Page 36 of Wouldn’t it Be Scottish?

Bothwell stared back.

Donal wondered, if Cat did come to London one day, what Bothwell would make of his sister. The creature had liked Grace, Rory’s wife, so perhaps Bothwell preferred females. It would be amusing to see.

Chapter Twenty

The next morning, Archie was surprised to hear that Miriam was waiting to speak to him in the drawing room. Last night, he had finally told her the truth about his finances, and afterward she had cooled toward him, and her thoughts seemed far away. When they had parted, he had not expected to ever see her again. As much as he would miss her, and he would miss her a great deal, he knew it was for the best. That didn’t mean he wasn’t heartbroken.

Agatha had gone home early from the ball with a headache, and normally he would have checked on her, worried about her. Last night, he had been too caught up in his own misery and what he expected to be his dismal future.

When he arrived at the drawing room, Miriam was standing, waiting. She looked pensive and did not smile when he greeted her. “Archie,” she said seriously. “I ask that you please hear me out before you interrupt. Can you do that?”

Surprised, he nodded and sat down in a chair, looking up at her. “Will you be seated too?” he asked her awkwardly.

But she shook her head. “I think better on my feet,” she said.

He waited while she paced back and forth for a moment, and then turned to face him. Her hands were clasped before her and her back was straight, and he thought she was one of the most imposing women he had ever seen. He swallowed, his heart aching because she was no longer his, nor likely to be.

“I have told you I was a governess. I lost my position when a gentleman—let us call him that—visited my employer’s home and I caught his eye. He wanted to marry me, and I refused. So he planned it so that my employer would catch us together—he had come into my room without my permission—and then she dismissed me. I had nowhere to go, and no prospects, and he knew it. So he got his way, and I married him. That is the sort of man he was.”

“My dear,” Archie whispered.

Miriam hesitated, as if her emotions were roiling inside, but then shook her head and carried on. “My late husband was Bernard Monegetti. You may have heard of him?”

Archie frowned in confusion before his eyes widened. “Wasn’t he . . .?”

“Yes, I see you have. I call myself ‘Robinson’ these days, which is my maiden name, because I do not want to be associated with him in any way. He was a cold-hearted thief, although he called himself a businessman. He gave out loans to desperate people—rather like yourself, Archie, if you do not mind me saying so. In fact, you are exactly the sort of gentleman he would have chosen as his victim. And once a certain time had passed, he would request repayment, and every day after that the amount to be repaid would grow and grow. He usually ended up with his borrower’s home and whatever else he might have had of monetary value, which he then sold. He accumulated wealth and squirreled it away. My husband was cruel and heartless, and he had no pity, and when he died, the world was a better place.”

“I had no idea,” Archie said, in shocked dismay. “That man was notorious. And no, I did not borrow from him. I have ruined myself very well without his help.”

“Hush, you promised not to speak,” she scolded him gently.

Archie nodded and tried to look repentant.

“For a long time after Bernard died, I didn’t know what to do. I felt sick with guilt whenever I thought of the money he had left me, and Archie it is a lot! But I had to live, so I did so as frugally as possible and put the bulk of what was left in the bank. And there it has stayed until now.”

She came and sat down beside him, her face pale and her eyes determined. “And now I have an undertaking for it. Something wonderfully benevolent. And I assure you Bernard would have hated it, which makes me all the more resolute. I want you to take the money and use it to escape this awful situation you are in. You can save your home, and your wife’s sanctuary.”

He felt the blood drain from his face. “No, Miriam, no, you cannot—”

“I want to,” she insisted, giving him a fierce look. “It feels just and right. Do not deny me this chance to rid myself of my burden, Archie.”

Archie ran a hand over his face. “He stole from people. He made their lives miserable. That money should be used to help others.”

“I want to help you!” she almost shouted.

Archie laughed shakily. “Not just me, others too.”

Miriam seemed to relax. “I am open to suggestions. What about other animals? You have donkeys. Can you start another charity for—I don’t know—cats and dogs?”

“Oh dear lord,” Archie murmured. “My wife would have loved you, Miriam. And I think,” he said, choosing his words, “I know I love you too.”

“You realize we will have to marry,” she said after he had stopped kissing her. “I want to be there on the spot when we decide how to spend the money. I am quite determined about this, Archie, so if you don’t want to marry me then you must say so now.”

“Please marry me,” he groaned. “I need you. We need you.”

Miriam put her palm to his cheek and smiled into his eyes. “Yes,” she said.

Chapter Twenty-One