Cole eyed him thoughtfully for a long moment, then sadly shook his head. "Hell, I've seen that same look on your sister's face more times than I can count. What have you done, Delaney?"
Because Cole was more like a true blood brother than just a brother-in-law, Jake told him most of the story. When he was finished, Cole whistled soundlessly. "You spied on Elizabeth? She's gonna be mad enough to eat bees."
"I'm not going to tell her that part, and I didn't mean to spy on her. She was in his bedroom. Kissing him!"
Cole winced. "Don't. I don't need to know about that. I don't need the vision in my mind. What are you going to do?"
"I have to talk to my mother." He took a seat on the bench beside Cole and grabbed another handful of pebbles.
"She's going to be furious with you. I doubt she'll be too happy with Harrington, either. I can't believe he didn't tell her you were there."
"He gave his word and he kept it. You can't fault a man for that," Jake replied glumly. After a few more minutes ticked by in silence, he asked, "You think she'll help me talk Harrington into buying a ghostless Rowanclere?"
"Honestly? You don't have a snowball's chance in San Antonio in August." Cole shook his head. "Don't ask me why, but he's really interested in this ghost stuff. He wants a haunted castle."
"I know, but I have an idea about that. Lots of castles and houses and inns in the Highlands claim to have ghosts, and Rowanclere offers a nice, central location for visiting many of them. If he bought Rowanclere, he could study dozens of places within a day's ride of the castle. He could keep himself busy for years. Lord Lothario doesn't need to actually have in a haunted house." Jake paused for a moment, scowled, and added, "Especially if he's living with my mother."
"Lord Lothario?" Cole dryly asked.
"Don't give me grief. I learned the term from you, after all. Remember? When you spoke of one of Chrissy's beaus?"
"Don't talk about that, either." Cole threw a rock that hit Zeus directly on his male glory. Both Cole and Jake winced. "When are you gonna talk to your mama?"
Jake sighed. "Just as soon as she comes back from her drive and I can work up my courage."
Cole rose and brushed dust from his hands onto his pants. "In that case, I think I'll take my bride and pay a visit to the fishing pavilion. It's just about our favorite spot here at Hartsworth, and it's nice and isolated."
"Thanks for your support."
"Anytime, son. Anytime." Cole slapped him on the back. "Good luck. Jake. You're gonna need it."
His words proved prophetic. An hour later Jake found himself wishing he'd brought his lucky rabbit's foot with him from Texas. It looked as if he might need some outside help to survive this exchange. He'd never before seen his mother this angry, not even when dealing with some of Chrissy's antics.
"I cannot believe this!" Elizabeth Delaney exclaimed. "I cannot believe you would pull such a wicked, mean-spirited trick in order to deceive a fine man like Lord Harrington. Why, Jake? Why act in such a dishonest manner?"
"I was out-lawyered, I'm afraid." He told her about the "debt" Gillian and Angus felt they owed the Delaney family for Chrissy having rid the world of Lord Bennet last winter.
"Besides," he finished, "no one can say with total certainty that Rowanclere isn't haunted. Could be that its ghosts are just shy compared to those in other abodes around the Highlands. That's part of the reason why I'm hoping you will convince Lord Harrington to purchase Rowanclere from Angus Brodie after all."
Flabbergasted, she sank into a chair. "What?"
Jake explained about Gillian and Robyn, and how they would be all but destitute upon their grand-uncle's death. He told her what a good person Gillian was and how hard she worked at caring for the little girl who, by the way, reminded him so much of Chrissy. He explained how desperately she wished to bring ease to her grand-uncle's final years. He also added in a bit about how guilty she'd felt for the necessity of pretending Rowanclere had ghosts, even though he skirted the truth on that one.
As he talked, his mother gradually relaxed. She sat back in her seat, folded her arms, tilted her head, and listened. When her eyes narrowed in speculation, Jake felt the first glimmer of unease. What was she thinking?
He figured he was better off not knowing.
When Jake wound down, having delivered all the arguments he could think of for encouraging his mother's help, she watched him silently, pensively for a few moments before observing, "You don't need Harrington to help, Jake. You have the power to solve this imbroglio yourself."
