A heavy weight fell on Daisy’s heart at the thought of Cassandra unhappy. “I’ve been concerned about her, too,” she said. “I think she’s having trouble getting past that night with Mr. King at the ceilidh. It must have been traumatic for her.”
“Oh, she’s weathered that crisis just fine.” Hester sprinkled some flour into a bowl. “She’s broken up about Mr. Beebs. She gave her heart to him long ago.”
Daisy gave a little laugh. Poor Hester!
“Cassandra doesn’t fancy him,” she told her dear friend kindly.
Hester shot her a sideways glance. “Don’t get all superior. She does. Every time he rode by and waved at her, she pretended she scorned him. But she didn’t. I could tell by the way she’d come into the kitchen, all breezy and free and pleasant. It was the only time she’d ever be that way, and although it lasted only a few minutes, I knew Mr. Beebs had caused it.”
Highlanders were awfully forthright. And damned perceptive.
Daisy sighed. “I—I did see her paying attention to him after he saved her from Mr. King, but I thought it was because she was grateful.”
Hester nodded knowingly. “It was more than that, and it’s cruel to pretend it’s not happening. Ye’ve got to say something to her. Let her air her grief.”
“Oh, dear.” Daisy bit her lip. “I feel terrible that all this while, Cassandra’s been suffering in silence.”
Daisy knew how it felt to love someone and then realize it was over. It was a living hell, was what it was.
“Mr. Beebs may be older, but he’s not a bad man,” Hester reminded her. “You have to let Cassandra fall in love her way, not yours. Or anyone else’s. If you care about her happiness.”
“Of course I do, but it doesn’t matter anymore. He’s gone.”
Hester made a scoffing noise. “He’s not gone. He’s away, not thirty miles from here. He’s managing a property in Glen Muldoon.”
Daisy stared at her. “How would you know?”
Hester shrugged. “I’m an old woman with my ear to the ground.”
Daisy paused at the small window near the fireplace and looked up at the Keep. She could swear she saw Charlie on the sweeping grassy lawn, looking out over the glen, and he was looking at her little cottage.
“What are you going to do about him?” Hester asked her.
“I don’t know,” she said with a shake of her head. “I really don’t.”
“You’ll think of something.” Hester squeezed her shoulder. “And while you do, I’ll ask a man in the village to set off first thing tomorrow morning for Mr. Beebs.”
“Will you?” Daisy felt so grateful.
“We’ve got to get Miss Cassandra happy.”
Daisy glanced once more at that little stick figure on the hill in front of the Keep.
If it were Charlie, was he thinking of her?
Or had she already become a distant memory?
She didn’t have time to think any more on the matter, however, because Cassandra came running to the door of the cottage, a bright smile on her face and a piece of paper fluttering in her hand.
“Come outside,” she said. “Look what Mrs. Skene’s son brought by.”
“A message from Mr. Beebs,” said Joe, hobbling as fast as his legs would carry him. His broad face beamed.
“He arrived back in Glen Dewey today.” Cassandra’s voice trembled a wee bit.
“He did?” Daisy exchanged glances with Hester.
“Yes,” said Cassandra. “He’s working up at the Keep again, and he’s to come see me in the morning. He says Lord Lumley is perfectly amenable to the idea—in fact, he insists upon it.”
“That’s marvelous news!” Daisy hugged her.
Hester chuckled. “Oh, I like when a man doesn’t need any coaxing to come see his lady love.”
Cassandra hugged her, too.
“It’s a braw, bricht day,” said Joe, doing a little jig, which he somehow managed even with his lame foot. “It’s a braw, bricht day!”
“Yes, it is, dear brother,” Hester murmured, her cheek still resting on Cassandra’s.
Daisy gazed with them, off into the distance, to the moor and the sky and the craggy mountains rising high above the loch.
It was a beautiful day, a day which would make even the most despairing woman in love dare to hope for a happy ending, especially when she knows the man she adores has righted a wrong—and has made sure she knows about it!
