Lady Isabella's Scandalous Marriage
Page 61
“Your ladyship.” Gordon bowed and shook her hand. Unlike the stereotype of the dried-up, rather elderly solicitor, Mr. Gordon was tall, round, and pink-faced, with an amiable smile. He was married and had five children as round and pink as he was.
“Mr. Gordon, how pleasant to see you. How is your family?”
While Mr. Gordon effused about his growing brood, Isabella led him to the front drawing room. They entered to find Mac on his hands and knees playing horsie with Aimee.
Isabella paused in the doorway to take in the sight. Mac was in shirtsleeves and waistcoat, his coat and watch chain safely out of the way. Aimee had her hands full of Mac’s hair, pulling him where she pleased as he galloped over the floor, Aimee squealing in delight.
“This must be the child in question,” Mr. Gordon said.
Mac gently tipped Aimee to the ground then lifted her high, making her squeal again. He settled her in the crook of his arm and turned to greet Gordon.
“In question?” Isabella asked. She bade Mr. Gordon sit down and took a seat herself on the sofa.
Mac perched on the sofa’s arm, still holding Aimee. “I’ve asked Gordon to come ’round and make the adoption official. I’ll become Aimee’s guardian until she’s of age.”
“You will?” Isabella asked. “I thought I was to be doing the adopting.”
“So I told Gordon, but he suggested it would be better for Aimee in the long run if I make her my legal ward, extending her the protection of the Mackenzie family. With you to raise her as you like and make all the crucial decisions of course.”
High-handed again, but Isabella warmed with relief. She’d half feared that Mac would view Aimee in a different light this morning—the daughter of the man who’d accosted Isabella—and want nothing more to do with her. Obviously not. Mac could separate the actions of the guilty from the lives of the innocent, which was another reason she loved him.
“Are you certain of all this, my lord?” Mr. Gordon asked. “Taking on guardianship of a child, especially a girl, carries a weight of responsibilities.”
Mac gave Gordon his careless shrug. “She’ll need someone to pay for her dresses and hats and ribbons and other fripperies. We’ll send her to Miss Pringle’s for finishing and give her a debut ball the like of which London has never seen.” He winked at Isabella. “And we’ll sternly forbid her to elope with any stray lordlings.”
“Very amusing,” Isabella said.
“I mean it. Her mother’s dead, poor sprite, and her father has abandoned her. Besides, her father is a villain. She’ll be much safer with us.”
That seemed to be enough for Gordon, but then, the man had always been fond of Mac and his brothers. He behaved more like a sympathetic uncle than a family lawyer.
“Aimee has obviously adopted you,” Isabella said, watching Aimee play contentedly with a button on Mac’s waistcoat.
“I did ask her, you know, what she thought about living with Uncle Mac and Aunt Isabella for the rest of her life. She approved.”
Isabella narrowed her eyes. “She said that, did she?”
“Well, she doesn’t know many words yet, and all of them French, but she is of the decided opinion that I have a large nose.”
Isabella barely stopped herself from laughing. “Well, anyone can see that.”
“My darling, you wound me.”
No, he wounded her. Mac was one of those people who always looked as though he was about to smile or laugh over some joke, and the laughter on his face made him devastatingly handsome. That only changed when he was very angry, or, as when she’d seen him in Paris, empty.
“There shouldn’t be much trouble,” Mr. Gordon said. “A few formalities and it’s done. The child is essentially an orphan.”
And Mac was so very rich, his family so very powerful. No wonder Gordon had suggested that Mac instigate the adoption himself. Payne, a poor solicitor’s clerk from Sheffield, would hardly prevail against the might of Hart Mackenzie, Duke of Kilmorgan. Aimee would be theirs.
Miss Westlock entered the room then, the professional nanny in her sensing that the time had come for the child to return to the nursery. Aimee went without fuss, which raised Isabella’s opinion of Miss Westlock. Aimee did insist on kissing Mac and Isabella good-bye first, however.
Isabella held Aimee’s warm little body briefly as she pressed a sticky kiss to Isabella’s cheek. Mac wants a child, she realized. He hadn’t brought Gordon here to start the adoption only for Isabella’s sake. He’d taken to Aimee, that was obvious from the way he’d let her sleep on him in the train and ride so happily on his back through the drawing room. Isabella thought about their exuberant bed games last night and in Mac’s studio at Kilmorgan and wondered if a baby would come of them. It was certainly possible. Her heart beat faster as she watched Miss Westlock carry Aimee from the room and close the door.
“And now for the other matter,” Gordon said. He lifted a sheaf of legal-looking papers from his case and handed them to Mac. “I believe these are in order.”
“What other matter?” Isabella asked.
Mr. Gordon glanced at Mac in surprise. “Did you not mention to her ladyship that I would be coming today?”
Mac busied himself looking at the papers, not answering.
