Page 81 of Her Reluctant Highlander Husband

Her father was very careful in his wording when the subject of her “late” husband came up. Rather than say she was a widow, he merely said she’d lost her husband.

She couldn’t argue with the statement. She had in fact lost Bryce. Not that she’d ever really had him in the first place. But the fact remained, she felt his loss immensely.

Especially when she was introduced to some English nobleman who was clearly not Bryce.

She’d written her husband a dozen letters, though they all sat in her room. She’d not had the courage to send them. She’d promised him freedom and promised herself happiness when she left Dunardry. And she was going to see that at least one of them got what was promised.

It was with this thought that she allowed herself to be primped and polished for a dance where she would spend time with Lord Reginald Truman…who had mentioned an interest in asking her father for her hand.

“Perhaps we should wait a little while longer,” Dorie suggested while smoothing her dress.

“What would we be waiting on, dear?” her stepmother asked as though truly confused.

Had she not been with Dorie every day when she’d asked if there’d been word from Bryce?

“My husband might still change his mind and come for me. I don’t think he’d like to find out I spent the evening at a dance, interacting with a stranger.”

“He is not a stranger. You have been properly introduced. Now, do you remember the steps?”

Her father had spent lord knows how much money for a baroque dance instructor in the hopes of making her seem graceful. Perhaps he thought if he could keep her dancing, the men would look past her Scottishness.

“There.” Her stepmother stepped back to look at her. “You look lovely.”

“Thank ye—you,” she corrected, though she knew she still sounded like a lass from the Highlands. “Might I have a moment alone?”

“Of course. I’ll see you downstairs.” Harriet squeezed her shoulder as she passed, as mothers did naturally. “Everything will work out. You’ll see.”

When Dorie was alone, she sat on her bed and tried to gather her courage to move on. She’d been hoping for months that Bryce would come to get her and take her home.

But he wasn’t coming. She had to accept that.

And she wouldn’t meet a man to love her sitting in her room and giving in to her fears. Perhaps Reginald was the answer to her prayers and all she needed to do was give him a chance to win her heart. With a deep breath she brushed a hand over her gown again and left her room.

As she neared the bottom of the stairs she caught her father and stepmother in a quiet argument. Their words sounded like hissing as Harriet informed him of her displeasure. It wasn’t until Dorie heard her name a moment before they turned to look at her that she realized their disagreement was about her.

Her father frowned and turned back to his wife, who nodded encouragingly.

With a deep breath—much like the one she’d taken in her room for courage—her father pasted a strained smile on his face.

“Before we leave, might you have a moment to speak in my study?”

“Aye—I mean, yes, of course.”

The frown deepened. She wasn’t sure if she was making a hack of her attempt to sound more British or if something else was bothering him. She hated to disappoint her father. He’d gone to so much trouble in order to secure her happiness. She hated for him to think he’d failed. Especially because he’d never actually had a fair chance of accomplishing his goal.

“You don’t need to try to change your accent, sweetheart. You’re Scottish, and anyone who is interested in you will have to accept and appreciate that.”

“Yes, Father.”

“And don’t be so accommodating. If you’re upset with me, you should just tell me so. If you don’t care for Reginald, you don’t have to accept his suit, understood?”

“Yes, Father.”

Her acquiescence didn’t seem to please him. The frown remained.

“Please sit,” he said, his words abrupt.

“Have I done something wrong?” she asked immediately, hoping she’d not upset him. She knew him well enough to know he’d not lock her in her room for years, but still, she didn’t want to risk his anger.