Once Upon a Highland Summer

by Lecia Cornwall

  Caroline studied her niece’s flushed face, saw the spark in her eyes—determination, delight, and mischief. “Please say yes, Caro!”

  Caroline’s stomach tied itself into a knot. It did offer a new destination, a way to forget Alec. She tried to picture herself by Lottie’s side, on a ship, or in Paris, or Italy, and saw only Glenlorne in her mind’s eye. “If this is what you want,” she said slowly.

  The string holding the present closed unraveled in Lottie’s fingers, and she looked at the parcel in her lap in surprise, as if she’d forgotten it was there. “Here I am rattling on, and this is your day, and you should be opening your gift.” She handed it to Caroline. “It’s a shawl,” she said before Caroline had even gotten it half unwrapped. “The finest cashmere. It was for my wedding trip, but I can’t bear to wear it now, and I shall buy something new and exotic in Paris or Italy. The colors will look better on you, anyway.”

  Caroline held up the lovely shawl. It was moss green, with a deep paisley patterned edging of gold and orange, the colors of the hills of Glenlorne. “Oh, Lottie, it’s lovely, but I really shouldn’t—”

  Lottie snorted and snatched it from Caroline’s hands, wrapping it over her shoulders. “Nonsense! You look lovely. It brings out the golden tone of your skin, and the green in your eyes. She fussed with the shawl, wrapping it over Caroline’s hair, tossing the ends over her shoulders. “Oh, you look like a bonnie Highland lass!” she said. “As if you belong here.”

  She squeezed Caroline’s hands. “I’d better go and see Mama now. She’ll have just finished breakfast, and be looking forward to lunch. She’s always more approachable on a full stomach. Wish me luck?”

  “Luck,” Caroline said. “What about William?”

  Lottie turned in the doorway. “Mama’s the hard part. I daresay William will simply find another bride.”

  Paris. Italy. The spa towns . . . anywhere, Caroline thought, taking off the shawl and putting it into the valise. “Europe.” She whispered the word as she’d once whispered, “Scotland.” It was a destination. Still, she could not rid herself of the feeling that once again, she was running away.

  CHAPTER FORTY-SIX

  Caroline watched Alanna gracefully cross the room with a book on her head, her spine straight, her chin high. Megan followed. Sorcha’s book slid to the floor with a bang. “I shall never, ever be able to enter a ballroom like a lady,” Sorcha moaned, as Caroline picked up the book with a smile. “And I’m not sure I want to.”

  Muira grinned from where she was sewing by the window where the light was best. She had come to tell the girls their mother had decided to pay an extended visit to a cousin for the sake of her health, and had to leave this very day, since Brodie had also decided to quit Glenlorne. The girls had been surprised, but they had the weddings to look forward to. And if they asked questions later, well, Muira was certain she would think of something to tell them.

  “Tis all right, lass, there are plenty of braw men here in the Highlands who won’t find ye wanting, even if ye can’t carry a book on the top of your head,” Muira soothed Sorcha now.

  Megan tugged her youngest sister’s braid. “You have years to practice.”

  “She’ll need every one,” Alanna said unkindly, spinning in place with the book firmly in place on her head. “Sophie said she’d send for a dancing master for us, and a music teacher. We’re to learn to play the piano, so we can list it as one of our accomplishments. Sophie says a successful debutante must have a long list of accomplishments.”

  “I’d rather read books than carry them on my head.” Sorcha sniffed. “And I would rather have useful accomplishments. I can climb a tree, and win a foot race, and bake a pie.”

  Alanna rolled her eyes. “Useful if you’re going to marry a one-legged crofter with an apple tree.”

  “Don’t tease!” Megan said. “I daresay when Sorcha is older, she will turn out to be the family beauty and marry a prince who will adore her.”

  Sorcha stuck out her tongue at her middle sister, and looked barely even pretty.

  “Yer face will stick like that, young miss, and I’ll have to boil up a potion of roots and sheep’s feet to set it smooth again,” Muira said.

  Jock knocked shyly on the door, looking for Caroline. “There y’are Miss. There’s yet another Englishman here to see ye. He’s in the den, er, library. I know Lady Sophie wants it called the library from now on.”