He laughed uneasily. "I don't see how. I may not be hurting for money, but I don't have near enough to buy a castle like Rowanclere."
"Think, Jake. I know you've dismissed me when I brought it to your attention months ago, but after hearing this story today, I don't think you can in good conscience ignore the fact you have a fortune at your disposal."
Jake didn't know what she was talking about. Well, at least, he didn't think he knew. He knew he didn't want to think about it too much. "Mother, I'll talk to Lord Harrington if you prefer. I thought it only right to explain what happened before I went any further with it. I thought—"
"Your trust fund, Jake," she interrupted. "You know your grandfather established a trust fund for both you and Chrissy earlier this year. You know it comes to you upon your marriage."
A shudder crawled up Jake's spine. "But that's—"
"More than enough funds to buy that pretty Scottish castle. It was beautiful. Right out of a fairy tale."
"I don't want—"
"You owe the girl, of course. I must say I did like Gillian. She's a pretty thing, too, don't you think? Yes, it's only right, Jake."
"But Harrington—"
"Wants a haunted castle, not Rowanclere. He won't bail you out of this trouble. You will have to take care of that yourself."
"Oh, no." His knees weak, Jake sat on a nearby settee and plopped his head back against the cushion. "No... no... no."
His mother reached over and patted his knee. "You do have a responsibility to Gillian and her family. You did ruin her plan. It's a matter of honor, son, and I know your honor is one thing you rightfully hold quite dear. Isn't it handy, though, that this problem can be solved so simply?"
"Simple, Mother?"
She shrugged. "You can be the new laird of Rowanclere Castle. Isn't that exciting?"
"Mother, you don't know what you are asking."
"I'm not asking anything. You are the one who must do that. Come, now, Jake. Don't be so glum. This problem you created for yourself is easily fixed. All you must do is marry Gillian Ross."
* * *
A heavy gray mist rolled in off the loch as Gillian arranged a cheerful bouquet of flowers in a vase to take up to Uncle Angus. It was the second arrangement she'd made that day, the first having been lost when Robyn chased Scooter down a hallway and careened into Gillian, knocking the vase from her hands.
She gave her sister a gentle scolding about running in the house, saving her most harsh remarks for personal grumblings about Jake Delaney. "How dare he go off and leave us to care for that pesky pet," she muttered to herself. "Never mind that Robyn begged him to leave the dog behind. That is beside the point. He kept the animal as long as it suited him, then dumped her on another without a backward glance. How like a man."
Unless he'd told the truth about coming back to Rowanclere. Unless he did intend to return for the dog.
Gillian would like to believe his promises, but she didn't. She had been burned by a man's promises before. A part of her realized her doubts in Jake might be unfounded. Perhaps he had told the truth when he'd promised to return with sales papers for Rowanclere ready to be signed. However, the cynic in her thought that about as likely as Loch Rowanclere going dry overnight.
As she climbed the stairs to the Crow's Nest carrying a breakfast tray for Uncle Angus, she wondered where Jake Delaney was at that particular moment in time. Two weeks had passed since his leave-taking. Was he already aboard a ship hea
ded south?
"Oh, stop thinking about him," she scolded herself. Her lack of control over her own thoughts infuriated her. "You do not care where he has gone. Tahiti or Tipperary or Tibet—it does not matter. It likely won't be Rowanclere. You'll probably never see the man again."
Yet, if that was what she believed, then why did she keep finding excuses to climb the towers and watch the road? Unhappy with the direction of her thoughts, Gillian entered Angus's chamber wearing a scowl.
Her grand-uncle slowly opened his eyes, gazed at her, then shut them once more. "The death bogle his come for me."
"Are you not the funny one," she replied dryly.
"'Tis a fearsome look you are wearing, lass." He struggled to sit up in bed, but when she went to assist him, he pushed her away. "You have the same expression as our Robbie once she realizes she's eaten the last biscuit in the tin. What has put the thistle in your skirt?"
"Naught is wrong. I am just wishing for a little sunshine, that is all."
Ignoring his disbelieving snort, she asked, "Where would you like your tea? In bed or at the table?"
