“No.” Mr. Beebs drew in his chin. “I was a champion sword dancer, as a matter of fact. But I haven’t danced in years—”
“What a pity the younger generation won’t have the same opportunity.” Daisy released a wistful sigh and turned to look down the glen at the village. “I’ve never seen a Highland games in Glen Dewey. I suppose I never shall. Neither shall my stepsisters. I know Cassandra, in particular, was looking forward to it.”
When Mr. Beebs cleared his throat, Daisy turned back around with a flare of hope in her heart.
“When would this event take place?” he asked her.
“As soon as we can find people to come.”
“Well, now,” he said gruffly, “perhaps we can work this out, after all.”
Daisy exchanged a secret smile with Charlie.
“I’ve a standing invitation to stay with a bird-watching friend of mine near Edinburgh,” Mr. Beebs explained. “And if I go now, I can combine business with pleasure. Last month I received a letter from one of the magistrates in London who handle the Keep’s affairs. He asked if I’d be in Edinburgh at all this summer—he’s there for several months and would like to discuss estate matters in more detail than letter-writing permits. You see, the Keep’s only recently changed hands, about five years ago.”
“That’s considered recent?” Charlie asked.
“Yes,” said Mr. Beebs, “in terms of longevity of possession. Some of these properties stay in a family for generations.”
“Like Vandemere,” Daisy said.
“Exactly,” Mr. Beebs concurred.
“You appear to have a perfectly lovely reason to vacate the Keep.” Daisy grinned.
Mr. Beebs chuckled. “I suppose it is. So do hold your hunt party here, and enjoy yourselves. I would quite like a bird-watching holiday as it is. I’ll be back in less than two weeks’ time. In fact”—he looked around at the beautiful vista—“I’ll leave right after this walk. There’s a black-throated diver I’d like to find first.” He looked upward at the tops of the trees, then gave a small, elegant bow. “Your servant, Miss Montgomery. Lord Lumley.”
And he began to traipse off.
“Shall we tell Miss Cassandra you said good-bye?” she called after him.
He turned and swallowed rather hard. “I suppose you could.”
He took a few steps.
“So may we work with what servants you have here and bring our own, as well?” Daisy added.
“Indeed.” He inclined his head graciously. “We’ve plenty of room in the stables, too, for at least a dozen horses.”
“Very good,” Daisy said.
How generous of him!
She got a grand idea.
“Mr. Beebs”—she screwed up her nerve—“you’ve been so kind. Perhaps you’ll find it in your heart not to require a feu duty this year? Or any year, really, as my family has been paying it for nearly a hundred years? That way we can use all the money we make from our Highland adventure to fix up Castle Vandemere. Wouldn’t it be nice if when people arrive at the village, they’ll look up Ben Fennon and see both castles looking marvelous?”
“Sorry, Miss Montgomery,” Mr. Beebs said in jolly fashion. “The feu duty is due, as always, on the first of July, and not a day later. I don’t want to have to throw you out.”
“No,” she said weakly.
“There are plenty of people standing in line who’d love to take possession of Castle Vandemere,” he called back to her.
“Are there?” She could barely speak.
“Oh, yes,” he said. “At least three that I know of. Lady Brompton of Nob, Mr. Finch of Trickle Top, and Baron van Bunting, of Lower Cross Junction—none of them as interesting as Vandemere’s current occupants.”
“Damn the feudal system and feudal lairds,” Daisy said under her breath to the viscount. “The castle should belong outright to our family by now.”
“Oh,” Mr. Beebs went on, “and if you’re looking for wealthy travelers to stay here, a few of my bird-watcher friends are in Lower Cross Junction. They’re here for the bird-watching symposium, but it ends tomorrow, so they’ll be at loose ends, all with money in their pockets and seeking diversion. Some are thinking about staying for the theater festival. Others are going to a big society wedding in Inverness. But loads of them will be twiddling their thumbs, dreading their trips back home and seeking ways to delay them.”
“How—how do you know all this?” Daisy couldn’t help asking.
