Elias In Love

by Grace Burrowes

  But this aching, relentless desire simply to be with Violet was new and raw. He’d been as happy to spend yesterday afternoon poring over website analytics with her as he’d been to share a night in her bed.

  By contrast, he’d dreaded dumping messages and emails at the end of the day, even though some of those communications were from family.

  “I came here to gather information,” Elias said. “And you can, of course, bid me to leave at any moment. I have a meeting set up with the largest commercial bank in Damson Valley tomorrow, and I will present myself more knowledgeably if I have the benefit of your thinking. I’m to join Dunstan and Jane for dinner this evening, but I’d rather talk to you first.”

  “You met with Maitland,” Violet said, shutting off the water. “I should tell you to go to hell by way of the muck pit and the poison ivy patch.” She shaded her eyes with one hand, and scanned the sky. “I do believe summer will soon be here. That is a stinkin’ big bank of thunderclouds.”

  Ah, but she had not told him to go to hell—yet. “This isn’t summer?”

  “This is merely warm. We get stretches of weather over a hundred degrees, and so humid it doesn’t cool down at night to speak of. You ever hear the term blizzard babies? They compensate for the fact that few children are conceived around here during the month of July.”

  “How long have you been out in the sun, Violet?”

  “Years. Don’t look so worried, Elias. I’m not big enough to throw you off the property, and you didn’t sign a deal with Maitland. You’re safe for now.”

  No, he was not, but if a Scot claimed one skill from the moment of his birth, it was the ability to coax a bonfire of hope from a smoky wisp of inspiration.

  Violet slapped her hat onto Elias’s head, and they returned to the house.

  “I’m changing out of my grubbies,” she said. “Help yourself to anything.”

  Violet disappeared up the steps, and Elias forced himself to check his email—Jeannie again, and confirmation that the bottle of single malt he’d sent Angus had been delivered. Niall had left another message, which Elias would return later, and cousin Magnus—newly married to a whisky distiller from Montana—had flagged the most recent email as urgent.

  “That is not a happy expression,” Violet said, coming down the steps. “But then, I don’t know if I’ve seen you happy.” She wore a lavender sundress, and had undone her hair and piled it on her head with a big wooden clip, creating a dewy, summery—kissable—picture.

  “You’ve seen me quite happy. I am not happy now. I have two plans to discuss with you, and there might be others. We’ll start with two.” And who knew where the discussions might lead.

  As if offering a celestial retort to Elias’s hopes, thunder rumbled in the distance.

  “The sun room is my favorite place to listen to the rain.” Violet breezed past Elias, giving him a whiff of lavender and a peek at the nape of her neck.

  When they reached the sunroom, both dogs were splayed on the floor, though the cat was nowhere to be seen. Violet sat on the sofa, where she and Elias had spent such an agreeable afternoon, and Elias took the place beside her.

  “The problem to be solved is that I need money,” he said, “a lot of it and fast. The agricultural preservation easement is worth considering, but I don’t know enough about it.”

  “And you don’t want to put all your eggs in one basket,” Violet said. “Hence, you have more than one plan. Let’s start with selling your development rights to the state in perpetuity.”

  Her analysis of Elias’s situation was thorough, balanced, and as disinterested as a woman could be when discussing what was probably her fondest wish.

  “Why isn’t your farm in this program?” Elias asked, when Violet had answered myriad questions. She got up to close a window, and the dogs lifted their heads to watch her. Outside, the sky was growing overcast, and a breeze stirred the leaves of the trees along the hedgerows.

  “My development rights have not been sold to the state for two reasons,” Violet said, as thunder sounded again. “First, it’s not a simple application process, as you’ve learned. You have to have the right kind of soils, a forestry plan if you have more than 24 acres of woods—and I do—and there are other costly hoops to jump through. In my case, the bank would probably get the entire sum, so I’d be giving up my heirs’ rights for the pleasure of enriching the bank. Kinda like when you sell the back forty acres. The whole amount goes to reduce your principle owed.”

