The only way to not think about money
is to have a great deal of it.”
“You might as well say that the only way not
to think about air
is to have enough to breathe.
~ Edith Wharton, The House of Mirth
Glen Sannox House
Haddington, Scotland
February 1892
Looking about the great hall of his ancestral family home, the newly conferred Earl of Haddington’s heart was saddened. Glen Sannox House was merely a dim reminder of the grandeur that had once been present in the stately residence. The black walnut paneled walls were but dismal remnants of their former rich glow. Years of harsh sunlight had faded the exposed wood to a pale brown that contrasted sharply to the dark outlined reminders of the once glorious decor of the room. Hundreds of arms and weapons had once lined the paneling. English-made brown Bess muskets with their bayonets had marched sharply about the perimeter, interrupted only by contrasting displays of crossed sabers and horse pistols, which circled shining medallions emblazoned with the coat of arms of the powerful Merrill clan. More muskets, encircling a gilded medallion, had radiated from the center of the towering ceilings. The colors of Scotland and the Merrill clan had draped across the splendid archway that led visitors into the connecting receiving room.
All of it was gone.
Now only the Merrill plaid remained, draped mournfully over the intricately carved remains of an imposing marble fireplace on one wall of the octagonal hall.
The old lassie has surely lost her shine, the new owner of the manor thought, taking in the devastated walls with a heavy heart as he followed the ghostly trail of silhouetted weaponry through the lower passage into the ballroom. Here and there along the way, other scars marked the paneling where exquisite works of art had once graced the periphery. The vast ballroom itself was even more daunting. The nineteen-foot high ceilings were bare of the four glorious hand-blown glass lusteres that had illuminated many exalted affairs for over a hundred years. On the walls, tooled and gilded leather wall-coverings were cracked and peeling, and, like the periphery of the passage, bare of their artwork. Even the two life-size portraits of King James VI and his Queen Anne that had flanked the doors for hundreds of years were dishearteningly absent.
This was Jack Merrill’s first return to the manor after six years away. The splendor of rooms he had remembered—if not fondly at least proudly—was gone. A weight of despair settled on his shoulders. This once rich property had been depleted by his thoughtless father and what had miraculously survived his lifetime had, in turn, been squandered by Jack’s wastrel older brother, Cullen.
Heavy footsteps on the wood floors interrupted his morose thoughts. Turning, he was buoyed by the sight of his long-time friend Francis MacKintosh. “I’d have thought you would be celebrating your good fortune, my friend. You are now an earl,” the other man spoke first. “What has you brooding so?”
“Celebrating?” Jack’s skepticism echoed in the thick silence of the room. “What would you have me celebrate? The destruction of my home? The corruption of my childhood memories? Look about you, old chap, and tell me.”
MacKintosh did not have to look. The sight of rooms stripped bare of the glory he remembered from years past was indeed saddening. From childhood he had roamed these vast halls with Jack, had time and again been reprimanded by first Jack’s mother and eventually his stepmother for playing with the ancient armament that had once been abundant here. The death of Jack’s stepmother, Judith Boughton, a proper English lady, had called forth a new era at Glen Sannox House. Jack’s father, Angus, had become free to spend where he please, on his own undisciplined habits and on those of a third, and much younger wife, Oona Seton. This newest wife had been many years younger than even Jack himself and had wasted no time in helping herself to the remaining riches of the manor.
It was, in fact, the introduction of that latest wife into the household that had finally prompted Jack’s more permanent departure from his home, since Jack hadn’t been able to abide the woman. The deaths of both his father and brother in the past year may have necessitated Jack’s return to Scotland, but Francis knew his friend was none too pleased over the continued presence of his young stepmother.
After several minutes of silence, during which Francis refrained from commenting, Jack took up the conversation again. “’Tis a hard thing to celebrate the acquisition of a title one never expected to gain. Behold the Earl of Haddington and what a grand title it is! And wi’ it, the responsibility to clean up after Father and Cullen as if they were errant children. That is the legacy I’m blessed wi’, Francis,” his words dripped with sarcasm. “I know it was not as such when you gained your own title.”