"The table."
She placed the vase of flowers atop a bookshelf, then transferred his breakfast to the table beside the fire. Seeing his wince as he attempted to rise, she hurried to assist him from his bed. "You've a steenge in your joints this day, I see."
"Aye. It's a bad thing when a man canna climb from his own bed himself. I'll feel better once I've moved about a bit. I want to come downstairs today. Robbie tells me she's taught the bawtie a new trick."
"How to break vases," Gillian grumbled.
Once he was seated, Angus gestured toward the stack of papers atop his bedside table. "When you leave, please take these downstairs and see them posted. I have written notices for newspapers in London and America. If we do not hear from young Delaney within the week, I am placing advertisements about the sale of Rowanclere."
Dismay filled her. "Advertisements? But, Uncle Angus, we decided against that. We decided to be discriminating about potential buyers in deference to Mrs. Ferguson and the villagers."
"Yes, and we tried. We did. But we also made a mistake by not pursuing a potential buyer in addition to Harrington. We have no backup plan."
"Uncle Angus, maybe it is time to rethink your decision to sell Rowanclere. The situation has changed."
"How?"
"Bennet is dead. I need no longer fear his threats."
"True." He sipped his tea. "But that was not my only purpose in selling the castle, was it? You know that someday the real death bogle will come for me. What happens then, Gillian? How will you pay the death taxes, hmm? The coffers are all but empty."
"I don't wish to think about it."
"An adult attitude, that." He shook his head. "I'll tell you what will happen, lass. The Crown will take the castle and leave you with little more than the clothes on your back. I refuse to allow that to happen. I'll not go to meet my Maker having failed to provide for my girls."
She shook her head hard. "Stop right there, Uncle Angus. You provided the most important thing of all. You gave us your love, and that is more valuable than any castle in all of Britain."
"I appreciate the fact you believe that, Gilly, but don't allow your heart to stand in the way of your head. We have discussed this a thousand times. While love is what makes a man—or woman—truly wealthy, one cannot ignore the importance of cold hard cash. Money gives you freedom, Gillian. It will buy you time to find the love you desire, the love you deserve. It offers the freedom of choice."
The word "freedom" brought Jake's image to mind and she quickly shoved it aside. "But I would be happy in a small cottage somewhere. All I require is to be close enough to visit Flora often."
"But what of Robbie? Her happiness is important to you, too, is it not? What if in a few years she wishes to have a London Season? You will want her to make a good marriage. Such opportunity requires an outlay of coin. How will you provide it, Gillian, if I don't?"
Only one sure way popped to mind. Marriage. "A way exists."
Uncle Angus pinned her with a knowing gaze. "I wish more for you than a marriage like young Maclean's," he said. "Circumstances forced David to make a choice he'll pay for all his life."
"Pay? I doubt he sees it that way. Flora and I met his wife in the village one day. Annabelle Maclean is very beautiful."
"Oh, she may be bonny, but she is not you, Gillian. David wanted you."
Not enough, she thought.
"Think about it, lass. If you were in his position, if you were forced to choose between following your heart or seeing Robyn well provided for, which would you choose?"
"Uncle Angus," she said with a long-suffering sigh. He was right, she knew it. Nothing truly had changed. "I will see that the advertisements are placed, but I will hope on the village's behalf that only potential good neighbors inquire."
"Naught wrong with that. Now, sit down and share a piece of bacon with me. Mrs. Ferguson has once again sent too much food."
Gillian sat and nibbled at the meat while Uncle Angus ate. He was almost through with his meal when the rain began. Before long, it was pouring down and to Gillian's great dismay, the roof spouted four different leaks, one directly above his bed. "Oh, no. Not again."
Angus silently observed each drip, then said, "Hope the weather clears before tonight. Sleeping in the damp is hard on my bones."
Anger flaring, Gillian waved an expansive hand around the room. "This place is nothing more than a cold drafty bird's cage. I understand your desire for independence, Uncle, and I respect the vows you made in your youth. But it makes me furious to think of you causing yourself added pain by refusing to act intelligently and move downstairs where we could better care for you."
