Chapter 17

Lyall,

It is horrifying to have to admit this in writing, but I took your advice.

I'm marrying the girl.

―Excerpt of a letter from The Hon'ble Mr Hamilton Anderson to his elder brother, The Right Hon'ble Lyall Anderson, Viscount Buchanan.

25 th June 1850, Wick, Caithness, Scotland.

The next morning, Hamilton arrived at the vicarage front door, smartly dressed as curtains twitched the length and breadth of Wick. News of his having won not only Miss Halliday's hand, but the Reverend Halliday's approval, spread with such speed that, by midmorning, there was no one who did not know of it.

Bemused but in too good a humour to complain, Hamilton accepted the words of thanks as he walked from his offices close to the harbour and endured the good-natured ribbing from the fishermen who were full of helpful, if vulgar, advice for his wedding night.

To his surprise, Jimmy opened the door of the vicarage, and Hamilton grinned at him.

"Ye are still here, then. I thought ye would stay with Mrs Macready now?"

"I did," he said proudly, adding in a confidential tone. "I slept in a proper bed last night, with sheets and blankets and everything. It was her son's room, and she give it to me."

"Ye deserve it," Hamilton said, patting the lad's skinny shoulder. "But as soon as we have a new schoolmaster, I expect to see ye there, ye hear me. Ye are a bright laddie, and ye must make the most of yer skills."

"Aye, I know it. Mrs Macready said so too," he said gloomily.

"But if ye are clever at school, I'll be able to find a place for ye. Perhaps if ye do very well, ye could work with Angus one day, running things for me."

"Like Angus Stewart? Him with that nice house and the pretty wife?" Jimmy said with interest.

"Aye, the same, and ye could have a nice house and a pretty wife too one day, if ye want it and dinnae mind working for it. It's a way off, Jimmy, but it does ye nae harm to have ambition, aye?"

"Is that why you have so much money, 'cause you're ambitious?"

Hamilton snorted. "Aye, I guess so, and I dinnae like being idle. I'm the sort that gets into mischief if I have nae something to occupy me."

"So am I," Jimmy admitted ruefully.

Hamilton nodded, understanding. "Well, at least ye ken it. Now, take me to Clara, is she ready?"

"She is," Jimmy said, leading him through to the front parlour.

To his alarm, Hamilton found not only his betrothed, but her father and Mrs Cameron too, all of them dressed for an outing. Clara's face was the picture of dismay as he met her eyes. "Papa and Mrs Cameron are going to accompany us on our walk," she said, an apology in her voice. "For propriety's sake."

Hamilton swallowed a curse and merely nodded. "Aye, well, we'd best do things right. If ye are ready, then, Clara?"

She nodded, and the party headed to the front door. Mrs Cameron laid a hand on his arm as she passed, whispering, "Sorry, laddie, I tried my best. Ye had best marry her as soon as ye can."

"It had not escaped my attention," Hamilton said dryly. "I thank ye for trying, though."

Mrs Cameron winked at him as she hurried out the door and took the reverend's arm.

"I'm sorry," Clara whispered as they fell into step, with Reverend Halliday leading the way.

Hamilton patted her hand. "'Tis nae bother, mo leannan. We'd nae have got a moment of privacy in any case, not with the whole town flapping its gums about us. But we must do our best to set a date, aye? I dinnae want this situation to carry on long. I'm nae a fan of long engagements, ye ken."

"Tomorrow suits me," Clara said impishly, smiling up at him. Hamilton gazed down at her, realising he must have the same daft expression on his face that Muir got when he gazed at Delia. He didn't care, either. He wanted to drink in the sight of her beautiful face for hours, just to be in her company, even if the blasted reverend had to come too. His heart felt oddly light, and yet full to bursting. It was a strange sensation, not unpleasant, but it would take some getting used to. He smiled, remembering not so very long ago when he'd danced at his brother's wedding and convinced himself he wasn't green with envy. He'd told himself he was in no hurry, that he was happy enough, but he knew now he was ready for this, for Clara, for a life together that promised to be everything he could have dreamed of.

Still, for Clara, this would be another upheaval, and not long after having moved to Scotland. "Do ye mean it? It's not going too fast for ye? It will be a big change, to leave yer father's house."

