Daisy stood on a chair. She was starting to get a tad worried.
Cassandra was missing. And where was Mr. King?
They weren’t in the ballroom. She hastened out into the hall. But there was no butler. The man she’d assigned that position had joined the festivities, and why not? He wasn’t a real butler, after all.
She went back through the ballroom and through a door leading to the back gardens. No one was there, either, save a young lad and lass from the village. Daisy caught them kissing, and they both drew apart.
The girl gasped. “I’m sorry, Miss Montgomery.”
“It’s quite all right,” she said. “I mean … you should probably come inside, both of you.” She was beginning to panic. “You haven’t seen Miss Cassandra, have you?”
The girl shook her head. “No, I haven’t.”
“I saw her with Mr. King,” said the boy. “Just a few minutes ago.”
“Where?” Daisy could hardly breathe. She had no idea why she was panicking. Mr. King was foolish and prideful, but he was also clever and accomplished. She wasn’t bad to have hoped for a match between him and Cassandra.
Yet at this moment, she felt as if she’d made a huge mistake—and possibly thrown her half sister to a lion.
“He was walking her to the stables,” the boy said. “I caught a glimpse of them as I was coming round the east wing of the castle.”
Daisy pushed right past them and ran to the stables.
But when she got there, it was too late.
CHAPTER TWENTY
Something terrible had happened—and was still happening—at the stables. Cassandra lay sprawled on the ground, either dead, injured, or in a faint. A freshly ridden horse stood calmly below a tree, its reins tethered around a branch, while two men fought fiercely near her prone figure.
Daisy’s heart stopped. All she could see was Cassandra.
My sister, she thought, and Papa’s daughter.
“Stop it!” she shrieked at the men, not even aware of who they were. “Don’t you see she needs help?”
She rushed forward to Cassandra’s side. Luckily, her lips were pink, although her cheeks were pale, and she was breathing. Quickly, Daisy scanned her face, her neck, and her shoulders, relieved to see no visible injuries—yet.
She leaned down and kissed her cheek. “Cassandra,” she breathed.
Cassandra’s eyes fluttered open. “Daisy,” she whispered.
“Are you all right? Do you hurt anywhere?”
Cassandra closed her eyes. “I—I fainted, is all. I’ll be all right.”
Daisy squeezed her hand, and Cassandra squeezed back.
Tears pricked Daisy’s eyes. She wouldn’t cry. She needed to be strong, and there were still two ridiculous men involved in a vicious fight that continued unabated not many feet away.
“Back off,” Daisy ordered them. Of course, the dunderheads ignored her. “I said, back off! You’re too near the lady!”
Still, they continued hitting and pushing each other. As she stared blindly at them, their faces came into sudden focus.
Mr. King was one of the men. He was an expert pugilist, it appeared. He hit the other man in the jaw and sent him sprawling. While the man on the ground groaned, Mr. King stood still for a moment, gasping for air.
“Stop it, please, you two,” Daisy said.
“Y-yes, please stop.” Cassandra’s voice was a mere whisper.
Mr. King said nothing.
The man on the ground rose to his feet, swaying. He pointed down the mountain. “Get out,” he said to Mr. King in guttural tones. “And never come back. If you stay, I’ll kill you.”
Daisy gasped. And not just at his strong words and vehement manner.
It was Mr. Beebs.
Oh, God, Mr. Beebs—the white-haired overseer of the Keep, back a day early!
Mr. King wiped his brow with the back of his arm. “Who are you to speak to me so? You vile rat. The lady and I were merely—”
“Don’t you dare mention the lady and yourself in one breath,” Mr. Beebs said in a low, threatening tone. “Get out, I say. Get out before I call the constable. You’re trespassing on private property. And you’ve assaulted a lady.”
“I didn’t assault the lady. A kiss between two consenting adults is not an assault.”
“Not an assault?” Mr. Beebs’s voice was menacing. “I know what I saw. The lady wasn’t at all interested in your so-called kiss!” His chest heaved. “Now do I have to take a whip to you to get you to depart?” He stumbled to the stable door, opened it, and retrieved a whip.