He pushed his chair away from the table and struggled to stand. "Now, hold on there. As much as I love you, this is my life, my decision. I have lived in the Crow's Nest since my return to Rowanclere and I will be here until I die. It is my choice, and I will not tolerate another shirrackin from you about it. Now, I'm done eating. If you'll excuse me, I've more correspondence that requires my attention."
The stormy sky suited her mood as she made her way downstairs. Caring for an elderly loved one was no easy task. She never was certain which role she was to take, that of parent or child. Right now Angus was full of nettle, but she had seen that change in the space of an hour. She could return later in the day and find him filled with fear over a twitch in his side or a pain in his chest, and he'd be turning to her for comfort and advice. She took her cues from him and presented the role he required. Some days, like today, acting the child was more difficult than others.
"Why won't he listen to me?" she muttered as she dropped the breakfast tray onto the worktable in the kitchen. "He should be downstairs in the blue salon with southern exposure. As his caretaker, I should insist on it."
As his niece, she could not.
Two days later, she faced the question once more when Uncle Angus stumbled on a step and tumbled down the stairs.
The physician summoned to Rowanclere afterward declared Angus lucky to have suffered nothing more serious than soreness and a broken ankle. "Not that a broken ankle at his age is a minor injury. He'll be confined to bed for now. You'll want to order a wheeled chair for him."
"We already have one. He refuses to use it."
"He canna refuse it now. He'll not walk on his own for a long time to come."
Gillian had no choice but to order Uncle Angus moved to the blue salon with southern exposure. Needless to say, he didn't take the news well.
* * *
As Jake strolled into the blue salon, a luncheon tray came sailing toward him, crashing against the wall. "If you've hurt her again, you rapscallion, I'll have your head."
Jake glanced at the soup stain—potato, from the looks of it—and said, "What do you mean 'hurt her again.' I just walked in. Where is everyone?"
"Delaney, is that you?" Angus grabbed his glasses off the bedside t
able and put them on. "Finally. Thank God. You are just the man we need around here."
Jake didn't like the sound of that. "What's wrong? Why are you in bed down here? I thought this room was a salon."
"It was. It's my bedchamber now."
Looking closer, Jake realized the blue salon had been transformed into a fairly decent approximation of the Crow's Nest. Angus slept in the same bed, gazed at the same pictures, lit the same lamps. The same books lined the shelves, the same clock hung on the wall, and his carpet lay beneath the furnishings. The salon even smelled similar to the Crow's Nest due to numerous vases filled with roses placed about this chamber.
"I fell down the stairs, broke my ankle." Angus snorted with disgust. "Nobody here would help me get up to the Crow's Nest. Fifty years I kept my vow and now in the very twilight of my life, it is taken from me. As we said back in Texas, it really chaps my hide."
"That's why you threw your potato soup at me?"
"It's a fish soup, not potato. And I threw it at you because I thought you were David Maclean."
Jake went still. "David? The David who—?"
"Aye, Gillian's David."
Well, by God, he's not hers now.
Angus continued, "Maclean came sniffing around Rowanclere about half an hour ago. He's with Gillian right now. They're alone."
"Alone? Where's Robyn? Mrs. Ferguson?"
"They're off to the village to do some shopping. You must go after her, Jake. Make sure he's behaving himself."
"Where are they?"
"The library, I suspect. That's where they always did their sparkin' before."
Jake immediately turned to leave, but as he moved, a portrait on the wall caught his eye and changed his mind. This might be better handled the sneaky way. He'd go to the library through the passages. Maclean better hope Jake didn't discover any surprises once he got there.
* * *
Gillian cuddled Scooter close to her breast. Ever since their midnight snack the night of Harrington's haunting, the dog had trailed her like a tasty bone. Time and again, she'd fussed to Robyn about the development. At this moment, she was thrilled to have Scooter to hold.
She felt as if all the air had been sucked from her lungs. Though his home was but a half-hour's ride from Rowanclere, this was the first time she'd seen David in well over a year.
Sizzle All Day, Bad Luck Wedding #4 (Bad Luck Abroad) Page 18