Since Francis could hardly remember a time when he had not been Earl of Glenrothes, he did not comment on this. He searched for some words of encouragement but, finding none, remained silent.
“Look about. I know you remember it as it was just years ago. Look what it has become! Everything is ruined or gone. Rare works of art sold off piece by piece to cover the outrageous habits of that spendthrift pair.” Jack paused, his angry words echoing through the empty hall. After a moment he shook his head in what Francis would have thought defeat if he had not known his friend better. “I’m earl now for just a sennight,” Jack spoke softly now, “and already their creditors are pounding at my door to make themselves known. They come to me. An earl I never thought to be. Now I am responsible for all the misdeeds of my kin. If this is what it means to be an earl, then I want it not.”
Francis felt the compulsion to squeeze his friend’s shoulder in sympathy but refrained from the impulse, knowing it would not be appreciated just yet. Damn Angus Merrill for a wastrel! And damn Cullen also, for following in that old man’s footsteps! It had benefitted Jack immensely when he had finally left their company those years ago. Not that he would have gone the same route, Francis was sure. Despite his outward appearance of scoundrel and wastrel, Jack was a careful man who lived within his means. He honored his debts and contracts and made a tidy living for himself through investments of his own small income. Jack had always disliked the pursuits of his father and older brother and was glad to have an excuse to be well rid of them.
That excuse had been his father’s new young bride, Oona Seton. Jack had been twenty-two when Angus had wed the eighteen-year-old Scots lass a mere four months after the death of his esteemed stepmother. Despite her joy at the diminishing wealth she had married into, Oona had become increasingly bored with Angus, a man more than thirty years her senior. She had turned her sights first to Jack, who had rebuffed her soundly, and then Cullen. Never had she forgiven Jack for denying her and she had tried to make his life miserable for it. He might have left the manor long before he did, had he not felt the need to protect his half-sisters from her wrath.
The daughters of Judith Boughton, Angus Merrill’s second wife, were all three fine beauties. Catherine and Patrice were petite girls with their mother’s gold hair and blue eyes. They were also frivolous twits who thought their lovely new stepmother would lead them and guide them to find good husbands. Abygail, the eldest sister, like Jack, could not even stomach Oona’s company.
Though only twelve when Angus remarried, Abygail refused to accept the woman as her mother and made no attempt to temper her cold fury in the woman’s presence. It infuriated Oona that she could not break the child’s icy stoicism, though she tried countless times. As Abygail grew, her dislike of her stepmother blossomed as well. Oona used what power she had in the household over her stepdaughter and took joy in humiliating the girl at every possible turn. But what Oona could not tolerate was the fact that Abygail was fast becoming more beautiful than herself. Abby’s fair angelic beauty outshone her own darker looks by far.
Francis knew the woman had taken great pleasure in sending Abygail away to an English boarding school, since Oona thought that she was punishing the lass. She would never know how dearly Abygail had rejoic
ed at her exile. And with Abby gone away, Jack no longer felt a need to stay nearby and protect the one sibling he was so fond of, so he had left as well, much to Oona’s chagrin. Less than eight months later, the newest Lady Haddington had given birth to a son with strange topaz colored eyes, whom she named Alexander. In the history of the Merrill clan, only Jack and his mother had eyes of that color. And so Cullen had placed the blame on Jack, enraging their father, and he was never to be welcomed back to Glen Sannox again. Their father never knew that the boy was Cullen’s after all.
Of course, only Jack and his closest friends knew he would not have come back even if he were invited. He roamed about Scotland and England staying with friends such as Glenrothes. He visited Abygail at her school and at her English grandparents’ estate from time to time, after an accident forced her to leave the boarding school. Even when Angus finally called Abygail home, he would not follow. So, it had been a number of years before he saw her after that. In fact, Jack only saw her again before her wedding…to Francis’ own brother Richard. How they had laughed at Richard when he had bemoaned the fact he was in love! They teased him quite unmercifully, in fact. Richard had withstood their jests, and with reason. Abby was certainly worth taking a little teasing for and was, in fact, the only female besides the MacKintosh’s young sister, Fiona, and Abby’s friend, Moira, whom Jack truly liked.
