Page 22 of The Tartan Trap

“I’ll send it to your room.” It was a complete and utter lie—even now, the journal rested in the hidden breast pocket of his jacket, just over his heart. Callum settled on the sofa. “I did have some questions about the upcoming Season, if you’d be so good to help me.”

“Certainly. It’s one of the reasons I’m here, after all.”

“I thought it was to drink all my best liquor.”

“Never doubt my ability to keep two priorities in mind at once.” He toasted Callum with his glass. “What questions might I answer?”

“It’s a rather delicate subject, I’m afraid.”

“Everyone out!” Ellis waved his hand to encompass the footmen.

Callum looked heavenward as they exited. “You do realize that they’re my servants, not yours, don’t you?”

“And I must commend you on how well they follow orders. What’s this about a rumor, now?”

He sighed. “Leave it to you to jump to that conclusion. There’s no rumor at all, just some personal questions.”

“About me?”

“Certainly not. I doubt there’s much I don’t know about you.” Callum grinned. “I’ve seen you with your trousers down too many times to count.”

“Ah, cherished memories.” Ellis tilted his head and smiled. “There’s nothing quite as nice as a good full moon.”

Callum shook his head. “How do we always end up on the topic of buttocks when we’re together?”

“I must point out that in this instance, you were the one to bring it up. Besides, it could be worse. We could be the morose sort of cousins who always discuss death and funerals or some such.”

“It’s very difficult to keep a conversation on the correct path when you’re about.”

Ellis flourished his hand through the air and gave a mocking sort of bow. “You are very welcome. Very welcome, indeed. Now, stop beating around the proverbial bush and tell me what you want to know.”

“It’s about heirs.”

“Ah, I see.” He set his glass upon the side table. “I’d have thought your father had time to explain this to you—you were eighteen when he passed—but I see it’s left to me to⁠—”

“Do shut up,” Callum interrupted blandly.

“Gladly.”

“As I have no brothers, it’s my responsibility to continue the family line. Forgive me for the necessary indelicacy of this conversation, but I was wondering whether you know of any ladies from large families?”

Ellis placed a finger to the side of his nose. “It does stand to reason that if a mother has born many children, perhaps her daughter might be capable of the same, but there’s no guarantee.”

“I’m well aware,” he said dryly. “Still, I’d thought it worth asking the question at the very least.”

“Let’s see.” Ellis tapped his chin. “The Earl and Countess Fontag had twelve children. Six sons, six daughters, but I believe the daughters are all married—doubtlessly to men who believe as you do. Lord and Lady Morris have eleven, the Cavendish family has ten, the Miltons and the Beauforts also have ten.”

“What of a family with eight daughters, do you know of any of those?”

“Eight daughters? Why would you want to marry a lady who might give you eight daughters?”

Callum shrugged. Perhaps a whisky wasn’t out of order, after all. He crossed the room and Ellis shook his empty glass at him. Callum retrieved it on the way.

Ellis continued, “In any case, I believe only the late Lord Cavendish had that many daughters, but he also had two sons. The eldest turned out to be a bit of a disappointment, but the second has more than made up for it, so it seems.”

Callum froze at the sideboard, his back still to his cousin. He forced his voice to be light when he asked, “How so?”

“Rumor is it the eldest bankrupted the family, but the younger has the Midas touch. Wealthy beyond all reasoning. They say every third ship in the harbor is his.”