He rose with her cradled against his chest and carried her, not to the bedroom where she’d been a guest and become his lover, but to the estate chambers where the earl and his countess would dwell for their remaining days at Balfour.
They passed Gil and Genie on the stair, both of whom beamed at them like idiots. Outside the billiards room, they encountered Con and Julia, who whooped with unladylike glee and managed to land a glancing swat on Ian’s backside. In the family wing, they met up with Matthew, Mary Fran, and Fiona, all dressed for riding. Matthew grinned, Mary Fran got teary, and Fiona dragged her parents off toward the stables, muttering something in Gaelic about new friends and lovesick uncles.
When Ian laid Augusta down on his enormous bed, they made love—there was no other description for the tenderness and joy with which they coupled. They made love endlessly as the afternoon shadows stretched across the room and the quiet of the house settled around them, and then they made love some more.
“Ian?” Augusta drew her hand over his chest hours later. A marvelous thing, that chest, so strong and yet susceptible of being tickled.
“My heart?”
“We won’t be poor.”
He smoothed his hands over her hair—it had come tumbling down long ago—and cuddled her a little closer. “It won’t be so bad, if we’re careful and lucky. By Scottish standards, we’ll be comfortable.”
“No.” She levered up to peer at him, realizing only then that Ian had no idea she’d inherited not only Trevisham but the substantial income from the Gribbony barony as well. “We’ll be fine.”
“Scots live on love and stubbornness.” He kissed her cheek. “We’ve plenty of both.”
She subsided against him. “We can live on love and stubbornness, or we can live on love, stubbornness, and all the income from my properties. I’ve more than one, you know.”
His hand went still in her hair. “I know you’ve the Gribbony estate, but it’s a Lowland holding, probably nothing much left of it but some farms and a few bleating sheep.”
“It’s four thousand acres plus a dozen tenancies, Ian.” She walked her fingers up his sternum. “A wool mill, a flour mill, and a distillery.”
He trapped her hand in his. “A distillery? You wouldna tease about such a thing?”
“I thought you knew.”
“I knew about the title, but this…”
She peered up at him. “Is it all right? I think you had your heart set on being poor and working your fingers to the bone and riding Hannibal until his muzzle was completely gray.”
“Had my heart set on…” He growled and rolled so she was under him. “Here’s your first lesson in being a Scottish countess: I will take such good care of your properties, Augusta MacGregor, that you will see how wonderfully well the Scots can adapt to wealth. I will dazzle you with my ability in this regard, as will my family.”
“Augusta MacGregor?” Oh, she liked the sound of that, loved it, particularly when Ian said her name in that soft, deep burr.
“We pledged to marry then consummated the pledge. By Scottish law, we’re married, woman. I am your husband from this moment forward, and all your troubles belong exclusively to me.”
He sounded fiercely pleased to be telling her this. Augusta was pleased to hear it too. “Then you won’t mind that I’ll be asking you to look in on Trevisham, will you? Matthew says it’s thriving, and…”
He kissed her, and then—and for decades to come—he dazzled her with his abilities in regards that had not one damned thing to do with monetary wealth and everything to do with what really mattered to them both.
Author’s Note
Readers will pardon me for taking a small liberty with the facts by laying railroad tracks as far west as Ballater in the 1850s. In truth, the line didn’t get to Ballater until the next decade, and in the present day, Royal Deeside is served by buses rather than trains. If you go to Ballater, you’ll see the train station has been converted in part to a museum dedicated to preservation of the area’s Victorian history. One of Her Majesty’s train cars is on display, and visitors can even take a peek at the royal parlor and the royal potty, a beautiful creation of mahogany, marble, and stained glass.
The present rendition of Balmoral Castle was undergoing construction as Ian and Augusta’s story unfolds. The centuries-old hunting box originally gracing the property would be demolished upon completion of the present structure, which Albert had designed for his wife and their growing family. In part because of Victoria’s affection for Balmoral and all things Highland, Victorian society became enthralled with tartan decor and “walking” in the Highlands.
And in a second small deviation from fact, I’ve moved the royal visit to Balmoral up by a few weeks. Victoria and Albert typically did not repair to Balmoral until midsummer or even early autumn, though early in her long widowhood, Victoria spent so much time at Balmoral as to cause her ministers and officials concern.
I am confident, as much in love as they were, neither Her Majesty nor His Highness would be offended at these small deviations, made—as they were—in the interests of telling a love story that ends with a resounding happily ever after.
Grace Burrowes
Acknowledgments
An author doesn’t try her wings in a new direction without a lot of trepidation, and after working on a long Regency series, even early Victorian Scotland was new ground for me. I am indebted to my editor, Deb Werksman, for her support in this venture, and of course to all my book people, who’ve once again turned a rough manuscript into a beautiful romance novel. Skye, Susie, Cat, Danielle, Madam Copy Editor, many, many thanks. Dominique, you are among my blessings. Steve, thanks for the guidance and support that has seen this book to its happily ever after.
I am also indebted to a taxi driver in Aberdeen by the name of Abbey. He drove me up to Balmoral and back to Aberdeen, with a running narrative of each little hamlet and landmark along the way. I could have listened to him all day for his accent alone, and that was before he lapsed into the Doric.
I’d also like to thank the staff on grounds at Balmoral Castle. Never was a tired, disheveled, none-too-travel-savvy author made to feel more welcome, or given more congenial surrounds in which to write. I left with many happy memories and a burning passion for more trips to Scotland.
New York Times and USA Today
bestselling author
Lady Louisa’s
Christmas Knight
by Grace Burrowes
’Tis the season for scandal…
Years ago Lady Louisa Windham acted rashly on a dare from her brother, and that indiscretion is about to come to light. She knows her reputation will never survive exposure. Just as she’s nearly overwhelmed by her dilemma, Sir Joseph Carrington offers himself to her as a solution…
But Sir Joseph has secrets as well, and as he and Louisa become entangled with each other, their deceptions begin to close in on them both…
Praise for RITA-nominated
Lady Sophie’s Christmas Wish:
“An extraordinary, precious, unforgettable holiday story.”
—RT Book Reviews Top Pick of the Month, 4.5 Stars
“Burrowes continues to write outside the usual Regency box with strong characters and humor similar to Amanda Quick’s.”—Booklist
For more Grace Burrowes, visit:
www.sourcebooks.com
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About the Author
New York Times and USA Today bestselling author Grace Burrowes hit the bestseller lists with both her debut, The Heir, and her second book in The Duke’s Obsession trilogy, The Soldier. Both books received extensive praise and starred reviews from Publishers Weekly and Booklist. The Heir was also named a Publishers Weekly Best Book of 2010, and The Soldier was named a Publishers Weekly Best Spring Romance of 2011, and the Windham sisters’ stories—Lady Sophie’s Christmas Wish, Lady Maggie’s Secret Scandal and Lady Louisa’s Christmas Knight—are garnering their own praise, with Lady Sophie’s Christmas Wish named the RT Reviewers’ Choice Historical Romance of the Year and nominated for the RITA in Regency Historical Romance.
Grace is a practicing attorney specializing in family law and lives in rural Maryland. She loves to hear from her readers and can be reached through her website at www.graceburrowes.com.
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