said before they’d gone more than two steps, “I believe I will go and check on my
aunt.”
“I’ll go with you, Lucy,” Lord Kildrum said. He turned to Broxburn. “We will bid you good night now, Broxburn. Thank you again for
your hospitality.”
Ian could not resist a parting glance as Lucy walked away, but Duncan’s harsh orders to a footman spurred him on to the sitting room.
“Here’s the key to my tower room, Malcolm,” he said quietly, placing the key in his friend’s hand. “I’ll deal with
Duncan and meet you over there shortly.”
He’d locked the tower room earlier in the day when he realized his father was likely to go looking for Scotch up there. And once his father was sober
he intended to talk him into changing his will back to what it was. Duncan was a wastrel. Duncan would have those properties sucked dry before the duke was
cold in his grave.
Entering the sitting room, he faced Malcolm, whose gaze searched for the rest of their company. “They are not coming.”
“Oh? It’s to be a party of two, then?”
“Not a party at all, Duncan.” Ian waited for the footman to set down the coffee tray and leave.
“I’ll take some brandy in mine,” Duncan said, and the footman looked to Ian for direction.
Ian shook his head. “There are no spirits to be had at Craigmuir Castle.”
“What? You cannot be serious.”
“As serious as death,” Ian retorted. “My father cannot withstand another bout of drinking. And as he is unable to regulate his own
behavior, the servants and I see to it.”
“
Regulate
? What are you on about?”
“The physician warned me that the duke will die if he imbibes again. Spirits are destroying his liver.”
“You mean Scotch? Alcohol?”
Ian nodded. “So we’ve disposed of it all.”
Duncan stood with his hands on his hips, looking out the glass door to the garden while Ian sat down.
“Sit down, Duncan.”
As he took a seat, his mouth curved into a roguish smile. “Miss Stillwater is a fetching lass.”
“Do not even think about it, Duncan. She is of a respectable family, and not some loose woman—”
“You wound me, Cousin,” Duncan said, lighting a cheroot. “My intentions are wholly honorable. Lord Kildrum is quite flush in the pockets,
is he not?”
“You are considering courting her?” Ian said with a laugh.
“Why shouldn’t I? I’ll need a wife with a dowry. Surely Kildrum would not mind his niece marrying the nephew of a duke.”
“You are too young to wed,” Ian retorted, disturbed by the thought of Lucy Stillwater paired with Duncan in any way.
“I am five and twenty. Not so very much younger than you.”
And yet he behaved as though he were a raw adolescent just out of school. Perhaps he could change that. “Your income is a direct result of our
production at Craigmuir Way. I am going to build another kiln, and I need you to supervise production at the existing one.”
“What about Ferguson?” Duncan protested. “Or MacAdams?”
“MacAdams is getting old,” Ian replied. “Have you seen him lately? He is nearly crippled with arthritis. I will not send him down to
Craigmuir Way to perform the duties you are perfectly capable of.”
“Well a steward needs to—”
“Needs to what, Duncan? Earn his keep?”
Duncan blew out a cloud of blue smoke.
“MacAdams has been managing your income and the Brodie estate ever since your father died, and he has served my father long and well. But I am going
to retire him,” Ian said. “Ferguson has been learning…he knows everything about the estates and will become my steward. He will see that
you receive your quarterly allowance.”
“So—”
“In the meantime, you are going to assume responsibility for production of the bricks and tiles that were ordered during my trip to Selkirk.”
“You must be—”
“Joking? Mad? I assure you I am neither,” Ian said. “If you would like to continue receiving an allowance from Craigmuir, I suggest
aunt.”
“I’ll go with you, Lucy,” Lord Kildrum said. He turned to Broxburn. “We will bid you good night now, Broxburn. Thank you again for
your hospitality.”
Ian could not resist a parting glance as Lucy walked away, but Duncan’s harsh orders to a footman spurred him on to the sitting room.
“Here’s the key to my tower room, Malcolm,” he said quietly, placing the key in his friend’s hand. “I’ll deal with
Duncan and meet you over there shortly.”
He’d locked the tower room earlier in the day when he realized his father was likely to go looking for Scotch up there. And once his father was sober
he intended to talk him into changing his will back to what it was. Duncan was a wastrel. Duncan would have those properties sucked dry before the duke was
cold in his grave.
Entering the sitting room, he faced Malcolm, whose gaze searched for the rest of their company. “They are not coming.”
“Oh? It’s to be a party of two, then?”
“Not a party at all, Duncan.” Ian waited for the footman to set down the coffee tray and leave.
“I’ll take some brandy in mine,” Duncan said, and the footman looked to Ian for direction.
Ian shook his head. “There are no spirits to be had at Craigmuir Castle.”
“What? You cannot be serious.”
“As serious as death,” Ian retorted. “My father cannot withstand another bout of drinking. And as he is unable to regulate his own
behavior, the servants and I see to it.”
“
Regulate
? What are you on about?”
“The physician warned me that the duke will die if he imbibes again. Spirits are destroying his liver.”
“You mean Scotch? Alcohol?”
Ian nodded. “So we’ve disposed of it all.”
Duncan stood with his hands on his hips, looking out the glass door to the garden while Ian sat down.
“Sit down, Duncan.”
As he took a seat, his mouth curved into a roguish smile. “Miss Stillwater is a fetching lass.”
“Do not even think about it, Duncan. She is of a respectable family, and not some loose woman—”
“You wound me, Cousin,” Duncan said, lighting a cheroot. “My intentions are wholly honorable. Lord Kildrum is quite flush in the pockets,
is he not?”
“You are considering courting her?” Ian said with a laugh.
“Why shouldn’t I? I’ll need a wife with a dowry. Surely Kildrum would not mind his niece marrying the nephew of a duke.”
“You are too young to wed,” Ian retorted, disturbed by the thought of Lucy Stillwater paired with Duncan in any way.
“I am five and twenty. Not so very much younger than you.”
And yet he behaved as though he were a raw adolescent just out of school. Perhaps he could change that. “Your income is a direct result of our
production at Craigmuir Way. I am going to build another kiln, and I need you to supervise production at the existing one.”
“What about Ferguson?” Duncan protested. “Or MacAdams?”
“MacAdams is getting old,” Ian replied. “Have you seen him lately? He is nearly crippled with arthritis. I will not send him down to
Craigmuir Way to perform the duties you are perfectly capable of.”
“Well a steward needs to—”
“Needs to what, Duncan? Earn his keep?”
Duncan blew out a cloud of blue smoke.
“MacAdams has been managing your income and the Brodie estate ever since your father died, and he has served my father long and well. But I am going
to retire him,” Ian said. “Ferguson has been learning…he knows everything about the estates and will become my steward. He will see that
you receive your quarterly allowance.”
“So—”
“In the meantime, you are going to assume responsibility for production of the bricks and tiles that were ordered during my trip to Selkirk.”
“You must be—”
“Joking? Mad? I assure you I am neither,” Ian said. “If you would like to continue receiving an allowance from Craigmuir, I suggest
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