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
A month later
Charlie paced about his bedchamber at the Keep; he’d installed himself in the one where he’d shared so many passionate moments with Daisy. The invitations to the ceilidh had gone out that very morning. The event would be held three days hence, following two days’ hunting with his male guests and some of his good friends in the village.
But would Daisy come?
He had no idea.
She must. She simply must! He wanted her at the center of his life. It was why he’d been working so hard all these weeks, day in and day out. Along with every other able-bodied man in the area, he’d been revitalizing the Keep but spending even more time restoring Castle Vandemere—fixing its sagging drawbridge, cleaning out the smoking chimneys, and rebuilding the crumbling hearths.
He’d done it for Daisy. He’d done it to show her that he wasn’t afraid to lavish his money on things she loved. He would spend money freely because he knew she would love him even if he never fixed Castle Vandemere.
He trusted her, and he loved her.
But how to explain all this to Daisy? How to make her see that he’d changed? He was still the same man—ridiculously wealthy—but he was a new man. He’d always known his wealth didn’t define him, but he’d also never been sure what did.
Now he knew. And he trusted that his actions would show other people what kind of man he was, too.
He could let go of that wall he’d put up between himself and the rest of the world. He could let go and let people in.
Somehow he would prove all this to Daisy at the ceilidh.
He wondered if he’d taken too big a risk staying away from her so long. It had tortured him, this separation. What if it hadn’t bothered her? Perhaps she’d already forgotten about him.
Not that he’d had much time to dwell on that concern. His guests from London had arrived. His grandmother, God bless her, had made the long trek up to the Highlands. She was Daisy’s godmother, she’d said in her return letter to him, and she wanted to see her for herself after all these years.
Several family members had accompanied Grandmother—two of Charlie’s sisters and their husbands, as well as their children. And then there were his best friends—Harry, Nicholas, and Stephen. They’d come up with their wives and children, as well. Even Stephen’s new baby had made the trip.
The Keep was loud and noisy at the moment. He loved being with people who loved him, people who wanted him happy. And it made sense that when you were taking a massive gamble, you’d surround yourself with people who love you even if you were to fall flat on your face.
“So you’re back to spending money like water,” Nicholas told him with a chuckle.
They were in the library—just Charlie and his very best friends.
“It needed to be done,” Charlie replied. “My parents have restored my access to the family money, now that I’ve explained that I’ve … matured. I’m drawing funds from a bank in Edinburgh.”
“You lucky dog,” said Nicholas. “This is a magnificent place. How you could have overlooked it in your portfolio of properties—”
“It’s easy when you’re as rich as Charlie,” Harry said. “You have an entire staff handling everything from business matters to the color of your coats.”
Charlie shifted uneasily. “Yes, well, I won’t be allowing that to happen anymore. I’m going to be much more hands-on from here on out. It’s my life, and I won’t have anyone else shape it for me.”
“My,” said Harry.
Charlie watched
as his friends all exchanged surprised glances.
“Why the change of heart?” Stephen asked.
Charlie chuckled. “Because of this journey north. I’ve had opportunity to, shall I say, reflect.”
Harry laughed. “The trip’s obviously been full of lots of surprises.”
“Yes,” Charlie replied.
“So have you solved Miss Montgomery’s problem, whatever it is?” Stephen asked.
Charlie took a swig of Joe’s fine whisky. “No. Not yet.”
“When will you?” Harry asked.
“I hope to soon,” Charlie said vaguely.
“What’s her problem, exactly?” Nicholas leaned back in his comfortable club chair and waited.
Charlie was dreading this part. “She wanted to raise the feu duty for Castle Vandemere so she wouldn’t lose her home. That’s it in a nutshell.”
And then he explained what he knew about the history of the property and how he’d unknowingly acquired it five years before.
Harry shook his head. “So you’re the one she owes the money to?”
Charlie nodded, feeling a bit sick to his stomach. “Yes. Neither of us knew that, of course. I was to help her earn the funds.”
And then he told them all about the international visitors and the attempt to create a Highland experience for them. “It started off well but turned into a huge disaster.”