  “A consummation devoutly to be avoided,” Elias said. “What’s the second reason?” And thank you, sincerely for resuming your place beside me.

  “The funds available to the conservancy program are limited. I want that money to go to the farmer who has to choose between development and land preservation. I will never, ever, not if I live to be ninety-five and have only one laying hen to my name, allow this farm to be developed. I’m not the farmer who needs the program.”

  “You need the money, though.” And she needed exactly what she was providing Elias—somebody to thrash through her problems with her, a fair hearing, a fresh take on the endless challenges she faced.

  A trusted partner, as Jane and Dunstan were partners.

  “I need money,” Violet said, tucking a foot up under her, “but I need to be able to look myself in the eye more. What’s your second plan?”

  Elias had come here hoping for forgiveness, possibly, and—in his wildest, most honest dreams—a renewed exchange of affections. The erotic affections were apparently to remain an unfulfilled wish, but overshadowing that frustration was an odd pleasure.

  Violet listened to him. She didn’t lecture him, as Zebedee and Angus had, and she didn’t expect Elias to wave a financial wand and make her wishes come true, as everybody from clients to cousins so often did. Instead, Violet took Elias’s concerns to heart, despite his differences with her, and her willingness to share his burdens even theoretically was a precious comfort.

  “My second plan,” he said, “is not complicated, though I’m not keen on it. I’ll simply take out a mortgage on the farm, and use the money to finance my renovations. I’ll bank a significant enough sum so the interest covers the mortgage payments, and use the rest as I see fit.”

  Violet took his hand in a loose grip, as casually as she might have petted her cat, while Elias forgot all about mortgages, lump sums, and interest rates.

  “The preservation program is cumbersome,” she said, “and time-consuming, and it would tie up your land forever when you’re not even a farmer. A loan would be relatively quick, and leave you the option of developing the land later. In your shoes, I’d apply for the loan.”

  He kissed her knuckles, for her honesty, for her courage. “I don’t want to be a farmer, and I don’t want to carry a mortgage on a property I’m not sure how to manage. Neither option is a true solution, but I appreciate your hearing me out.”

  Violet was silent for a moment, while lightning flashed, and Sarge whined.

  “Can you sell that castle, Elias?”

  “No, I cannot.” Which made his decision simpler, and his emotions more complicated. “Scotland has so many historic properties that the public has all the castles they’ll ever need, and private buyers have their choice of many properties already renovated. Then too, if I put the castle on the market in its present condition, all of my other assets would lose value.”

  Violet drew a fingertip along his knuckles, a beguiling caress though she clearly had her mind on business. “Can you put off the renovations?”

  Jeannie’s emails made it increasing obvious Elias could not. “Delay would be unwise. I suppose it’s like looking after the land. If you don’t do the weeding, fertilizing, and cultivating at the first opportunity, the job becomes more and more difficult, until you’re better off starting over on fresh turf instead of trying to reclaim what’s been so badly neglected.”

  The breeze had become a steady wind, whipping the foliage like so much wheat. The dogs had moved to si
t at Violet’s feet, while Elias felt a sense of nerves soothed.

  Violet had taken his hand, she was tucked close to his side, and that was more than he’d expected.

  “This farm was not in good shape when I took over,” Violet said. “I’m guessing your predecessors kept kicking the renovation ball down the field, hoping for a pot of gold.”

  “Your people have been in this valley for five generations, Violet. This is your home, and you’ll fight to the last chicken for it. My people have been in that castle for fifty generations. You mentioned being able to look yourself in the eye, and it’s my castle to save. I can’t turn my back on it, or on the family who expect me to put it to rights. Should the kind powers grant me children someday, I don’t want to leave them a legacy of debt and disrepair.”

  The rain started, a hard spatter against the windows that settled into a steady downpour.

  “In other words,” Violet said, “you might yet have to go to bed with the devil. I comprehend that, Elias, and I loathe the very thought.”

  This discussion had settled something for her. Elias could feel the calm in her, and while he wouldn’t call her mood accepting, exactly, he was encouraged. They’d rationally discussed options, and while neither choice was a panacea, both were worth considering.

