Chapter 6

Lyall,

I'll admit it pains me to write these words down for you to read, but I need your advice. We have a new vicar arrived in Wick, the Reverend Halliday. He seems to think I am personally responsible for all the ills of the town and is on a mission to drive the demon drink from here and me along with it. He's taken offence at the renovations I'm making at the Fisherman's Retreat and is making a habit of interfering with my workmen. I had two quit yesterday saying their wives had told them if they continued to work in Satan's pit of vice, they'd turn them out of doors. I can hear you laughing from here, and truth be told, I was not too worried at first, but from what I hear the women of the town are flocking to listen to him preach on a Sunday morning.

I've tried speaking with him—that did not go well. His daughter is far more sensible and seems to have her father's measure, but I do not know how much influence she holds over him. I believe she has tried speaking sense to him, but so far, to no avail. I reckon he means to make mischief for me, and I do not know how to deal with such an attack from a man of God.

If you have any sensible advice, I should be grateful to hear it.

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

27 th May 1850, Wick, Caithness, Scotland.

"He's rather splendid, isn't he?" Miss Fleming said in a whisper she regarded the Reverend Halliday in full flow as his voice rose to new heights. Her pretty mouth curved in a conspiratorial smile as she slanted a look at Clara.

Clara sighed, knowing she would need to make her father a posset to soothe his throat after such a fiery sermon in which he had worked himself into a passion of righteous anger. Ironic really, as the brew contained sack wine, a tipple the reverend seemed to see as a purely medicinal element in his diet.

Clara studied her new friend, wondering how to take such a comment.

"Oh, don't look so anxious," she said with a laugh behind her fan. "We can none of us help our parents. My father mortified me daily during the season, the poor dear. His manners are not at all what one would like, despite Mama's best efforts."

"You are a comfort to me," Clara admitted, her own lips twitching with relief that her new friend was not about to abandon her.

"It's you who is the comfort to me," Miss Fleming said staunchly. "You have no idea how lonely I was before you arrived. Will you walk into town with me tomorrow? I saw a dear little bonnet I simply must have. It's not from Paris, of course, and I should not be seen dead in it in London, but for Wick it will be quite charming."

"I should be delighted to," Clara said, though she was more occupied with noticing that the church was full to bursting, and a large part of the congregation were women. Her father's teachings were not falling on deaf ears. The positive response received by the talk he had given on arriving in Wick had gratified him. His confidence had been further boosted when he had been asked to repeat it twice more.

It seemed there was a temperance movement growing in the town, and Reverend Halliday was leading the charge. Clara could not say she disapproved, either. Though she had not seen the results of such overindulgence first hand, both Miss Fleming and Mrs Macready had told her a few hair-raising tales that proved to Clara that it truly was a problem that needed a solution. The trouble was, she rather feared her father's confrontational style would only end in disaster.

A discreet cough to her right made Clara look to the far side of the aisle to discover Mr Malcolm Stewart smiling at her. He mimed doffing his hat, making her smile in return until Miss Fleming tugged at her arm.

"If you will forgive me for doing so, you'd do well not to encourage Mr Stewart. He's a poor schoolteacher with not a penny to his name," she said with a little sniff. "Not at all the kind of fellow you should aspire to."

Thinking this a rather unchristian, not to say somewhat mercenary attitude, Clara said nothing, but did not look at Mr Stewart again. She did not wish for the people of Wick to speculate about her.

Finally, the service was over, and Clara and Miss Fleming walked arm-in-arm down the aisle.

"My ears are ringing," Miss Fleming said with a giggle, once they were out in the fresh air again and away from the throng gathered in front of the church. "Come, I shall walk back to the vicarage with you."

"Oh, but it's quite out of your way," Clara protested, glancing behind at the little maid who followed Miss Fleming everywhere.

"Nonsense, a brisk walk will do us the world of good and put roses in our cheeks, won't it, Abigail?" she said over her shoulder.

"Aye, Miss Fleming," the maid said in a resigned tone.

"There, you see? Come along," she said smugly.

"Well, only if you will stay and take a cup of tea with me before you leave," Clara said with a smile.

"I would be charmed to do so," Miss Fleming said at once, and they set off along the road to the vicarage.