He told them the details, including the portion about how Miss Montgomery and her family vacated Castle Vandemere. There was an uncomfortable silence in the room.
Charlie winced. “I told her she could stay, but she refused. And now they’re all living in a little cottage in the glen, and I hear they could put down only six months’ rent. I have no idea what will happen to her after the lease is up.”
The silence went on for a bit longer.
“Well?” Charlie looked around at his friends. Every one of them was brooding, staring at the floor or at his boots or the fire.
Finally, Harry cleared his throat. “It seems to me she’s much worse off than she was when you came up here to help her.”
Nicholas shook his head. “God, man, this is a disaster.”
“A veritable catastrophe,” echoed Stephen.
Charlie stood up. “That’s not the worst of it.” He went to the fire and turned around to face them. “I love her. I love her desperately. And she hates me. I’m almost sure of it.”
“Why?” asked Nicholas.
Charlie sighed. “She told me she loved me, and I—I rejected her. I told her I couldn’t trust her, that I would never know if she loved me or simply wanted Castle Vandemere back.”
“You ass,” said Stephen.
Charlie rubbed a palm over his face. “I deserve that,” he muttered.
“Yes, you do,” Stephen said, “but every man in this room has been an ass to the woman he loves. So cheer up. We’ll help you get through this.”
“Right,” said Harry.
“With flying colors,” added Nicholas. “You’ll win her back.”
“I already have a plan,” Charlie said.
“That’s what this is all about, isn’t it?” asked Harry. “Rebuilding and inviting us up here. Entertaining us in style and throwing a lavish ball.”
“Yes,” said Charlie. “It’s all to win the girl. But it’s funny. If I can get her back, I’m confident it will be on my own merits. Not because of the money.”
“That’s the spirit,” Stephen said. “And that’s the kind of girl we want for you, someone who loves Charlie-the-charmer and merely puts up with Charlie-the-moneybags.”
“Yeah.” Harry rolled his eyes. “The moneybags is a bit sickening, but we’ll endure him.”
“Right,” said Charlie, throwing an unlit cheroot at Harry and hitting him in the forehead.
Harry leaped from his chair and put Charlie in a headlock, which Charlie promptly broke and then pinned Harry to the floor. But then Harry swiped him with a strong leg thrust and rolled away, in the process knocking over an end table with a vase on it—a vase Stephen caught handily.
While Charlie and Harry lay breathless on the floor, Nicholas put his foot on Harry’s stomach. Stephen did the same to Charlie.
Nicholas raised his glass, and Stephen followed suit, replacing the vase with his snifter.
“Come on, now,” said Harry. “We need to join you.”
So Nicholas and Stephen let their two friends stand and take their own glasses to the air.
“To Charlie,” Nicholas said. “He lost his bet to us in a very big way.”
“Slainte,” Charlie said.
And as his friends repeated the toast, he felt a spark of hope.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
When the invitation to the ceilidh at Castle Vandemere came, Daisy pulled out a sheet of paper, a quill, and ink to write a reply on behalf of all the residents of Rose Cottage. She noted without surprise that Mona wanted to go, of course. She was still hoping to meet that rich man who’d carry her off.
“I’ll never get a better chance,” Mona said, “at least while I’m stuck in this godforsaken land. Besides, I’d like to see the improvements the viscount has made.”
Daisy turned to Perdita. “Do you want to go to the dance?”
Perdita merely glowered at Daisy and broke a larch twig in half. That was her new job, providing kindling for the fire. Hester had been the brilliant one to come upon that solution to Perdita’s tirades. But as big as Perdita’s supply of twigs had become—she’d filled five large fish baskets—the practice hadn’t seemed to alleviate her general pique one bit.
“Very well,” Daisy told her. “You may stay home if you wish. But I think you’re foolish to do so. The Spanish marquis isn’t the only man in the world.”
“He is for me,” Perdita said, snapping a particularly sturdy twig.