“I write the social column for the Royal Society Bird-watching Journal, of course. I’ll stop by Lower Cross Junction on my way out. I’ll bring you back a half-dozen well-heeled visitors. What will you be charging?”
“Thirty pounds each for a ten-day stay at the Keep, a complete Highland experience,” said Daisy.
That was an exorbitant amount!
The viscount stood with his legs apart and his hands on his hips. “How rich are these people?” he asked Mr. Beebs.
“Very.” Mr. Beebs scratched his ear. “A few will bring bodyguards. They carry that many valuables.”
“Let’s make it fifty pounds each, then,” said the viscount.
Fifty pounds?
“Right.” Mr. Beebs chuckled. “I’ve no doubt I’ll be able to get it, too.”
“Are you sure?” Daisy plucked at her skirt. “The viscount was going to head to Brawton to invite some anglers he knows are there.”
“Don’t bother. Brawton’s on my way. I’ll stop for you myself.”
“Thank you,” Charlie said. “Another half-dozen guests would be quite welcome and, I believe, easy to come by. The party’s twenty strong and can’t be missed. They’re throwing money about the local shops and pubs when they’re not casting their lines.”
Mr. Beebs slung the ribbon holding the opera glasses over his head. “Very well. Expect your visitors tomorrow at four o’clock, or my name isn’t Ebenezer Hiram Beebs.”
And then he left, striding briskly around a copse of rowan trees.
The viscount stared after the retreating figure. “He’s been here five years, and has no one attempted to befriend him?”
Daisy bit her lip. “Hester did once or twice, but he appears to shy away from visits. She says she made him some bannocks, then once sent over a jug of Joe’s whisky. But he’s all about birds, business—and now Cassandra, I suppose. Did you see his reaction when I mentioned her name?”
“Yes.” The viscount shook his head. “I can’t fathom his interest in her. But he lives alone, and—”
“There’s really no reasonable explanation,” Daisy said, “other than the fact that she’s beautiful.” She paused. “Of course, she could have hidden depths I haven’t discovered. Mr. Beebs doesn’t strike me as a fool.”
“Nor me.” Charlie cocked his head, as if he were listening for distant music or sensed something out of the ordinary. “It’s strange country up here in the Highlands,” he said quietly. “It seems anything could happen.”
He looked at her again, and she felt it, too … something tantalizing. Something just out of reach. But whatever it was, she would find it someday. And when she did, she would hold it close and never let it go. Because whatever it was, it would help her stay in her castle. She just knew it.
CHAPTER EIGHT
“Oh, no,” Charlie heard a little while later from Miss Cassandra. “Not trout again.”
Miss Montgomery’s stepfamily had roused themselves out of bed in time to partake of the midday meal, which Hester had made with the assistance of Miss Montgomery and Charlie, who’d never cooked a fish before, much less a fish over an open fire that he’d had to build himself on the side of a mountain. Hester said everything tasted better that way.
Old Joe, the shepherd, had been recruited to pull out all their chairs in the dining room, and now that they were seated, he stood to the side of the door, beaming at Miss Montgomery.
“It’s a braw, bricht day,” he whispered loudly to her.
“Indeed, it is,” she replied wi
th a smile that made Charlie feel more trapped than ever in his seat between Miss Cassandra on his left and Mrs. Montgomery at the head of the table.
Charlie knew he was likely never to marry. His lifestyle didn’t sit well with his mother or his sisters, and he didn’t look forward to the prospect of disappointing a wife. Not only that, his wealth made it so he distrusted almost all women, with the exception of his mother, sisters, and the wives of his best friends.
But he liked Daisy Montgomery. He especially liked her version of standoffishness, which involved kisses behind beech trees.
Which was why he didn’t mind the repeat of last night’s meal in the least—because he’d caught the trout with a delightful companion in the most delightful fishing expedition he’d ever had.
He felt a little nudge of worry that he was feeling so delightful about everything … he’d become used to being the cynic, the jaded man about town.
