the fight going out of her. “I will not live in England, not while your father is alive and making mischief like this.”

“Done. I have an estate outside Edinburgh, and my mother has just finished refurbishing it. What else?”

He’d surprised her, but the renewed fire in her eyes said she was rallying. “This child will be born on Scottish soil, Tiberius, promise me that.”

“I promise you that to the extent it can be brought about by mortal man. What else?”

She eyed him up and down. “If your idiot father is determined Fiona cannot live with her mother, than she’ll live with us.”

“I’m not sure I can arrange that. Quinworth seems to be legally in the right of the matter.”

“You can arrange it, Tiberius.” She folded her arms, looking very certain of her point. “Something is driving your father’s decision to retrieve Fiona. He’s ignored her existence for her entire life,