The spring sunshine had deserted them this morning and a steely grey sky glowered overhead, threatening rain. Miss Fleming contrasted remarkably with the scenery around her, for the gown of gold velvet figured silk she wore glowed in the sombre light. She appeared to Clara's eye to be a shiny penny among a pocketful of tarnished coins. Though she was happy and grateful to have a friend of her own age and station, she could not help a little stab of envy at being always cast into the shade. Her own gown was a sensible light brown velvet. It was beautifully cut, and the dressmaker had named the fabric ‘marron glacé' which sounded very well, but there was no escaping the fact it was brown.

Her father's voice echoed in her ears for her envy, intoning ‘Galatians five, verse twenty-six.'

Sighing, she slipped her arm through Miss Fleming's. "Must you always look so beautiful? It's very trying on a girl's moral fibre."

Miss Fleming replied with her tinkling laugh and cast an amused and rather gratified look at Clara. "Silly goose, whatever do you mean?"

"‘Let us not become conceited, provoking and envying each other,'" Clara recited, in a fair imitation of her father's grandiose style of speaking. "I'm supposed to be a model Christian, you understand, and here I am, wanting to scratch your eyes out for wearing that gorgeous dress when I'm all in brown."

Miss Fleming looked her over with a critical eye. "I have the loveliest yellow gown which I will give to you. I'm afraid it's last year's fashion but you won't mind that, and we can furbish it up and make it look more a la mode . It's just the thing for you."

"Oh, no. I couldn't," Clara said, touched and rather embarrassed by the offer. She was uncertain what her father would think of her wearing yellow, too. Not that he had ever forbidden her to, she had simply never been brave enough to wear such bright shades. It had seemed inappropriate.

"Oh, Clara, don't be such a peahen. I shan't ever wear it again. Indeed, I've a wardrobe full of things I shall never wear again. Why ought you not have them if I wish to give them to you? For you're already the prettiest creature in all of Wick. Well," she added candidly, " we are the prettiest creatures in all of Wick."

Clara snorted, which set Miss Fleming off, and as they turned the corner, they were laughing heartily.

The Fisherman's Retreat was quiet on the Sabbath, thank heavens, but as they passed by, with Miss Fleming eyeing the building with interest, the door opened, and Mr Anderson stepped out and locked the door behind him. He saw them as he turned and smiled, giving a formal bow.

"Ladies, how enchanting to meet ye both, and dressed as fine as fivepence. Ye'll have all the lads weeping into their whisky with heartache."

"Mr Anderson," Clara reproved him sternly, remembering the run in he'd had with her father all too clearly.

"I beg yer pardon, Miss Halliday. It was a provoking remark, was it nae? I never could keep a still tongue in my head when there was a quip to be made," he told them with a devilish glint in his eyes. "May I walk ye home?"

"It's little more than a dozen steps," Clara said dryly. "I think we can manage it alone."

"Ah, but there are some desperate sorts in Wick, ye never know when ye will be needing a strong man to keep ye safe," he teased.

"Oh, then you had best accompany us everywhere, Mr Anderson, for I shall be afraid to set a foot out of doors without you from now on," Miss Fleming said, blushing and giggling, which Clara privately thought did her no credit. Likely, Mr Anderson thought it made Clara look crusty and ill-tempered in comparison. In the circumstances, she could hardly refuse to take his arm, though she cast him a dark look, so he understood the situation was not one of which she approved.

When the requisite dozen steps had been accomplished, Clara thanked him with ironic civility for his chaperonage, and turned to Miss Fleming, expecting her to release his arm.

"Are you coming, Miss Fleming?" she asked with a smile.

"Oh, no. I've just remembered Papa especially told me I must not dally on my way home from church, for we dine early today. And I could not possibly walk all by myself, now I know how dangerous Wick is," she added demurely, casting a flirtatious glance at Mr Anderson.

"Oh," Clara said, a little shocked by her friend's conduct. "Well, of course. I would not wish for you to be late for a family dinner. I will bid you both a good day then," she replied, and walked to her front door. Though she told herself sternly she must not, Clara could not help a glance back at them before she stepped inside.

Miss Fleming was chattering gaily as they walked down the road, but Mr Anderson looked back over his shoulder, casting Clara a rueful smile before winking at her.