Yet at the moment, he was happy. The little man, Joe, made him happy. Hester, the cook and housekeeper, who was eyeing him with a gleam of speculation in her eye, made him happy. Most of all, Miss Montgomery made him happy.
After their success speaking to Mr. Beebs at the Keep, they’d made huge plans all the way back to Castle Vandemere, stopping only once to look at the amazing view of the village perched prettily below them, the pristine loch to its side, the verdant green of the mountainside, splashed with purple, white, and pink, and the overarching blue sky that reminded him of Miss Montgomery’s eyes.
When she spoke to him on that walk, she conversed as if she didn’t care in the least that he was a wealthy viscount from London. And he’d forgotten, too. He’d felt like a man who had a job to do, a job that would require sharp wits, perhaps some hard labor—and no money.
No money at all. It felt quite freeing and exhilarating to confront this challenge without having any money to fund it.
Funny how he hadn’t felt free and exhilarated coming north with no money.
Perhaps because he’d had no one with whom to share the challenge. If he’d had Miss Montgomery with him—which never would have happened, of course, but a man could dream—they could have slept in stables together. Run into fields and stolen apples from trees when no one was looking—together. Been miserable on cold, rainy hikes down miles of muddy roads—together.
No matter what the impoverished scenario, he couldn’t see himself being miserable with her. He could see himself being naked with her … laughing with her … all right, perhaps fighting with her and making up and then becoming naked with her again—but miserable?
No.
Now he watched her as she told the other occupants of Castle Vandemere about their plans to host a hunt party at the Keep, which included an excursion to the village of Glen Dewey that very afternoon to recruit the natives’ help.
Charlie could sense her nerves.
Of course, the widow dropped her fork on her plate and interrupted her stepdaughter mid-sentence. “Outrageous,” she said, staring down the table at Miss Montgomery’s pale face. “This was your idea, wasn’t it?”
“It was both of ours,” Charlie interjected before Miss Montgomery could defend herself. He fixed his gaze on his sour-faced hostess. “I’m grateful for your understanding concerning our engagement. I’m only here thanks to your largesse. Your very large largesse. This moneymaking scheme is my way of repaying you.”
Mrs. Montgomery preened, her bosom sticking out farther than ever.
Charlie dared to exchange a brief glance with Miss Montgomery. Her eyes were dancing, although her expression was serious.
“But we don’t live at the Keep.” Miss Perdita expressed the obvious in a loud voice.
“True, but the Keep has been made available to us,” Charlie said. “And if all goes well, you should have no more financial worries in the interim. However, as time goes on, you’ll need to consider a repeat performance, if Mr. Beebs is willing to perpetuate the idea.”
“Of course he will,” said Miss Cassandra, adjusting a long curl over her shoulder. “I shall see to it that he does. Not that I will live here much longer,” she said meaningfully. “I plan to marry well and leave Mr. Beebs and the Keep behind me. London calls … London is where I belong.”
“You belong in a peer’s bed,” said her mother.
A peer’s bed?
Charlie set down his wine. “Naked ambition can take many forms,” he murmured, only for Miss Montgomery’s ears.
She appeared to choke but recovered after a sip of water.
Perdita sat squinting at nothing, apparently lost in her attempts to crunch through a fish bone.
Charlie took a swig of his own wine. “It would be ideal, of course, if Mr. Beebs could get the permission of the property holder. His backing would lend a greater sense of propriety and importance to the venture. Perhaps he could encourage his wealthy friends to participate.”
Mrs. Montgomery drained her glass of wine. “Very well, Viscount. You may proceed, but whatever money you accrue above the feu duty comes straight back to me. I intend to take my girls on a tour of Italy, unless Cassandra is married off by then. If so, Perdita will accompany me.” She lowered her chin at her stepdaughter. “You don’t need to go. I’ve bestowed an honor upon you that will occupy you while we’re away.”
“You have?” There was a small quiver in Miss Montgomery’s voice.
Charlie braced himself.
“Yes.” Mrs. Montgomery frowned. “I’ve decided you’re to be my companion for life.”
“That’s impossible,” Charlie said. “She’s to marry me.”