Mr. King spat on the ground. “What insanity is this?” He looked at Daisy.
She merely stared back, shocked at how twisted his features were.
“You said she was fit for a peer’s bed,” Mr. King sputtered. “Or the bed of someone rich and powerful. I took you at your word.”
Daisy felt her face flame red. “I—I was wicked to say that. I wish I never had. I didn’t know you’d—”
Cassandra moaned.
“Don’t engage him, Miss Montgomery,” Mr. Beebs snarled. “He’s got no excuse for his behavior. He’s a cur.” He snapped the whip in the air. It made a wicked, impressive sound.
Perhaps there was more to Mr. Beebs than Daisy had supposed.
Mr. King backed up a step.
Perdita rushed in and stopped short then, panting for breath. “What’s wrong with my sister?” she yelled in her fiercest Highlander voice, which made even Daisy tremble.
“She’ll be fine,” Daisy assured her. “Please get me a fresh bucket of water and a rag. And bring out several men who can carry her to a soft bed.”
“I can carry her myself. And I will clean her wounds myself.” Perdita picked her sister up with ease. “Aye, you’ll be all right,” she said softly.
“Thank you, sister,” Cassandra whispered.
As Perdita lumbered toward the Keep with Cassandra dangling from her arms, Mr. King stared after them. “Wait a minute. I recognize her—him. That was the son of a son of a Highland chief. And he was wearing a gown.” He turned to stare at Daisy.
She took a deep breath. “Her name is Perdita, and she’s more a warrior than you’ll ever be.”
Mr. King narrowed his eyes at her but said nothing.
And no wonder. Mr. Beebs hovered nearby, whip at the ready. “Pack up your things and go,” he commanded the American. “You can travel by the midnight sun.”
Mr. King felt his bloodied lip, looking first at Mr. Beebs, then at Daisy.
“Huh,” is all he said. There was disgust in his tone, as well as some hubris gone terribly wrong.
Daisy knew what that huh meant. She knew very well, indeed.
Mr. King walked away, slowly. And when he was out of reach of the whip, he turned. “Don’t expect a farthing from any of the bird-watchers,” he said. “And none from the anglers, either. I’ll be sure to let them all know they’ve been duped. Highlander, indeed.” He gave a bitter laugh. “This whole week has been a joke, hasn’t it? What else did you invent to lure rich visitors up here, Miss Montgomery? The avid hunters, the cheery cooks, the bright, happy village … was all that a put-on, as well?”
“No,” she insisted. “The residents of Glen Dewey may have fallen on hard times, but—”
“There is no Highland magic,” Mr. King said flatly, and disappeared into the garden leading up to the back of the castle.
Daisy could hear the distant rumble of footsteps and voices, people descending the steps of the Keep and talking in hushed tones.
Her heart sank. The villagers were leaving. The ceilidh was no more.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
As soon as Charlie got the word in the ballroom of a fight out at the stables and a possible injury to a young lady, he rushed to the scene. Only Daisy was there.
“Are you all right?” he asked her.
His whole body tensed for her answer.
She nodded quickly, and he felt a great rush of relief. When he took her
hands—what had become to him her very precious hands—he noticed her fingers trembling.
“Are you sure?” he whispered.
She nodded, but there was something still wrong. She didn’t quite meet his eyes.
His heart sank. Their talk of this morning … it had changed things. He wasn’t sure what to do about that. It was why all day he’d been miserable, even as he knew that he’d done his job—their moneymaking scheme was destined to become a great success.
Or so he’d thought.
Mr. Beebs held a whip dangling from his hand. “Miss Montgomery,” he said in husky tones. “I’m so sorry I ever brought him here as a guest.”
She had no trouble meeting his eyes. “Don’t be. You couldn’t know what he was like.” She hesitated and inhaled a great breath. “Thank you for saving Cassandra. I can’t thank you enough.”
“You saved her?” Charlie asked Mr. Beebs. “From whom?”
