“This time it was an opera dancer. Father pulled his old trick of gifting paste jewels, then barred her from the house. As per usual, the next person she called upon was me. Why can’t he simply remarry and be faithful? Mother’s been dead for a decade. And you can’t tell me the man is grieving her. They hated each other.”
“How long did it take her tae proposition you?”
“About fifteen seconds,” Cal snorted. “As if I’d consider my father’s leftovers. Ugh.” He shuddered and Ethan laughed. It wasn’t the first time they’d had this conversation, nor would it be the last. Even though there were few things more pathetic than an aging rake, it would be foolishness to expect the Marquess of Eastly to change. While Cal accepted that, he still—more often than not—had to clean up his father’s messes. Whether that meant a payment and a cottage somewhere for a servant and the Marquess’s by-blow, or situations with an angry lover, Cal stepped in and did the dirty work.
“The Marquess doesn’ deserve you.”
“He’s the only father I have. Even if he is utter rubbish at it,” Cal said.
“At least Emma only wants a pretty dress.”
“Or twenty. But you’re right. She’ll only debut once. After that her wardrobe will be someone else’s problem.”
Ethan wiped his mouth with a napkin, then finished the cup of tea he’d nursed over breakfast. “I’m going next door. Would you like tae join me?”
“No. Hardwick is coming by. My tailor delivered a new coat, so I’m passing one on. I need to work on my you’d be doing me a favor by taking it off my hands face.”
“You’re dressing the lad now?” That explained why Adam’s coat had looked familiar a few days ago.
Cal shrugged. “He lives on pennies. Insists on saving his pay for a rainy day. What kind of rainy day is he expecting that warrants living like a pauper? I pass along what I can and try to convince him it’s not charity. Then he makes the clothes over to fit. Which probably means he cuts the bloody thing in half and sews it back together. The boy is painfully thin.”
There was something in the way he’d taken Adam Hardwick under his wing that reminded Ethan of Cal’s determination to befriend him years ago. “Adam and I are both lucky tae have you as a friend. I have a few cravats I can add tae the donation if you think he could use them.”
“Nice sentiment, but I’ll pass. Your linen is a disgrace.” Cal poured himself another cup of coffee. “Enjoy the lovely Lady Charlotte. Charm Lady Agatha for me.”
Shrugging into his overcoat, Ethan laughed. “Is such a thing possible?” As he pulled on his gloves, he paused, clearing his throat. “Since we’re catching up, there’s another thing. Lottie said something last night. She refuses tae call me Mac.”
“But we’ve always called you Mac.” Calvin rested his elbows on the table and cocked his head, listening.
“Don’ you remember? Some of the lads called me MacBrute that first year. That shortened tae Mac. She says the nickname is disrespectful.”
Cal sat back. “Huh. Never thought of it that way. Always thought it was in good fun, but I see your point. I call you Mac all the time. I don’t mean any offense by it.”
Ethan drummed his fingers on the back of the chair. Ethan was positive Cal, more than anyone, would understand that he wanted to be called by his rightful name. “I know you don’ mean tae offend. Before Lottie brought it up, I’d accepted the name. But she’s right. They called me Mac so no one would forget I don’ belong here. Not really. Just another Scotsman puttin’ on airs, taking a title from a good English family.”
“What are you talking about? You’re worth ten of these young lordlings born with silver spoons in their mouths. What happened with your cousin and his son is tragic, but no one can blame you for being the next in line to inherit. You belong here. Never doubt that,” Cal said.
“Thank you.” Those doubts sometimes crept in, especially when he spent a lot of time in London. A wave of homesickness for Woodrest flooded him. He wanted to bring Lottie to Kent. See if she liked Woodrest and the people who mattered most to him. That might be courting heartache, when their relationship had a time limit. Of course, if he convinced her to give them a chance, he’d have to deal with her father. That man hated him. As it was, once word reached her father, all hell would break loose.
“I feel I should mention, Ethan, that in most relationships, it’s the woman who changes her name.”
Hearing the name his Mum and Da had given him caused a strange feeling of wholeness to settle in him. There might be more to a name than he’d thought. With a grin, he tipped his hat at a rakish angle and stole the last piece of bacon off Cal’s plate before he left.
* * *
Dawson entered the breakfast room. “Milady, Lord Amesbury has come to call. Shall I have him wait in the drawing room?”
“This early? No, Dawson. I’m unwilling to go another moment without tea. Show him in here.” Sharing breakfast at her table was intimate, but what was the fun of having a fake-fiancé neighbor if she couldn’t break convention?
Ethan walked in, bringing a chill that clung to his coat. The cold dissolved with the look he gave her as he took off his hat. Heavens, his eyes were blue. Somehow brighter this morning. The smile he gave her was another intimacy. Not just friendly but carnal. Seeing that smile, no one would doubt he’d tasted her mouth and he wanted to do it again. Warmth flooded her, and those flames he’d stoked the night before flickered back to life.
“Good morning.” Lord, she was blushing, wasn’t she?