Clara told herself sternly that she was not the least bit gratified by such ungentlemanly behaviour, but her wicked heart disagreed.

It took Hamilton longer than he would have liked to remove himself from Miss Fleming's company. While he had no complaints about walking a pretty girl home, especially one who exerted herself to be agreeable, he knew Miss Fleming was a dangerous companion. She had made it clear to him she was willing to be Mrs Hamilton Anderson, though he knew well enough she would far rather have married Lyall. Miss Fleming was ambitious and, if a better prospect presented itself, she would drop him like a hot coal. However, a bird in the hand and all that. Hamilton did not blame her for her attitude, which was purely practical, but he was in no mad rush to marry, and certainly not a girl like her.

While Miss Fleming was easy on the eye, there was something about her that set his teeth on edge, the nagging sense that she was playing a part to please him. He did not know what the real Miss Fleming was like, but he strongly doubted she was the amiable, bubble-headed female she presented to the world. His gut told him that Clara Halliday, by contrast, was everything she appeared to be. She was not only lovely, with looks of a kind that needed no artifice or paint to highlight, but kind and compassionate, strong-willed, but also a dutiful daughter. He felt she struggled with the position she was in, for he did not think she liked the confrontational stand her father had taken against the drinking men of Wick… or Hamilton himself.

As much as she might approve of her father's ambitions, it seemed Miss Halliday wished to change his tactics, although Hamilton suspected such a wish might be beyond her power.

Finding himself at a loose end, Hamilton considered his options. Moyra would certainly welcome his company but, as much as he liked her, he was not in the right frame of mind for bed sports. His mood was too meditative for that. The problem the Reverend Halliday sought to eradicate was not one he was unaware of; you'd have to be deaf, dumb, and blind not to see it. That he might really be adding to the problem was an idea he had dismissed at first, but one that nagged at his conscience as he wondered if he could do better.

He turned the problem over as he meandered through the quiet streets, but he had no lightning strike idea or solution and only gave himself a headache. He did not like Sundays in Wick. Most people gathered with their family on the sabbath to share a meal and whilst his family were not a million miles away, it was too far to go for the day. He missed them, though. He missed the messy, noisy family gatherings, and more than anything he missed the landscape around Wildsyde, the magic of the remote spot that seemed to be a world apart from the one he now inhabited. Foolishness, of course. Hamilton had everything any young man could want: financial success, popularity, and a beautiful and willing bed partner. It was daft to feel homesick. Besides, he had not long been with them, staying with his elder brother Lyall for their middle sibling's wedding.

Muir had done well for himself, a twist of fate no one could have predicted landing him a bride who was the daughter of a duke and came with a fat dowry, and who was also a sweet-natured and lovely young woman Hamilton had liked at once. Upon learning of the difficult situation she had been in, he had been rash enough to offer to marry her himself if Muir was not to her liking. In hindsight, he was glad she had rejected the offer., not least because Muir was clearly head over ears in love and would never have forgiven him. Hamilton's instincts had told him that Delia was a good woman with a kind heart, and would make an admirable wife, and he knew he'd been right in that estimation. However, he had not been in love with her, and he suspected that rare ingredient, unfashionable as it was, needed to be a part of any union he was prepared to make.

Quite out of sorts by now, after such unsettling thoughts of marriage and homesickness, Hamilton was relieved when he turned the corner and found himself presented with a mill.

"Gerroff! Take your ‘ands off me or I'll draw your cork, jus' you see if I don't!" protested a small, skinny boy of about ten years of age. The claim seemed hopeful rather than likely, for the lad was outnumbered by six to one.

"Brody, Jack! What the devil are ye playing at?" Hamilton bellowed, shocking the boys into falling back and dropping their hostage.

The lad sagged, falling heavily on his backside as his captors let go of him like he'd burned them.

"He started it!" a lad Hamilton recognised as Jockie Dunbar's son piped up. "He's a Sassenach," he added indignantly, as if this were reason enough for a good hiding.

"Aye, what of it?" Hamilton demanded, glaring at the lads as he strode over and helped the boy to his feet. His coat was torn, and he'd have a grand black eye in the morning, but he seemed to be all in one piece. "My mother is a Sassenach, which ye would think on if ye had half the brains ye were born with. Would ye like to have a go at me, too?"