“Mr. King,” Daisy interjected.
“Where is he?” Charlie spun to search the grounds for signs of the man’s imposing figure.
Daisy laid a hand on his arm. “Mr. Beebs took care of him already.”
“So I did,” said the man with no swagger. He tossed the whip toward the stables. “Thank God I got here in time.”
“The guests—” Charlie began.
“I think they’ll leave without paying.” Daisy’s voice was small.
“I think you’re right, Miss Montgomery.” Mr. Beebs sighed.
Charlie raked a hand through his hair. “Why didn’t I demand half the money up front? What was I thinking?”
Daisy shook her head. “Who’d have imagined this sort of outcome? Don’t berate yourself.”
But her words were no comfort. He’d let her down. And his grandmother, as well. All because—
The truth was he hadn’t taken this whole enterprise very seriously. He’d been more interested in flirting with Miss Montgomery.
Daisy blinked rapidly at Mr. Beebs. “We won’t have the feu duty by the first of July.”
Mr. Beebs winced, his expression most sympathetic. “I’m sorry, Miss Montgomery. I did my best to help you get it.”
She sank to the ground and let out one, small sob. “I’ll do anything, Mr. Beebs. Anything.” She lifted her head. “You know that bird you’ve been seeking so avidly? Well, I think I found one. I’ve been keeping an eye out all week. I know exactly where its nest is.”
“Do you?”
She nodded. “I’ll show you—if you can let us stay another year. We’ll hold another Highland venture soon, and we’ll get you your money—”
He shook his head. “I can’t do that.”
Daisy wiped her eyes with a shaky hand. “What if I—what if I put in a good word for you with Cassandra?”
Mr. Beebs froze. “I—I—”
Daisy smiled through her tears. “You’re a good man, Mr. Beebs! I wouldn’t be lying. She saw you rescue her.”
“You can’t make someone love another person.” Mr. Beebs drew himself up as if he were shocked she’d even suggest such a thing. “No matter how many good words you put in for them.”
Daisy shrugged. “I suppose you’re right.” Her buzzing-bees-and-honey voice cracked. “Oh, Charlie. If only you had your money.”
Charlie’s chest tightened. This was the real Daisy. Desperate. Willing to do anything—she’d said so herself—to get her home back.
What did he think of her now?
He sympathized with her plight, yes, but he also felt the old wariness creep back in, the suspicion that she was like all the other women who’d dared to get close to him—after money. Property.
Things.
He crouched next to her. “You’ll be all right,” he said quietly, and looked up at Mr. Beebs. “You won’t kick them out of Castle Vandemere, will you?”
Mr. Beebs’s expression was grim. “I’ve no choice. The laird doesn’t appear to take the slightest interest in the properties. His men of business handle all legal and financial matters pertaining to the estate. They’re sticklers for doing everything by the rule book.”
“Can’t you contact him?” Charlie asked.
“His people are hefty gatekeepers,” said Mr. Beebs. “And in fact, I had no idea who he was until I met my contact in Edinburgh this past week. According to him, he’s extremely wealthy and has better things to do, I suppose, than worry about a couple of castles rich in heritage here in the most magnificent part of the country.” His tone was wry. “To tell you the truth, by allowing you here, I’ve been taking shameless advantage of his negligence.”
“Who is he?” Charlie asked.
Daisy looked up. “Yes, who?”
Mr. Beebs swallowed hard and cocked his head to the side. “It’s you, Lord Lumley.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
“You don’t mean that,” Daisy said to Mr. Beebs. She looked back at Charlie.
His face was white as a sheet.
Mr. Beebs nodded his head somberly. “After I found out the news in Edinburgh, I came back as soon as I could to apologize for allowing the hunt party here without your express permission—as property holder—to host such an event.”
Charlie lifted up from his haunches and stood staring at the fortress that was the Keep. And then at the stables. And finally, at the turrets of Castle Vandemere in the distance. And ran both his hands down his face.
“Oh, God,” he said in a ragged whisper.
Daisy simply couldn’t speak. She was so shocked, she felt nothing.