  “It’s the same room it always was,” Muira said sourly. “The room where the laird has always gone to drink and swear with the clansmen, out of hearing of the womenfolk. I don’t know where Alec will go to do that once she’s mistress here.”

  Jock shuffled his feet. “All the same, Lord Somerson is downstairs as well, and bid me to tell ye to hie yerself, Miss, if ye’ll forgive me.”

  Muira folded her sewing into the basket and smiled at Caroline. “Why don’t I take the lasses down to the kitchen and teach them another useful skill for a suitable wife while ye’re busy? Such as how to make a proper mutton stew. To my mind, that’s a far better way to win a man than dancing, reading or balancing books on yer head all day.”

  Caroline recognized the small man with thinning hair from her mother’s funeral. He jumped to his feet as Caroline entered the room, straightening his sober black coat. Somerson rose more slowly, observing the social convention even as his eyes filled with disdain for his half sister. He hadn’t spoken a word to her in days.

  “Good morning, Lady Caroline. Do you remember me? I’m Mr. Rice, from Berwick. I was your father’s man of business in the north, then your mother’s. We met at your mother’s funeral.” He bowed low, and Caroline curtsied. She took in the neat stack of documents on the table and the worn leather case they’d come out of.

  “Of course I remember you. How was your journey?” Caroline asked politely. She hadn’t expected him to come personally.

  “My journey was quite—” he began, but Somerson interrupted.

  “Sit down Caroline, and let’s get this over with.” He turned to Mr. Rice. “I trust you brought a letter as per my instructions for Caroline to sign?”

  Mr. Rice turned to Caroline. “It is my understanding from His Lordship’s letter that you wish to renounce your inheritance, my lady.”

  Caroline glanced at Somerson, who was glaring at the man of affairs fiercely. “I am her guardian. You may address your comments to me. Caroline, sign the paper and leave the room at once.”

  Mr. Rice smiled politely, unafraid of Somerson. “I’m afraid I haven’t brought any such letter, my lord. As Lady Marjorie’s man of affairs, my business is directly with Lady Caroline now. I believe birthday felicitations are in order, my lady?”

  “Thank you, Mr. Rice,” Caroline said.

  Somerson rose to his feet. “You may go, sir. You have nothing to discuss with anyone but myself. I am the head of this family, and Caroline is my dependent. If there is nothing to sign at this moment, then I will have my own man in London draw up the necessary documents. Good day.”

  Mr. Rice did not move. He instead took the top document of the pile of papers. “Not as of today, my lord. I have a copy of Lady Marjorie’s will—your late mother left some very specific instructions. She left you some jewelry.”

  “Yes, a little ruby ring she wore every day. She gave it to me before she died,” Caroline said, rubbing the finger where the ring had once sat.

  “There are several other pieces, an emerald pin, a pearl necklace with a diamond clasp—”

  “If they were gifts from my father, they belong to Countess Charlotte, then my own daughters, not to Caroline.”

  “They belonged originally to Lady Marjorie’s own mother, my lord.” Mr. Rice slid the document across the little table toward Somerson. “Now if you’ll recall from your father’s will, my lord, he did leave a number of instructions regarding Lady Caroline’s inheritance. They are restated here, in your stepmother’s will.”

  Caroline felt her breath catch in her throat. Somerson pinned t
he little man with a glare that would put a bird of prey to shame. “She was hardly my stepmother. She was barely older than I was when she married my father.”

  “Perhaps not, my lord, but the late earl wanted both his wife and his daughter well cared for upon his demise.”

  “Marjorie did not suffer by my hand. After my father died, I gave her a house to live in for her lifetime,” Somerson said.

  Caroline recalled the gloomy, ill-repaired manor she had grown up in, as far from London as possible, with no money allotted for clothes or niceties beyond the very basics. Scarcely a month after her mother’s death, Somerson had sold the place without a word to Caroline, and she had been forced to depend on the kindness of neighbors for nearly a year before Somerson summoned her to London and gave her a choice.

  “Her Ladyship’s will provides a specific legacy for Caroline,” the man of affairs said pointedly.