The lads exchanged nervous glances, and Hamilton snorted. "Aye, I reckoned not. It's all right picking on a wee laddie who cannae fight back, but someone bigger than ye is another matter. What kind of men are ye to become if battering someone weaker than ye is something ye take a pride in?"

Colour crept into the boy's faces, and they hung their heads, scuffing the toes of their worn boots.

"I'm not weaker than any of ‘em," the lad Hamilton was holding up said crossly, with perhaps more spirit than sense. "If it were a fair fight, I'd show ‘em."

"Aye, reckon ye might at that, laddie, but there'll be nae more fighting. Ye are all going to shake hands like gentlemen, or I'll skelp the lot of ye myself."

With this terrible threat hanging over them, the boys united in a common goal and needed little persuasion to shake hands and introduce themselves properly. The wee Sassenach was called Jimmy, and Hamilton watched with approval as the boys looked at each other with less hostility and something approaching a friendly manner.

"We sometimes play football," Jock said to the lad, giving Hamilton a wary glance. "There's a flat piece of ground over that way. Where that big old house fell down. We'll be there tomorrow if ye would like to play wi' us?"

"After school, aye?" Hamilton said, quirking one eyebrow.

"Aye," Jock said grimly, having plainly meant nothing of the sort.

"Reckon I might," Jimmy said. "If you play a decent game," he added with a challenging note.

"Ye will all play fair and there'll be nae violence, or I'll be hearing about it," Hamilton said firmly, knowing all too well that the Scottish version of football was closer kin to warfare than any game played in England.

"Aye, Mr Anderson," the boys replied in unison.

"Aye. Away with ye now. I'll see the lad home and ye can see how grand that black eye of his is developing tomorrow."

The lads grinned, tossed a few cheeky but well-meaning insults at Jimmy, which he took in the spirit they were intended, and ran off.

"Well, laddie. Ye are a sight and no mistake. Ye ma will likely tan ye hide harder than the lads would have done for turning up in such a state."

"That'd be a fine sight. She's been dead since the day I was born," Jimmy remarked, smirking.

"Yer da, then?"

"Don't have one," he retorted, with all the insouciance of a boy used to having no one to answer to.

Hamilton studied the lad thoughtfully. He'd never seen the boy before, and it was clear the lads beating on him hadn't either. Jimmy was new in town, and there was only one English family that had arrived in recent weeks.

"What about the Reverend Halliday?"

To Hamilton's dismay, the boy turned chalk white and looked like he might boke. He shook his head, his throat working. Hamilton frowned and crouched down, taking the boy by the shoulders.

"It's all right, laddie. Calm yerself. I will nae breathe a word to him. I swear it."

"It's not for my own sake," Jimmy replied, putting his chin up. "I'm no coward, right? But Clara… that is, Miss Halliday, she'll be in the basket if the old devil realises she brought me wiv her."

Hamilton's eyebrows went up. "Miss Halliday brought ye here, and her da doesnae ken aught about it?"

Jimmy nodded. "She's a great gun. Reckon I'd be pushin' up daisies if she'd not taken me in. The reverend told her to send me back to London where I come from, and she pretended to do what he said, but she never. I lived wiv her at the vicarage in Thorney for a bit, hidden like, then she paid the driver what brought all their boxes and stuff to bring me too. Used her own money, and it cost a pretty penny. No one never did nothing for me before, not ever, but she did all that," he added in wonder, his voice wobbling a bit.

Hamilton stared at the lad, his estimation of Clara Halliday's character rising higher by the moment. Having been on the receiving end of the Reverend Halliday's particular brand of Christian charity, he could well believe the man would have sent a grubby street boy back where he'd come from without a second thought. That Miss Halliday had not only lied to her father but used her own savings to bring him with her, spoke of a woman of courage and one with a strong sense of right and wrong. Rubbing the back of his neck, Hamilton considered the situation.

"Reckon I ought to return ye to the lady, then, and explain ye had a bit of rough and tumble with the local lads but that's all's well, aye?"