  “I love a good storm,” Violet said. “It’s not the best way to water the crops, because so much runs off instead of soaking into the ground, but it lets me sit still for a while without feeling guilty.”

  She shifted against him, scooting down to pillow her cheek against his thigh.

  Desire leapt, as did tenderness. Elias snagged a quilted throw from the back of the couch and draped it over Violet’s legs. When she didn’t object to that presumption, he unclipped her hair, and slowly massaged the back of her neck, until her breathing became slow and regular, and she was a sweet, warm weight, sprawled beside him.

  Chapter Ten

  * * *

  “How was lunch, and do you know anything about agricultural preservation?” Jane asked.

  By agreement, Dunstan and his wife tried to keep their demeanor professional during office hours. At home, Jane would likely have greeted him with a hug and a kiss. Now, she remained at her desk, amber glasses perched on her nose, hair in a sleek chignon.

  The very picture of a woman whom Dunstan would dearly love to muss and cuddle.

  “Lunch was interesting,” Dunstan said, hanging his suit coat on the back of his chair. “Did you know Aaron Glover is writing a book?”

  “Half the bar association is probably writing boring old legal thrillers, poor fools, while you and I are living a romance. I take it the Holmes hearing went OK?”

  How had he practiced law for years without a partner? Jane had been wiser than he, teaming up with a lady who now numbered among Dunstan’s cousins by marriage, while Dunstan had slogged along as a solo practitioner. From one year to the next, he’d barely made ends meet—frequent travel back to Scotland cost a pretty penny—and always, he’d promised himself he’d socialize more “soon.”

  “The hearing was postponed,” he said, loosening his tie. “Aaron’s star witness, a forensic accountant, came down with some stomach flu last night, and was getting IV fluids at Hopkins when last Aaron spoke to him. The court was overbooked, and we were bumped. Tell me about the meeting with Maitland.”

  “Bumped can be good, when the clients ought to be talking settlement,” Jane said. “Maitland played it cool, but he wants that farm. Elias does not want to sell it to him for reasons that might have to do with Violet Hughes, of the readily available shower.”

  Dunstan propped his feet on the corner of his desk, something he never did before clients.

  “I worried that I should have been at the meeting today, because Elias is my cousin. Then I resented the worry, because a man with an extra 800-acre farm on his hands doesn’t need my fretting, and then I felt ashamed of the resentment. If he can blunder into poison ivy, he’s worth some fretting over.” Dunstan’s feelings were more complicated than that, and he’d ponder them at greater length after office hours. “Did you get anything to eat?”

  “Stopped at the Stale and Awful,” Jane said, assuming the same feet-up posture Dunstan had. She wore a pair of purple high heels of which Dunstan was exceedingly fond.

  The Steak and Ale was a reliably good meal, contrary to its moniker. Lawyers took humor where they could find it.

  “Elias wants you to go with him to meet with the bank tomorrow,” Jane said. “I think you should accompany him, if you can.”

  “I can. Tell me about the meeting with Maitland.”

  Jane stuck her pen in her chignon, leaned back, and closed her eyes. “Maitland, of course, wants to thoroughly vet the land before he lays down a penny. I suspect he wants to keep it from other developers at least as much as he wants to build there himself. He was honest, I guess is the word. Elias was… Elias has a lot of cool, Dunstan. I don’t know what I was expecting, but with very few words and excellent manners, none of them flamboyant, that meeting went exactly as Elias wanted it to go. He reminds me of you.”

  “Thank you, I think. Where did you leave it with Maitland?”

  “Ball is in his court. Elias will entertain an offer for a lump sum, and Maitland can have the land as is, where is. The transaction will be fast and simple or there won’t be a transaction. Damson Valley goes straight to hell, and Elias walks with a crap-ton of cash.”

  “A well-planned development isn’t hell, Jane.” Dunstan argued not because lawyers argued compulsively, but because Elias was not responsible for the fate of an entire valley—not exactly.