Clara slanted him a wry look that made him laugh. "Aye, well, a fellow likes to be sure."

She leaned into him and Hamilton realised they had both slowed their steps, allowing her father to get farther ahead of them. "I came here because my father was sent here. I had no choice, no say, but I was glad. I wanted to come to where there were people, to find a husband. Do you think that is very bold of me?"

He snorted at that. "I think it very sensible. Living with the Reverend Halliday is nae for the faint hearted, I reckon."

"Hush, he'll hear you," Clara scolded, though when they looked ahead, the Reverend and Mrs Cameron had their heads together and were oblivious to anything except each other. "I think they'll do very well together," Clara said, smiling at the sight. "Papa needs someone to stand up to him, to keep his feet on the ground and speak sense."

"Aye, Flora Cameron is a sensible woman," Hamilton said with a twinkle in his eye.

"You think she set her cap for him," Clara asked with interest.

"I dinnae ken nor care. I dinnae blame her, either. She's worked hard and raised five bairns after her lout of a husband drank himself to death. She deserves some ease, and she can handle yer da, and that's all to the good."

"You are a wise man, Hamilton Anderson," she said, squeezing his arm.

"I am," he said, affecting a grave expression. "But it speaks well of ye that ye recognise the fact."

Clara gave him a playful smack, shaking her head sadly. "Odiously conceited, dreadful man," she said with a sigh.

"Maybe, but I am yer own dreadful man, conceited or otherwise."

"Are you?" Clara asked softly, and Hamilton looked down at her, seeing the question in her eyes. "There won't be another Mrs Scott for me to worry about, or to turn a blind eye to, then? For I've never been very good at pretending things aren't exactly how they are."

Hamilton took her hands in his bandaged ones, touching them gently as he stared into her eyes so she could see the sincerity in his. "Never, lassie. If I speak my vows, I'll mean them until my dying breath. I have sown my wild oats and enjoyed doing it, but that's over. I mean to have the kind of marriage my parents have, that my brothers and my sister seem to have achieved too. All or nothing, Clara. I'll have yer heart for my own, and ye will have mine too, all of it. Can ye stand it?" he asked, his lips quirking, yet meaning the question all the same. He knew what he was, and he knew he could be overpowering and over exuberant, too full of energy and restless spirit.

"I cannot wait, Hamilton, and you must know you have my heart. You have had it for longer than I think I knew myself."

"Aye, well, I'm irresistible," he said with a shrug, and then ducked away, laughing as she tried to clip him around the ear.

"That's right, lassie, ye start how ye mean to go on," called a woman from her upstairs window, watching them as they passed in the street. "I've a nice heavy skillet I can lend ye if ye like. He's got a heid like his da's that one, stubborn as mule and hard as iron."

"Aileen Carson, I'll thank ye to keep yer suggestions to yerself," Hamilton called back, taking Clara's hand in his. "Come away, lassie, before she gives ye any ideas."

Tugging her down the street, Clara ran after him, laughing helplessly as Mrs Carson called further suggestions until they were out of sight.

24 th July 1850, Rochford House, Just outside Wick, Caithness, Scotland.

Despite Hamilton's initial wish to marry Clara before June was out, it was a full month later before the big day. It was his own choice too, despite his impatience to set a date, for he told her he would not be enjoying his wedding night with his hands bandaged, and the burns were severe enough to need time to heal properly.

The day dawned with a fine drizzle settling over Wick and the surrounding countryside, slicking the streets and giving the summer landscape a fresh dewy look that made all the myriad shades of green sparkle. The air was warm though and Hamilton sensed that the sun would shine by mid-morning.