  Caroline looked at her half brother. His wide face was red and beads of sweat rolled down his forehead. “What does this mean?” she asked Mr. Rice.

  Somerson tossed the paper aside. “It means nothing! I am her guardian. I control her money, which she has now insisted she wishes to renounce so she might be independent. She has willingly offered to sever her ties to her family, and I have agreed.”

  Caroline picked up the will and scanned the neatly written provisions.

  “There is a clause in the will which states that if Lady Caroline is not married by the age of twenty-three, which she is today, then she will assume control of all the moneys that have been placed in trust for her.”

  Caroline read the words, her eyes widening at the amount of money she was about to inherit. “What if I had wed before today?” she asked.

  “Then His Lordship would have negotiated the payment of your dowry to your husband, of course. The rest of the money would have remained in your name.”

  Somerson got up and paced to the window. “How is this even possible? Marjorie Kirk was a penniless baronet’s daughter when she tricked my father into marrying her. This is my father’s money, and therefore mine, and I intend to contest the will. Where would she have gotten this kind of money unless she stole it from his estate?”

  Mr. Rice patiently drew out another document. “It was a wedding present, my lord, a trust set up by the Dowager Countess of Somerson for the new countess.”

  Somerson turned and stormed back to the table. “My mother? My mother was dead!”

  “I meant your grandmother, my lord, Countess Georgiana Somerson.”

  Somerson’s brows crumpled inward in confusion. His face seemed to fold around the hard pinch of his lips. “My grandmother?” he hissed.

  “Indeed. Put in trust. The funds were for any children of the union between your father and Lady Marjorie, since you would inherit the entirety of the Earl of Somerson’s titles, estates, and fortune.”

  “As is proper. It is the law, and everything was entailed to the estate!”

  “This letter was given to me to hold in trust until such time as Lady Caroline either married or celebrated her twenty-third birthday.” He handed Caroline a yellowed envelope, sealed with red wax.

  Somerson snatched it from her hand before she could open it.

  Caroline was tempted to snatch it back, but she turned to Mr. Rice instead. “Then I have money, quite separate from my dowry, which is also mine as of today, and Somerson is no longer my guardian?”

  Mr. Rice nodded. “There is a small property as well.”

  “She’ll own land? Somerson land?” Somerson spluttered.

  “The estate in question is a small house left to Countess Georgiana by an uncle, Lord Howden. It’s here in Scotland, and not part of any of the Somerson holdings.”

  “Lullach Grange,” Caroline whispered.

  “Why yes, do you know it?” Mr. Rice asked.

  “Yes, I know it,” she said.

  “Are you truly saying that my half sister—my ward—is now independently wealthy, and may live as she chooses?” Somerson demanded. “I never have to see her again, or pay her a penny?”

  Mr. Rice shook his head. “Even if she renounces her ties to you, my lord, the money is rightfully Lady Caroline’s. Lady Georgiana insisted on investing the money, of course, and the funds now total nearly fifty thousand pounds. Of course her dowry must also be turned over to Lady Caroline. It would not of course be a dowry, but her legacy, at this point.” He looked at the records in front of him. “Twenty-five thousand pounds.”

  Caroline stared at Somerson.“You told me my dowry was eight thousand pounds!”

  He raised his chin. “It seemed enough. Both Mandeville and Speed were willing to take that amount.”

  She shut her eyes. “They were the lowest bidders, weren’t they?”

  Her half brother sneered. “Indeed they were. Who else would want you at your age? You will draft the letter for Caroline to sign, refusing the terms of the legacy,” he commanded, but Mr. Rice merely smiled.

  “I’m afraid that’s up to Lady Caroline now.” He got out a fresh sheet of paper and dipped his pen in ink and waited. “How may I be of service to you, my lady?”

  “You inherited Lullach Grange?” Angus asked Georgiana. “It’s on Glenlorne land!”

  “I’ll have you know my uncle purchased the house and the garden from your father fairly, Angus MacNabb. He had no wish to cheat anyone.”

  “You didna say you owned it. What if I’d torn it down, or Caroline had never come here?”

  “I had no way to know, though I hoped she would.”

  “You woke me from my grave for nothing, to relive all the heartache over again?”