  Jane peered at him over her glasses. “I grew up in the burbs, Dunstan. Unless the neighbors had kids in the same classes I was in, I had no idea who my neighbors were. The parents didn’t know which kids went with which houses, much less what their names were. Those houses were very nice, plenty of parking, not much crime, but there wasn’t much community either. Then too, once you kill a farm, that land is dead forever for any other purpose. A tot lot feeds no one but the Weed and Seed crews, and who knows what poison they’re adding to our grandchildren’s groundwater.”

  Jane was effortlessly fierce. Even in repose, her mind seized on logic and data the way a raptor on the wing spotted prey.

  “I had no idea I’d married an environmental crusader.”

  “I like to eat,” Jane said. “And I’m not a crusader. If I wanted congestion, higher taxes, lines at the drive through, noise, and lower air quality, I would have stayed closer to either D.C. or Baltimore. I wanted peace and quiet and a small town practice with a handsome, brilliant, hard-working Scotsman.”

  “You forgot passionate,” Dunstan said. “And lucky, and married to the love of his life.”

  “And so modest,” Jane said, grinning. “You still good to leave around four?”

  “God forbid I should miss your company cooking, wee Jane. Where do you suppose Elias has got off to this afternoon?”

  Jane leaned forward to unhook the straps of her stilettos, then put her feet down. “I sent him on a little errand.”

  And Elias, like the prudent Scots he’d descended from, had apparently marched out smartly, Jane’s orders in his hand.

  “The truth, if you please, wee Jane. The whole truth, and nothing but the truth.”

  “When we met with Maitland, Elias brought up the idea of selling his development rights to the state, so the farm always remains a farm. It wouldn’t be anywhere near as much money as Maitland would offer him, and I gather the state runs the program competitively. You figure out what a developer would pay, offer the state a discount, and the greater the discount, the more likely you are to be accepted into the program. Maitland about gave birth to striped kittens.”

  “Elias is the last person to sink his wealth into something as bothersome as a farm,” Dunstan said, though in an honest corner of his mind, he wished at least one other member of the family might develop ties with the Damson Valley.

 
; Cousins should grow up knowing each other, after all.

  Jane’s cell phone buzzed to the opening theme from the old “Perry Mason” show. She peered at the screen. “Elias wants to bring company to dinner and he won’t forget to pick up the eggs.”

  Eggs? Ah, well. Jane hadn’t sent Elias to the supermarket for those eggs.

  Jane tapped at her phone screen, then put it away.

  “Elias is bringing company to dinner?” Dunstan asked.

  “Violet Hughes. I sent Elias to buy eggs, but I also told him to grill Violet about that easement thingie. Real estate law makes my eyes to cross and my teeth to ache. What has put that frown on your handsome face, Mr. Cromarty?”

  “Elias isn’t about to give up the right to develop that land, Jane. He’s a shrewd negotiator, and I’m sure he was merely posturing to intimidate Maitland.”

  Jane opened her desk drawer, peered inside, then closed it.

  “The pen is in your bun.”

  She extracted the pen from her hair, twisted it to retract the point, and tossed it in the drawer. “Why do you think Elias was posturing? Agriculture is the largest industry in Maryland. He could probably make money at it.”

  “Some money, but a farm requires management, and he’s not a farmer. He was rattling his swords, and he’ll get a better price from Maitland because the display was convincing.”

  Jane crossed her arms, and had Dunstan been on the witness stand, he would have known to fashion his half of the dialogue very carefully.

  “Dunstan Cromarty, why are you so unwilling to consider Elias might like it here? He’s on jump-in-the-shower terms with Violet Hughes, and his castle will be turned upside down for the next five years, at least. I like having him around, and I suspect you do too.”

  “I do,” Dunstan said. “I like hearing the sound of home, I like… I love you, Jane, but to have no family, none at all, within a thousand miles—Magnus is clear out in Montana, for God’s sake. I never saw myself settling down so far from family, and yet, I can promise you, Elias won’t be settling down on that farm.”