Charlie, in legal possession of both the Keep and Castle Vandemere!
She couldn’t believe it.
It was the irony of all ironies. An irony big enough to shake her out of that dream world she’d been living in with him the past ten days.
She turned to him, her heart in her throat. “You didn’t even know these properties fall under your protection?”
His eyes were dark, hooded.
“Well?”
He shook his head.
She found she was clenching her hands stiffly at her sides. “That’s outrageous. Simply … awful.”
His facial expression became glacial. “It never occurred to me that this could be my Scottish property. Why should it have? I’ll admit it’s shocking to find out this way, but truth be told, I’m not surprised. I accrue many estates.”
“How could you neglect a property such as this?” Daisy cried. “What have you been doing the last five years?”
“Living my life the way I want to.” Charlie forced himself to sound calm, although he felt anything but. “I’ve also stayed busy making a great deal of money, so I won’t apologize to anyone for the fact that I’ve neglected to visit.”
Daisy’s chest heaved. “You sound so … spoiled.”
He felt wounded to the core by her assessment, considering how much hardship he’d faced getting to Scotland in one piece—and after all the efforts he’d made to help her.
“Perhaps I am,” he said. “But I’ve never brokered an inappropriate business deal. You’d already made a bad move encouraging a match between Cassandra and Mr. King, but how swiftly you volunteered to put in a good word with her for Mr. Beebs so you could remain at Vandemere. It goes against all principle. And it shrieks of opportunistic behavior.”
He’d thought he’d loved her. But maybe that had been infatuation. Because now when he looked at her, all he felt was betrayal.
When would he ever learn?
“You talk of principle and opportunism?” Daisy’s lips were white. “You may follow the proper rules of business, but you’ve neglected much higher principles. Castle Vandemere—and the Keep—have been wallowing in stagnation ever since you’ve taken possession! To collect properties without a care as to what they mean—to the local community, to the history books, to the people who’ve polished and swept and repaired those places because they love them—is a dastardly crime. And to think that all those times I was cursing the owner of the Keep for neglecting to appreciate it,
I should have been cursing you.”
Her words flayed him, but she would never know it.
“I rue the day I volunteered to be at your beck and call, Miss Montgomery,” he told her. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I have an enormous castle to inspect. And a smaller, crumbling one, as well.”
He looked at Mr. Beebs. “Meet me in the library with any documents you have verifying my claim to the estate and the accounting books. I want to know exactly how much I pay you and what sort of drain on my income the property has been—it’s obviously not generating a farthing.”
Daisy stomped her foot. “You find out you’re master of this glorious estate, and the first thing you want to do is complain about how little money it produces for you?”
Charlie ignored her. “And Beebs, after our meeting, just”—he waved a hand in the air—“just pack your bags.”
Mr. Beebs froze. “Am I fired, my lord? I did allow strangers to stay here, didn’t I? I can see how you might have a problem with trusting me to be your overseer.”
“Right,” said Charlie gruffly. “I’ll give you severance and a reference. But it’s best that you go.”
Mr. Beebs made his way toward the castle, and although his back was straight, he bowed his white head when a bird flew by—which wasn’t natural in Mr. Beebs. Most likely the man felt despair.
But Charlie assured himself he’d done the right thing. He couldn’t keep on a man who obviously had little respect for him.
Charlie felt like a bloody fool. He’d have to behave more responsibly and then hire someone who didn’t know the extent of his negligence.
Daisy turned to him, fire in her eyes. “Look at you,” she hissed. “All you care about are things.”
He cast her a sideways glance and started walking toward the Keep’s front entrance. “Things?”
“Castles. Money.” Tears blurred Daisy’s vision. “Who cares about the people in them? Or not in them, for that matter. All the villagers left here disappointed tonight. Did you even notice? And Mr. Beebs … he was trying to be kind, helping me keep Vandemere, so he allowed us to use the Keep.”
Charlie kept his eyes straight ahead. “You were the one after property and money, not me.”
If You Give A Girl A Viscount Page 21