His sister Georgie's husband, the Duke of Rochford, nodded a greeting from his place at the head of the breakfast table. Georgie had kindly given Hamilton and Clara Rochford House to use until they found a house of their own, as his own rooms in Wick were bachelor accommodations and not suitable for a bride. The grand Palladian house was barely two miles from the centre of Wick, and the duke and duchess only used it when visiting family, Rochford's seat being Mulcaster Castle in Cumbria. Mulcaster was a vast, intimidating cavern of a place that Georgie had somehow managed to turn into a home. The place suited Rochford, who was also vast and intimidating. Even by Anderson standards, he was a big man, and badly scarred, giving him a forbidding aspect that made him appear far fiercer than he was. His heir, eight-year-old Jamie, the Marquess of Draven, sat at his elbow. He was a sturdy lad with a shock of dark hair and the whisky coloured eyes of his mother. The boy was working steadily on a plate of eggs and bacon but stopped long enough to grin as he saw Hamilton.

"Good morning, Jamie lad, Rochford," Hamilton said, helping himself to a slice of sirloin steak and fried potatoes and settling down at the table.

He tucked into the steak as Rochford grunted—his usual greeting in the morning—and lifted a coffee cup, regarding Hamilton over the rim. "A vicar's daughter," he said, his deep voice rumbling with amusement. "The poor wee girl."

Hamilton paused, his knife and fork suspended in mid-air and scowled at him. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"She could have done better," Rochford lamented, shaking his head.

Hamilton rolled his eyes and applied himself to his breakfast, too used to such baiting from his brothers to rise to it.

"Your parents arrived half an hour ago, by the way. They said Lyall and the others ought not be far behind, but little Gordy had hidden his best shoes again and they were turning the place upside down looking for them when they left. Your mother went straight to the kitchens on arrival, of course, to ensure everything is prepared for the wedding breakfast."

Hamilton snorted. "Of course she did. She won't believe it's all in hand unless she sees it with her own eyes. Probably not until we are all sat down and listening to the toasts." He gazed down at the steak he'd been cutting into, and his stomach lurched as it hit him. He was getting married. Today .

He swallowed, the bite of steak feeling as if it had stuck in his throat. Married. Today. Something distinctly like panic surged through him.

Hamilton was distantly aware of movement, the scrape of a chair, and looked up a moment later as Rochford set a glass of whisky in front of him. "Took enough time for it to sink in, but I figured it would eventually," he said with a twisted grin. "Drink that, it will settle your guts."

"What if I mess it up?" Hamilton said, reaching for the glass, aware of a panicky sensation in his belly like snakes writhing.

"Oh, you will," Rochford said, sitting himself down again.

"Well, yer a great comfort," Hamilton said impatiently, downing the generous tot of whisky and glaring at him.

Rochford smirked but shook his head, relenting. "Providing you are faithful, and you learn to apologise at regular intervals, you'll do fine," he said gruffly. "I hear she's a sensible lass, so she can't be blind to the trouble she's getting into."

Hamilton laughed at that. "True," he said, feeling suddenly much better.

"Well, lassie, ye are the bonniest bride there ever was," Mrs Macready said with satisfaction.

"That she is," the new Mrs Halliday remarked. Her father and Flora—as she had insisted Clara address her—had married a week earlier. A quiet little ceremony with only Flora's youngest daughter and Clara in attendance, they had celebrated with a fine dinner prepared by Mrs Macready, and the happy couple were taking a trip to visit Flora's eldest daughter in Somerset after Clara's wedding. Clara had been pleasantly surprised to discover Mrs Macready and Flora were making significant efforts to get along, for she had feared there might be ructions in the kitchen. Instead, the household was a well-run and industrious one with Flora at the helm and, if the Reverend Halliday was a little in awe of his new bride, Clara thought that was all to the good. She was aware, however, that the situation between the women was one that would not continue smoothly for long. Mrs Macready and Flora both had strong opinions on the way things ought to be done, and whilst they were falling over each other to be accommodating at the moment, that would wear on both their nerves in time. Deciding she would discuss the problem with Hamilton, for the moment, Clara put it out of her mind, for she had far more exciting things to consider.

Turning this way and that before the looking glass, Clara could hardly believe the picture reflected back at her. Satin ribbon and lace lavishly adorned the gown of ivory silk and, though Clara did not know how much it had cost, she knew enough to estimate it must have been a small fortune. The fabulous dressmaker had come to her, a concession from a woman who dressed the great and the good, and a gift from Georgie, who'd used her influence to make it happen.