  “I was alive when I made my will, Angus. I had no hope I would ever see you again, on either side of the grave. I only knew that summer we had here was the happiest time of my life. Was I wrong to want, to hope, that my granddaughter might know the joy that I did, perhaps live her whole life here, in love? I had no choices, Angus. None. I wanted to make sure Caroline had a choice.”

  “She has enough money to wed Alec now,” Angus enthused. “Everything has worked out the way you planned it.”

  “Alec is still betrothed to Sophie,” Georgiana reminded him sadly. “If they had no honor, no love for this place and the people who are important to them, then yes, they could wed. It wasn’t about Caroline’s money. Now, it isn’t even about love. They have that aplenty. We simply didn’t count on honor, Angus, and duty.”

  “Duty be damned! Does love never triumph? What will Caroline do now?”

  “I suppose that remains to be seen. She has choices to make. We cannot choose for her, or we are without honor as well.”

  “Then we’ve failed?” Angus said. “All this was for naught?”

  “The curse will continue,” Georgiana agreed softly. “Unless they find a way to break it themselves, and I fear it may be too late for that, Angus.”

  CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN

  “Shall we raise a glass to the lovely brides?” Mr. Parfitt said as everyone gathered before dinner the night before the double ceremony was to take place.

  “I wish to say something first,” Lottie said. Alec held his breath, waiting for a tearfully romantic speech from a dewy-eyed bride, though Lottie looked remarkably clear-eyed this evening, especially when she began struggling to remove the betrothal ring from her gloved hand.

  “William, I have changed my mind.”

  Sophie gasped in horror. Caroline stood silently, watching her niece. William Mears turned red from his chin to the tips of his ears.

  Countess Charlotte frowned. “Don’t tell me you wish to wed in London or at Somerson Park after all, Lottie!”

  “Actually, Mama, I don’t wish to marry at all. Well, at least I don’t wish to marry William.”

  Charlotte’s scream, mixed with Somerson’s deeper bellow of rage, brought Muira, Jock, and Leith running from the kitchen, where they had apparently grabbed anything useful as a weapon on their way. Muira brandished a lethal toasting fork, Jock had a rollin
g pin, and wild-eyed Leith bore a pie, ready to throw it. He arrived just in time to soften the fall as Countess Charlotte fainted, and fell on him. The pie hit the floor and shatter, which made Muira screech.

  “Here,” Lottie said. She handed her ring to William, who stood looking politely stunned, staring at it. Then she reached into her pocket and took out the smelling salts obviously ready for the countess’s reaction. “I thought we’d be needing these.” Lottie bent over Charlotte’s supine figure and waved the vial under the countess’s nose, then waved them under Leith’s, who was still trapped beneath her. William stood dumbly staring at the ring in the palm of his hand.

  The first person Charlotte saw when she woke was Caroline, and she screamed again, and began to cry loud, noisy tears.

  “I’m drowning,” Leith said from beneath her vast frame. Mr. Parfitt muttered prayers as he tugged on the countess’s arm, trying to raise her.

  “This is all your fault! You encouraged her to do this!” Charlotte warbled, shooting hatred and blame at Caroline.

  “No, Mama, it had nothing at all to do with Caroline. I just decided that marrying William was not what I wanted to do.”

  “What do you want to do? Are you aware of the scandal this will cause? Mears is a perfectly decent man,” Somerson said. “Is there someone else?”

  Lottie sucked her cheek. “Well, there’s George, as in my brother George. You see, I want an adventure. I intend to go with George when he leaves on his Grand Tour.”

  Charlotte shrieked again, and Leith groaned, his legs thrashing beneath the countess as he struggled for escape. Alec took pity on him and helped Mr. Parfitt and Jock to lift the stricken countess and help her to a chair. “I won’t allow it!” the countess protested. “Nor will your father.”

  Lottie hardly looked deterred. “Caroline is coming with me, and my maid, and George and his tutor and valet. It will be perfectly proper. Besides, if there’s to be a scandal over my broken betrothal, wouldn’t it be better if I went away for a while? I have no intention of retiring to lurk in the shadows at Somerson Park.”