Page 12 of Her Magnificent Mistake
Hawk was now Baron Tostinham, lord and owner of a property which had been special to him for most of his life but he had never expected to possess. The mountains of Cowal werewhyhe’d become a naturalist and forester up in the Highlands. Och, aye, the income came from logging and harvesting on his properties, but what made Hawk’s approach different was the focus on sustainability and tourism. Newfangled things they may be, but profitable they were too.
And now he had the opportunity to shepherd Tostinham into the new century using those same techniques. Exciting…and a little terrifying.
His lips twitched slightly at the thought, and he turned to face his niece, his shoulders slowly loosening and his arms untangling. “Ye ken, lassie, ye’re really quite bright? Insightful.”
Allie beamed prettily. Pleased to have been complimented? Or pleased to be recognized? “Yes, I am brilliant, so good of you to notice,” she quipped. “Now… Will you tell me about it? The estate, I mean.”
“Aye,” he agreed gruffly, shifting so he could see her better—and the view out the window over her shoulder. “What do ye want to ken?”
“Your favorite part,” Allie announced immediately, as if she’d been considering it. “What is your favorite part of Tostinham?”
Well, that was easy. A slow smile tugged at his lips as he crossed one ankle over the other.
“Pook’s Glen. It’s a burn—a large stream—which tumbles down from one of the smaller peaks. My grandfather tamed it; he employed dozens of men for almost a decade to dig into the canyon walls and build bridges and paths and stairs. It used to be inaccessible for most, but now even ye could stroll up there in yer fancy gowns.”
Looking delighted, Allie clapped her gloved hands. “It is a good thing I only own a few fancy gowns, and the rest are perfectly serviceable though I suppose I could destroy them quite easily. Could I wear breeches?—?”
“Ye’re missing the point, ye dinnae need to worry about dirtying yerself!” Hawk calmed the exasperation in his voice. “Grandda made certain Pook’s Glen is accessible for picnickers, even. There’s a lodge up at the top, a simple cottage.” His voice dropped to a murmur as he gazed across the years. “He used totake me there sometimes. We’d build a campfire and howl at the stars, then sleep curled up in blankets.”
Allie’s nose wrinkled. “Howl? Perhaps I am not quite that adventurous.”
“There’s a bed and mattress in there,” he was quick to point out. “Grandda was just teaching me to survive on my own.” And how often had he used those lessons over the years, as he’d started his forestry business?
But Allie surprised him with her next question. “And why is it called Pook’s Glen?”
Ah, he had asked the same question of Grandda so many years ago. “Pook is a nature spirit, one of the auld ones. The little people of the legends. It’s said he lived in the Glen, and the burn was his home.”
“Was?” she teased. “So you have seen no evidence of a mischievous spirit?”
Lips curling wryly, Hawk shook his head. “If he ever lived there, he’s been gone since Grandda tamed the burn. It’s safe now.”
“Still…” she sighed surprisingly wistfully, reminding Hawk how young she really was. “It would be nice to meet a nature spirit. I have never heard of Pook before. Pook…” Allie tapped her chin. “I suppose it is probably the local pronunciation ofPuck, the spirit from Shakespeare’sMidsummer Night’s Dream, yes? After all, you pronouncefucklikefook, so?—”
“Oh, look,” interrupted Hawk gratefully. “Here’s the front gates. Mrs. McGillicuddy is the housekeeper, and she’ll cluck and fuss over ye like the mother hen she is. Although she’ll likely swoop in to coddle ye, Artrip will have the rest of the staff lined up.”
“Artrip?”
Thank God she’d been distracted. “He’s been the butler here since Grandda’s time. Officious auld shite—” He cleared his throat. “I mean, he barely cracks a smile, and he has the most outrageous comb-over that he keeps meticulously neat. I cannae wait to see what ye do to him.”
Her grin grew mischievous. “I accept your challenge, Uncle Maxwell, and look forward to it.”
“I’ll bet ye do,” he snorted, reaching for the door handle. “Welcome to Tostinham, Allie.”
And despite his niece’s instance on impropriety, he felt his soul calming.
He was home.
“—the absolute last thing I want to hear is?—”
Marcia quit arguing with Bull when Lady Mistree’s butler opened the door. “Lady Marcia, Mister Lindsay, my lady is expecting you. Please come in.”
Bull sent her a glare in response to the announcement she’d just made as they followed the servant to a beautifully appointed sitting room, but Marcia did not deign to meet his eye.
“Please make yourselves comfortable,” the butler intoned. “Lady Mistree will be joining you momentarily.”
As he backed out of the room and shut the door, Bull swung on her and continued their disagreement with a hiss. “GoingtoTostinham?” Honestly, his memory could not be that poor. “Are ye mad?”
Doing her best to appear more confident than she felt, Marcia shrugged and lowered herself to a chair near the cold hearth. “It is up to us to prove Hawk guilty, yes? And Hawk isat Tostinham. He left right after Lady Mistree’s ball.”