Reminded now that Richard and Abygail were waiting in the front parlor to see Jack even as they dallied, Francis returned to the situation at hand. “Is there any chance you might be able to repair the fortunes and return the estate to its glory?” he asked after a moment of thought of how to best help his friend.
Jack shook his head again in that peculiar way that made Francis think he had indeed given up the fight. “I have thought and thought, but I cannae think of a solution. There is nothing left to sell, of course. Most of my own monies have already gone to pay off the worst of the earldom’s debts and what little is left is caught up in investments. Even those modest returns will not be enough or be quick enough…”
“Perhaps I could–”
Jack held up his hand to stop the idea before it was even spoken. “Thank you, old chap, but nay. In good conscience I could never take what was needed. Don’t you see? It is just too much!”
He whirled about the room in a sudden bout of fury. “Damn my father! Had he been a man such as yer own sire I would never be having this problem. He was a grand man, was Alec MacKintosh! He did his duty by you and your kin, to be sure. You gained your fortune in simple fashion, Francis. You inherited it! Not only you but nine brothers behind you all left wealthy men because of him, and wi’ enough left over to dower wee Fiona as an heiress. ’Tis an enviable thing, old man.”
“Aye, Father was a good man, to be sure,” Francis had to agree, with a nod of his head.
“And then!” Jack continued with a wide wave of his arm. “To boot, you and yours have the most amazing tendency to wed wi’ wealth. Richard bettered his fortunes by wedding Abby, her English grandparents making her an heiress in her own right. And now, Sean and Colin marrying Teynham’s lasses! Even you, old chap. You doubled your fortune in wedding Westmoreland’s lass!”
The new Earl of Haddington shook his head at the irony and collapsed into a deep window seat, staring thoughtfully out the window. “The luck is wi’ the MacKintosh clan, to be sure, but the Merrills have no such good fortune. I’m afraid there is no way for me to recover this, old chap, no way at all.”
Now Francis gave in to the impulse to put a comforting hand on his old friend’s shoulder as he sank onto the bench as well, for a solution had just been realized. “Perhaps you are overlooking the most obvious way to gain a quick fortune, my friend, though you speak of it yourself.”
“Aye, and what would that be?”
“There is a way to do it. Aye, my brothers Colin and Sean are doing it. Richard did it, albeit unintentionally and even I have reaped one benefit from this wretched state. You need wealth…” Francis paused and nodded in grim satisfaction. “Gain it in truly simple fashion. Marry into it.”
Jack’s jaw sagged briefly before he snapped it shut.
Chapter 2
“Marry! Och, MacKintosh, when you yerself have been vehemently outspoken against the institution?” That was such an understatement that Jack lost his train of thought for several moments. Aye, Francis MacKintosh hated marriage and women, with good reason. He had been forced—or the closest Alec MacKintosh had ever come to forcing—to marry Vanessa Fane, daughter of the mighty Earl of Westmoreland. No good had ever come of it. The lass had given birth to a daughter five months after the wedding and all knew it could not possibly have been Francis’.
After that, things had gone from bad to worse in their marriage. The Fane lass disdained her young husband but loved men in general and had worked her way from lord to coachman on the MacKintosh estates. She made no attempt to hide her affairs, boldly pursuing even Richard and Vincent, another brother, though with no success.
It had Jack considering then that she and Oona would probably make excellent friends.
At least MacKintosh was rid of Vanessa now. He had managed, after years of Parliamentary red tape, to be granted a divorce just four years earlier, after a dozen years of the bitch’s perfidy. She still came by occasionally for money that Francis was glad to give her and see her gone. After all that, he would recommend marriage to him?
Jack voiced that thought aloud.