"Oh, would you?" Jimmy said, the relief in his eyes plain to see. "I'd not want her to fret, and if I turn up all bashed about, she might not let me out again and I'll be queer in my attic afore the week is out if I have to stay cooped up in the kitchen all day and all night."

"Mrs Macready kens ye are there, then?" Hamilton asked with interest.

"She does, and she's a corker too," Jimmy said, grinning. "Merry as a grig, she is, and the grub she serves is like nothing I ever tasted afore." The lad put his fingers to his lips and made a kissing sound, which made Hamilton snort with laughter.

"Ye are a wee scoundrel, I reckon, and ye have fallen into clover, but I dinnae blame ye for making the most of it. Come along, then, Jimmy. I'll return ye to the lovely Miss Halliday and explain a bit. Reckon she might look kindly on me for having done ye a good turn?" he asked, giving the lad a sideways glance.

"Are you sweet on her then, mister?"

"Nae," Hamilton replied easily. "But it does a fellow nae harm to be in a pretty lassie's good book, aye?"

"Aye," the cheeky fellow replied, chuckling. "Reckon that's true enough."

They walked back to the vicarage and Hamilton hesitated as Jimmy led them around the back. "The reverend doesnae come out here?"

"Nah," the boy said confidently. "He's never so much as stuck his nose in the kitchen since we got 'ere. Reckon he thinks his dinner arrives on a cloud sent by the Almighty."

Hamilton fought a bark of laughter and arranged his face into something more serious. "Ye will mind ye manners," he told the lad, who smirked all the same.

Opening the back door, Jimmy went inside, and Hamilton heard the feminine cries of distress before he set a foot over the threshold.

"Jimmy!"

"Oh, laddie, whatever befell ye?"

Hamilton entered in time to view both women hurrying over and enveloping Jimmy, each embracing him in turn and running hands over him to check he was whole and sound.

"There's nae harm done," Hamilton said, gaining himself a squeak of surprised alarm from Miss Halliday, who sprang to her feet, gazing at him like he'd appeared in a puff of smoke.

"Mr Anderson!" she exclaimed. "Whatever are you doing here?" He noted the way she glanced behind her, as if fearing his presence would somehow transmit itself to the reverend and bring him down upon them.

"I thought I had best bring him home to ye, since ye are the angel that rescued him from fate. I did a wee bit of rescuing myself today," he added with a modest smile. "The local lads were getting a tad rough, but we had a chat with them, and all's mended now, is it nae, Jimmy? They'll be friendly the next time they cross paths, I promise ye."

"Oh, no. You weren't fighting?" Clara said, her expression one of anxiety.

"They jumped me! Weren't my doing," Jimmy objected.

"Good heavens!" Clara gasped, pulling Jimmy close again. "You poor dear."

"Ach, I'll lay money it was Jockie Dunbar's lad and his gang, the wee devils," Mrs Macready said, puffing herself up like an irritated hen. "Ye just wait, I'll be having a wee word with Jockie and—"

"Ye will do nothing of the sort," Hamilton said gently. "I told ye, did I nae, that it's all sorted. The boys were a bit out of line but they're all friends now. There's nae need to stir trouble with the lad's da, for it will only come back on Jimmy."

"I had nae thought of that," Mrs Macready admitted gruffly. "Aye, well, if ye say so, but ye mind me well, if they lay another hand on him, I'll be having words with Jockie myself and ye may warn the wee scoundrels to make certain they behave."

"That's fair," Hamilton agreed, knowing such a threat would certainly get Brodie and Jack's attention.

"Come, then, my wee warrior, let's see to that eye," Mrs Macready said, bustling Jimmy away amidst a deal of grumbling and leaving Hamilton alone with Clara.

"You saw Miss Flemming home safely, then?" Clara said, an amused glint in her eyes.

"Aye, I did. Are ye jealous?" Hamilton asked, grinning at her.

"Don't be impudent."

The look was stern but there was no heat behind the words, which he felt was an encouraging sign.

"I wouldn't ken where to begin," Hamilton replied with a shrug.

Clara sighed, shaking her head. "Can I offer you a cup of tea, Mr Anderson?"

"I'd prefer a wee dram after all the excitement, but aye. I'll take tea with ye, with pleasure," he added, taking a seat at the table. "Won't yer da be up in arms if he finds me here?"