“His lordship must have forgotten,” Isabella said in a crisp voice. “We have been quite in turmoil the last few weeks. What is this matter?”
“Mr. Gordon, how pleasant to see you. How is your family?”
While Mr. Gordon effused about his growing brood, Isabella led him to the front drawing room. They entered to find Mac on his hands and knees playing horsie with Aimee.
Isabella paused in the doorway to take in the sight. Mac was in shirtsleeves and waistcoat, his coat and watch chain safely out of the way. Aimee had her hands full of Mac’s hair, pulling him where she pleased as he galloped over the floor, Aimee squealing in delight.
“This must be the child in question,” Mr. Gordon said.
Mac gently tipped Aimee to the ground then lifted her high, making her squeal again. He settled her in the crook of his arm and turned to greet Gordon.
“In question?” Isabella asked. She bade Mr. Gordon sit down and took a seat herself on the sofa.
Mac perched on the sofa’s arm, still holding Aimee. “I’ve asked Gordon to come ’round and make the adoption official. I’ll become Aimee’s guardian until she’s of age.”
“You will?” Isabella asked. “I thought I was to be doing the adopting.”
“So I told Gordon, but he suggested it would be better for Aimee in the long run if I make her my legal ward, extending her the protection of the Mackenzie family. With you to raise her as you like and make all the crucial decisions of course.”
High-handed again, but Isabella warmed with relief. She’d half feared that Mac would view Aimee in a different light this morning—the daughter of the man who’d accosted Isabella—and want nothing more to do with her. Obviously not. Mac could separate the actions of the guilty from the lives of the innocent, which was another reason she loved him.
“Are you certain of all this, my lord?” Mr. Gordon asked. “Taking on guardianship of a child, especially a girl, carries a weight of responsibilities.”
Mac gave Gordon his careless shrug. “She’ll need someone to pay for her dresses and hats and ribbons and other fripperies. We’ll send her to Miss Pringle’s for finishing and give her a debut ball the like of which London has never seen.” He winked at Isabella. “And we’ll sternly forbid her to elope with any stray lordlings.”
“Very amusing,” Isabella said.
“I mean it. Her mother’s dead, poor sprite, and her father has abandoned her. Besides, her father is a villain. She’ll be much safer with us.”
That seemed to be enough for Gordon, but then, the man had always been fond of Mac and his brothers. He behaved more like a sympathetic uncle than a family lawyer.
“Aimee has obviously adopted you,” Isabella said, watching Aimee play contentedly with a button on Mac’s waistcoat.
“I did ask her, you know, what she thought about living with Uncle Mac and Aunt Isabella for the rest of her life. She approved.”
Isabella narrowed her eyes. “She said that, did she?”
“Well, she doesn’t know many words yet, and all of them French, but she is of the decided opinion that I have a large nose.”
Isabella barely stopped herself from laughing. “Well, anyone can see that.”
“My darling, you wound me.”
No, he wounded her. Mac was one of those people who always looked as though he was about to smile or laugh over some joke, and the laughter on his face made him devastatingly handsome. That only changed when he was very angry, or, as when she’d seen him in Paris, empty.
“There shouldn’t be much trouble,” Mr. Gordon said. “A few formalities and it’s done. The child is essentially an orphan.”
And Mac was so very rich, his family so very powerful. No wonder Gordon had suggested that Mac instigate the adoption himself. Payne, a poor solicitor’s clerk from Sheffield, would hardly prevail against the might of Hart Mackenzie, Duke of Kilmorgan. Aimee would be theirs.
Miss Westlock entered the room then, the professional nanny in her sensing that the time had come for the child to return to the nursery. Aimee went without fuss, which raised Isabella’s opinion of Miss Westlock. Aimee did insist on kissing Mac and Isabella good-bye first, however.
Isabella held Aimee’s warm little body briefly as she pressed a sticky kiss to Isabella’s cheek. Mac wants a child, she realized. He hadn’t brought Gordon here to start the adoption only for Isabella’s sake. He’d taken to Aimee, that was obvious from the way he’d let her sleep on him in the train and ride so happily on his back through the drawing room. Isabella thought about their exuberant bed games last night and in Mac’s studio at Kilmorgan and wondered if a baby would come of them. It was certainly possible. Her heart beat faster as she watched Miss Westlock carry Aimee from the room and close the door.
“And now for the other matter,” Gordon said. He lifted a sheaf of legal-looking papers from his case and handed them to Mac. “I believe these are in order.”
“What other matter?” Isabella asked.
Mr. Gordon glanced at Mac in surprise. “Did you not mention to her ladyship that I would be coming today?”
Mac busied himself looking at the papers, not answering.
“His lordship must have forgotten,” Isabella said in a crisp voice. “We have been quite in turmoil the last few weeks. What is this matter?”