Francis corrected him immediately. “I said marry, Merrill, not enjoy it, revel in it or take it too seriously. That will only bring you misery.” His voice was bitter. “But you could make it work to your benefit. Go to London or Edinburgh for the Season, pick yourself out some sweet, innocent heiress and wed her. Don’t get involved with her. Hell, you don’t even have to like her! Wed her and make yourself a wealthy man.”
“Take her money and run, eh?”
“That would be my recommendation.”
“The idea does have some merit,” Jack conceded after a moment’s reflection.
“Stay in my townhouse in London, if you like,” Francis offered, baiting the hook some more. “Richard was there a couple of months ago, so I assume it’s still in good repair. I have the one in Edinburgh as well if you haven’t any luck in London.”
“That’s kind of you, old chap,” Jack responded vaguely, the wheels already beginning to spin in his mind. Francis could almost see the plan fall into place in Jack’s mind. Merrill spoke again. “Now, if you’ll just come wi’ me to help find the right lass. You can help me ferret out the good ones and I can accomplish my goal that much quicker. Aye, you can be an advisor, of sorts.”
Francis shuddered at the thought of returning to town. “I think not, my friend. The scandal from the divorce is still strong and couldn’t do more than hurt your chances. But when you have a few prospects let me know and perhaps then I can be persuaded to assist you. Or, if you like, ask Abygail to help you.”
“Ask my sister to help me find a wife? Thank you, nay. She has too many romantic notions. And watching her and your brother together is enough to turn any man’s stomach.” Jack laughed heartily for the first time and Francis was glad to hear the sound. “It was bad enough before they wed but, after five years, you’d think they might stop ogling each other!”
Francis chuckled his agreement. “Aye, it is a hard sight to bear! Well, at least come and greet them then.”
“They’re here?”
“Aye,” Francis told him. “Accompanied me this far on their way back to England. They’re returning for Abby’s laying-in. She wants to be near her grandmother for the birth and visit her friend, the countess of something-or-other.”
Though Jack was pleased at the promise of seeing his angelic sister again, he did not like the idea of her traveling so far. His intense frown showed his displeasure. “She shouldn’t be moving about so, in her condition.”
“You’ll have to take that up with her,” Francis shrugged, not wanting to
take a side in a sibling disagreement; he had enough of those on his own. “Will you join us?”
“I’ll be wi’ you shortly,” Jack waved him on, stroking his chin thoughtfully. “I need to take another moment to contemplate the imminent loss of my freedom.”
* * *
“How is he doing, Francis?” Abygail Merrill MacKintosh asked as soon as her brother-in-law appeared at the doorway of the dark family parlor, where she and her husband waited. The winter sun broke hazily through the windows, doing little to light the room but reflecting off her pale blond head and throwing a Madonna-like halo about the petite woman, who sat huddled in the only wooden chair available, with her cloak wrapped tightly about her against the chill.
Francis leaned a shoulder against the fireplace mantle. “His spirits were low, but I believe I came up with an excellent solution to his problems.”
“Yes, and what is that?” Abygail asked, curious and anxious for good news for her brother. She was very aware of how bad things were for the earldom at the time of their father’s death and assumed Cullen had done little to repair the damage. But when Francis remained silent, shifting uncomfortably, she eyed her brother-in-law suspiciously.
One thing Francis suddenly knew was that he did not want to be the one to tell Abby the plan. Despite her angelic beauty, she had a devil’s temper and could reduce an eloquent man to a stammering fool with a single stare. He’d seen her do it many times, the first when she was but knee-high on him. He felt his own color start to grow and turned away clearing his throat. “He’s going to…hmmm-a-gitch-miff,” he mumbled into his high collar.
“What was that, brother?” Richard asked innocently with raised brows, knowing it had to be something very interesting if Francis wouldn’t speak aloud.
Francis glared at his brother and straightened his shoulders, ready to take his scolding, and boldly announced, “Your brother is going to Edinburgh—or London, if necessary—to find himself a nice, rich wife.”
All You Could Ask For Page 56