Whilst Clara had been aware that Hamilton was a successful man, she had never considered quite how successful, or thought much of his family connections, past feeling somewhat overawed that his father was an earl. Having discovered he was not only fabulously wealthy, but also that his sister was the Duchess of Rochford, had put her into a pelter as she fretted she was marrying too far above her station. That his family might despise her, or Hamilton might come to regret marrying her, had given her awful sleepless nights until her father had stepped in. Speaking to her in the gentlest tones she could ever remember him using, he reminded her that her grandfather might be a vile bully, but he was also Baron Marsham, an ancient and revered title, and she had nothing to blush for.

"This came for you this morning," Mrs Macready said, bringing her back to the present.

She and Flora stood side-by-side as they presented Clara with a large, red leather box.

Clara took it, noting the excited glint in the two women's eyes. She had already received lovely gifts from both Mrs Scott and Miss Fleming, who had sent a very pretty note of congratulations to her and a promise to call in when she was back home again. Clara suspected the fact Miss Fleming had just become engaged to a wealthy young man herself had softened the blow, but she wished the young lady all the luck in the world and hoped she was as happy as Clara herself.

"It's from Hamilton?" Clara guessed, her heart leaping at the weight of the leather box she held.

"Nae, Father Christmas!" Flora exclaimed impatiently. "Of course it is from Hamilton, open it up! Open it up!" she protested, flapping her hands at Clara.

Clara did as she was told, almost dropping the box in alarm as the contents flashed and sparkled in the sunlight streaming through the window.

"Saints be praised," Mrs Macready whispered, putting her hand to her heart. "I never saw anything so lovely in all my days."

Clara stared at the glorious parure of diamonds. A necklace, ear bobs, bracelets, a brooch and a tiara were laid out on a bed of cream silk. "Oh, my," she said, feeling rather breathless.

"There's a note too," Flora said, shoving it at Clara, who opened it with trembling fingers.

To my beautiful bride,

I know you will shine brighter than any diamond, but I wanted to give you something as a token of thanks for making me the happiest of men. I will see you soon, mo leannan. Hamilton.

It was only when she heard their wistful sighs that Clara realised the ladies were reading over her shoulder and tucked the note away with a blush.

"Ye will have a fine wedding night, lassie," Flora teased, winking at her. "He's a braw, handsome laddie, so he is."

"Ye do ken what happens on yer wedding night, Clara?" Mrs Macready asked with a frown.

Clara blushed a deeper shade and the two ladies exchanged glances.

"Sit yerself down, lassie," Flora said, steering her to a chair. "Freya, fetch her a tot of whisky. I reckon she may need it."

"Well!" Clara's father stared at her, leaping from his chair in the parlour as she stood before him. "Well, I never did."

For once in his life, the reverend seemed quite without words, which was rather touching.

"Isn't she the prettiest thing ye ever saw, Robert?" Flora said, moving to take his arm. Papa patted his wife's hand absently and walked closer to Clara. To her surprise, his eyes glittered with emotion.

"How you remind me of your mother today. You have her eyes, you know, grey and serious, yet with that twinkle that shows your spirit."

"Thank you, Papa," Clara said, feeling suddenly quite emotional herself.

He took her hands and squeezed her fingers gently.

"The Anderson family are lucky to have you, Clara, and don't you go thinking otherwise. What's more, I… I shall miss you, my dear. You have been a better daughter to me than I deserve, and I am proud of you."

"Oh, P-Papa," Clara said, suddenly choked as she did something she had not done since she was a small girl and hugged him tightly.

He seemed quite as taken aback by this as she did, but he hugged her in return and kissed her cheek.

"Well, if we are all ready, we had best get ourselves to the church or young Mr Anderson will be fretting himself to death," Flora said, smiling fondly at them both.

"Goodness, and with a duke and duchess, and an earl and a countess in the congregation!" her father said, and she realised that despite his words, he was feeling a little overawed himself.

They walked outside where a carriage waited to drive them the short distance to the church and discovered all their neighbours standing outside, cheering Clara and wishing her joy as her father helped her up. Feeling every bit like the fairy princess she had once imagined herself to be as a child, Clara waved back, and her heart skipped with anticipation as the carriage drove away.