"Certainly, so I shall thank you for leaving the way you arrived, but he never comes down here. You do not drink to excess, do you, Mr Anderson?" she demanded suddenly.

Hamilton blinked, a little startled at the bold question. There was a look in her eyes that told him she was concerned, not only about him, but about the situation in Wick.

"Nae," he said, his tone serious. "I would never do that. I'll nae pretend I dinnae have a drop too many on a special occasion. Like the day we met when my head was splitting in two. The night before, I'd been drinking the health of a friend's baby son. But I dinnae make a habit of it. I have too much work to do to be bevied at all hours of the day and night."

Clara studied him as she poured hot water onto the tea leaves. He was uncertain she was convinced but she said nothing more. Hamilton watched her with pleasure as she moved around the kitchen, admiring the sway of her lush hips and the thick knot of hair at the back of her neck. It was a very dark brown, and she had used a good many pins to secure it. He wondered how far down her back it would fall if he took those pins out and found himself momentarily distracted by imagining the feel of the silken locks tangled about his fingers.

"I did not see you in church," she said, with more curiosity than censure, jolting him out of his pleasant daydream and back to reality, which was all to the good.

"I didnae think it would be a good idea," he replied. "I usually go. You can't miss a service in Wick without the entire town believing ye are worshiping the devil, but yer da seemed likely to point at me and proclaim I was the devil, so I figured I'd give it a miss for once. I was nae up to mischief, though, I swear it," he added, giving her the benefit of a smile he knew had a pleasing effect on the ladies.

"What were you doing?" she asked, concentrating on laying out cups and saucers.

Hamilton shrugged. "Making plans, and I did nae pick up a tool nor write anything down so ye cannae accuse me of working on the sabbath," he added, a touch defensively.

"Do you think I would?" she asked in surprise.

Hamilton regarded her thoughtfully. "I dinnae ken ye well enough, but… but nae, I dinnae think so."

"I do try to be a good Christian," she said, frowning as she fetched the milk jug and set it on the table. "But my ideas of what that means always seem to be a little out of step with others. Especially my father," she said with a smile.

"He's hard on ye," Hamilton said, feeling a stab of concern as he wondered what her life was like.

"Oh, not really," she replied, sighing. "I help around the house and write up his sermons for him so they're legible, and I do the household accounts and such, but then so do many women. It's not like he works me to the bone," she said with a wry smile. "It's just a little…"

"Dull?"

"Yes, it is rather," she admitted ruefully.

"Aye, and perhaps I am in nae position to judge, but he is nae a man who finds much joy in life, I reckon."

Clara slanted a glance at him, apparently struck by the observation. "He does not," she said, a considering note to her voice. "Do you find joy in life?"

Hamilton grinned at her, which he thought was answer enough, and then delighted in the slow spread of pink that tinged her cheeks like a sunrise.

"I dinnae believe that God put us on this earth to suffer," he said, finding himself speaking earnestly now. "I know I'm blessed and life is much kinder to me than to many folk around here who have it far, far harder, but when I'm feeling low, I make myself remember there's always a little good to be found in every day, some reason to smile or to be pleased to be alive. Perhaps it's just the birds singing, or the sight of the sun sparkling on the sea, or a pretty girl smiling at ye, but ye must hold on tight to those moments and keep them with ye, aye?"

She smiled at him approvingly in reply to his words, and Hamilton felt the heat of it, like standing before a fire on a cold night. It warmed him, sliding under his skin and settling there, and he thought it was a smile he would remember and hold on to for a good long time.

He held his tongue as Clara occupied herself with the tea, finding he enjoyed watching her. She was poised and lovely, her pretty hands both deft and elegant as she prepared the brew, adding milk and sugar as he requested.

"You have a sweet tooth," she reproved him after adding the three lumps he asked for.

"It's my one failing," he said, adopting a sheepish expression.

"Only one?" she repeated, her eyes flashing with amusement.

"Aye, other than that, I'm a paragon." Her lips twitched, and he decided there and then that he would not leave until he had made her laugh properly.

"So ye have made friends with Miss Fleming?"

"Yes, she was kind enough to call on me. I believe she has taken me under her wing," she added with amusement. "But I fear she will be sadly disappointed."