Of course she wasn’t to marry him, but he’d had to say something.
“If you ever come up to scratch,” Mrs. Montgomery told him rudely. “She might very well change her mind if you can’t make something of yourself. Or you might discover you don’t want her anymore. There are many more fish in the sea, Viscount, more elegant, beautiful fish who’ll look so good on your arm, the business deals will come fast and furious.”
Miss Cassandra did an excellent impression of a fish by sucking in her cheeks and pursing her lips at him.
“I don’t want another fish,” he said. “And as for my prospects, they’re very good.”
Miss Montgomery sat blinking furiously.
Mona turned to her again. “Companions stay home to answer correspondence and see to the general upkeep of the estate. It’s quite a responsibility.”
“I—I don’t know what to say,” Miss Montgomery stammered.
“Left you speechless, have I?” Mrs. Montgomery cocked an eyebrow, her mouth pursed in a smirk.
“Er, yes,” Miss Montgomery replied, “but Stepmother, I’ll need the profits from the Highland venture to see to the estate’s upkeep. Without it, how can I fix the drawbridge or increase the size of our sheep herd? Or get a new suit of armor? Not to mention repair the crumbling chimneys—”
“Those things can wait,” Mrs. Montgomery said, “for the next Highland venture.”
“I care only about the first one,” Miss Cassandra said, her nose in the air. “Viscount, I’m going with you to the village.”
“Sheer genius.” Mrs. Montgomery looked at Charlie with small, beady eyes. “Cassandra will help recruit the men there to your cause.”
The trout suddenly tasted dry as dust. Charlie twisted his neck in the cravat he’d borrowed.
In a generous act he’d never forget, he watched Joe hasten to the sideboard and pour him a finger of the finest whisky in the land, made by his own hands.
Charlie slugged it down. “Thank you,” he told the servant.
Joe bowed, grinned, and limped his way out of the room.
“You’re welcome,” Cassandra answered Charlie, even though he hadn’t been thanking her.
Mrs. Montgomery smiled at her ebony-haired daughter. “You’ll be queen of the hunt and the sportsmen’s lucky talisman at the games.”
“In that case, I’ll need special sashes.” Cassandra turned to Miss Montgomery. “T
hat’s your job,” she said flatly. “I prefer white satin with gold and scarlet embellishments.”
Miss Montgomery bit her lip. “But I’m much too busy—”
“You’ll do it, and you’ll do it well,” the stepmother informed her stepdaughter in bright tones. But the expression in her gaze was anything but friendly. “Otherwise, I shall ask Hester.”
The servant had gone back to the kitchen to put on the kettle, she’d said, and to pull some more shortbread out of the oven. One thing Charlie had come to love already about Castle Vandemere … there was always shortbread.
And fine whisky.
Miss Montgomery’s brow furrowed. “The sewing will strain Hester’s eyes, and then she’ll feel miserable if she doesn’t do it well.” She looked down at her plate. “Of course I’ll make the sashes.”
Charlie didn’t like seeing her capitulate so readily to her bullying stepmother. But he knew now that Miss Montgomery had her two servants’ welfare uppermost on her mind, so he understood.
“When do we leave, Viscount?” Miss Cassandra asked him.
Charlie was annoyed. He liked having a job. He’d never had one before (investing money didn’t seem to count). So it was imperative that he do this job right, especially because Grandmother would be asking.
He didn’t need the whiny beauty tagging along to Glen Dewey.
“Soon,” he told Miss Cassandra, “but you needn’t bother coming.”
“I insist.” She licked her lips after swallowing her wine and looked at him with wide eyes.
“And I’m going with you.” Mrs. Montgomery pointed her fork at Miss Montgomery. “Those women of Glen Dewey need to hear what’s what.”
Miss Montgomery kept her expression neutral, but Charlie could tell she was most concerned. She’d told him that it would take a great deal of finesse to bring the village women together and gain their cooperation. It was apparent that Mrs. Montgomery didn’t have an ounce of finesse in her body.
If You Give A Girl A Viscount ib-4 Page 9