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Highland Heiress. Margaret Moore
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Автор произведения Margaret Moore
Издательство HarperCollins
Her father bolted up from the sofa as if she’d stuck him with a pin, and his face bore the same incredulous expression that had probably been on her face when McHeath had made the same announcement. “What?”
“Because I broke our engagement, he’s suing me for breach of promise.”
“That’s ridiculous!” her father exclaimed, his face turning as red as ripe cherries, a stark contrast to his white hair.
“I quite agree, but ridiculous or not, that’s what he’s doing,” she replied, her hands clasped in her lap, hoping that if she was calm, he would be, too, although it might take a while. “Apparently his attorney thinks he has a case because our engagement was public knowledge, so what can be considered a verbal contract was also public knowledge.”
“Public knowledge?” her father angrily repeated. “Aye, your engagement was public knowledge and so were his liaisons with all those young women—to everybody in Dunbrachie but us!”
“Nevertheless, his solicitor said—”
“Has Gallagher lost his mind?” her father demanded, naming Sir Robert’s usual solicitor, the man who’d been involved in the drafting of her marriage settlement.
“It wasn’t Mr. Gallagher. The solicitor is a friend of Sir Robert’s from Edinburgh, Mr. Gordon McHeath.”
“I don’t give a damn who he is or where he’s from. They’ll never win.”
It was probably better to tell her father everything here and now. “Mr. McHeath said he can argue that it was my duty to find out more about Sir Robert before I accepted his proposal. Since I didn’t, the fault lies with me for breaking the engagement.”
Unfortunately, she had to admit, if only to herself, that Mr. McHeath was right about that one thing, at least. She should have tried to find out more about the handsome, flirtatious Sir Robert before accepting his proposal. If she hadn’t been so flattered by his attention, she might have realized that he didn’t stir her passion, certainly not the way Mr. McHeath did from the moment she met him.
But then, nobody had stirred her passion the way Mr. McHeath did.
Her father strode to the windows, turned and marched back again. “That man has the morals and backbone of a worm!” he declared, shaking his fist. “To sue a woman for jilting him! The man is even more of an idiot that those silly women.”
“I don’t think he’s stupid, Papa, or that idea would never have occurred to him. He’s certainly vain, though, and I’ve wounded his pride, enough that he’s seeking five thousand pounds in compensation.”
“Five thousand…?” her father gasped. “The man is mad if he thinks we’ll pay him even a quarter of that.”
“That’s exactly what I told Mr. McHeath, or as good as. Perhaps once Sir Robert realizes we’re not going to surrender easily, he’ll drop the suit,” she said as, relieved the worst of her revelations were over, she poured her father another cup of tea. “Please sit down, Papa, and have some tea.”
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