"Why?" Hamilton asked in surprise.

"Because she is lovely and terribly fashionable and… and I'm not," she said with a short laugh. Not at all the kind of laugh Hamilton had been hoping for, either. "She offered to give me some of her dresses, which was so terribly kind of her and there's a part of me which would love to accept, but I cannot."

"Ye dinnae want to feel beholden to her?" Hamilton guessed.

"Does that sound terribly ungrateful?" Clara asked him anxiously. "She's been so very kind, but I really don't know her very well yet. Perhaps if we had been bosom bows for years, but…"

"I think ye are wise. Yer friendship is too new, fragile, aye?"

"Yes, exactly," Clara said, her expression one of relief. "I should worry whenever I wore it, and I can't explain why exactly, only I should not feel at ease."

"Then thank her kindly and say no thank ye. If she is a friend, she'll nae press ye. If ye did borrow them, I reckon she might nae like it overmuch when ye outshine her in her own gowns."

"That's mere flattery, and not at all likely," she observed, smiling. "But I shall do as you suggest. Thank you, Mr Anderson. I confess, I did not expect you to understand such a thing."

"I have a sister," he said with a chuckle. "I ken more than ye might imagine, and just so we are clear, ye have nae need of Miss Fleming's gowns, lovely though they may be. Ye brighten the day whenever I see ye, just as ye are, and I reckon I am nae the only one who sees that, and that's nothing but the truth."

The blush returned, a shade darker and she let out a little huff of laughter, which was closer but still not what he wanted from her. "You are a rogue, Mr Anderson, and flirting with me will get you nowhere, so kindly desist," she said reprovingly, but there was a sparkle in her eyes, and he did not think she minded it at all.

"Did ye nae leave a sweetheart behind when ye left yer home to come here?" he asked, curious now, for surely this beautiful girl had been remarked upon. If not, the men of her hometown must be blind and stupid.

Clara shook her head. "My father prefers a quiet life, so we have never had a great deal of society. And you are being impertinent again," she added, almost as an afterthought.

"So ye are hoping to find one here, I suppose?"

She bristled a little. "You just cannot help yourself, can you?" she said, shaking her head. "You ought not ask such questions of me."

"Why not? I'm interested," he objected.

"It's not done, and I think you know that very well. And if I am looking for a husband, what of it?" she demanded, a little defiantly. Her finger traced the painted pattern on the teacup, but she glanced up at him and away again.

"Nothing at all," he said, wondering if Mrs Macready was right about her father wanting to keep her by him. "Only if ye were at the school hoping to speak with Malcolm Stewart, I pray ye will look a little higher. Ye can do better than that, I assure you."

She turned red this time, a much less flattering shade which told him he'd not been wrong. Glaring at him and looking a little incredulous, she gathered herself and Hamilton knew at once he'd touched a nerve.

"Mr Stewart is a schoolteacher, an educated man, and one who has done nothing to deserve such censure. He may not be a man of means but he has an honest trade, teaching the next generation. I am not aspiring to marry a man of fortune, or—or any man," she added in confusion.

Hamilton opened his mouth to tell her the man was not at all what he appeared to be, and was gaining a dubious reputation in the town, and closed it again. He could not in all conscience slander the fellow, but neither could he leave her without a warning.

"Aye, well. As ye like. It's just my opinion, but ye will do as ye please," he said easily, pushing to his feet and regretting the fact he had not made her laugh as he'd hoped. "Just… just dinnae ever let yerself be alone with the fellow, aye."

She frowned at that, and he wondered if she thought it was jealousy on his part, making him say such a thing. Either way, it could not be helped, he'd had to warn her.

"I shall, thank you, Mr Anderson. You are always so considerate of my feelings," she replied, and he heard the thread of sarcasm behind the words. He smiled at her, pleased that she was bold enough to speak so to him and wondering if he been right to warn her off. Some women liked a fellow better if they believed he was a rogue, he ought to know. Maybe now she'd be on fire to see the wretched devil, which was an idea which bothered him more than he liked. Malcolm was a loose screw, and he did not think Clara had the experience to deal with such a fellow.

"Good day to ye, Miss Halliday, and thank ye for the tea," he replied, giving her a respectful bow before he saw himself out.