“Well, nothing’s stopping you from writing him then and confessing your true feelings,” Daisy replied smoothly.
Perdita sniffed. “I already did. I’ve received no reply.” She broke another twig.
“Where did you send it?”
“To the Spanish Marquis. Castle de Salazar. Spain.”
“That’s all you wrote as the address?”
“Yes.”
“Perhaps it will find him. But it’s not been more than five weeks. He’s still traveling.”
Which was why Daisy had written him herself. The day after he’d left, she’d sent a missive with Benjamin MacAdoo, one of Mrs. MacAdoo’s sons, to carry with him on his trip south via horseback. He’d surely overtake the more lumbering carriages of the international visitors. Benjamin had reported back that he had, indeed, met up with the Spanish marquis and delivered the letter himself.
But nothing had come of it, sadly.
Daisy would never let Perdita know.
Cassandra was happily dusting. Mr. Beebs had come round to see her enough times that any day now, Daisy expected a marriage proposal.
“And you, Cassandra?” she asked her. “Do you want to go to the ceilidh?”
Her sister turned to her, her eyes bright. “If Mr. Beebs will be there.”
“I’m sure he will.”
“Will you go?” Cassandra asked her.
Daisy tapped her quill on the edge of the ink pot. “I’m staying behind.”
Cassandra’s eyes widened. “But why?”
Daisy shrugged and pretended to be indifferent. “I’m not fond of Scottish dancing. All that hopping and leaping and, well … sometimes it’s simply too much for me.”
“Ye know darned well you can hop and leap with the best of us,” Hester said.
“I’m sure I could if I wanted to,” said Daisy, “but I don’t. I’m preoccupied with … sewing. So everyone, please leave me alone about the ceilidh.”
“How’s the whisky making going, Joe?” Daisy asked to change the subject, but she was also truly interested.
“Verra well,” he replied. Perdita’s larch twigs were spilling out of the latest fish basket, and he w
as stacking them back neatly. But not nearly fast enough to keep up with Perdita. Talk of the ceilidh seemed to have riled her more than usual. “Now we just have to wait ten years.”
“Ten years?” Daisy couldn’t believe it.
“Tha’s how long it takes me to make a good batch,” said Joe.
She tried not to sigh with impatience. “But we need money sooner.”
Joe shrugged. “Whisky’s currency around here. We can always fetch the casks in the secret cellar in Castle Vandemere, if no one’s found the stash yet.”
A thrill went through Daisy. “You never told us there was a secret cellar!”
“A course not,” Joe replied. “It were a secret.”
“Oh. Right.” She’d never be able to keep a secret about a hidden cellar!
Hester nodded. “You’ll have to steal it during the ceilidh, Joe. We meant to take it with us, but Miss Perdita was caterwauling so loud, I couldnae think straight. Och, how I miss her Highlander days. She was a braw, brave lad for one golden week.”
Perdita snapped another twig and narrowed her eyes at Hester.
“I like your idea about retrieving the whisky, Joe.” Daisy finished writing her reply to the invitation by signing it with a grand flourish. “There.”
She leaned back to admire her work and hoped that Charlie would be able to tell by the extravagant loops beneath her signature that she wasn’t missing him in the least.
She made one more loop to remind him that he’d crave her company terribly at the ceilidh, and then asked Perdita to deliver the note to Mrs. MacLeod, who no doubt would be collecting a whole stack of them for a group of boys to carry up to the Keep later that afternoon.
The very next morning, the residents of Rose Cottage received an unexpected visitor. They knew Mr. Beebs was coming with his usual bunch of flowers. But this time he brought a lovely older woman with him. She was tall and graceful and dressed so fashionably, the humble cottage looked more humble than it had ever done.
“I’ll leave you to get to know one another,” Mr. Beebs said after he’d made the introductions.
Lady Pinckney tilted her head in a friendly manner and smiled at them all. She had the same eyes as Charlie: a rich, warm brown. “It’s a delight to meet you,” she murmured.
If You Give A Girl A Viscount ib-4 Page 23
