Page 4 of Laird of Twilight
Lately, he had mourned his grandmother privately, concealing his grief as was natural to him. He had learned that at an early age, losing his parents so young. He had come here today hoping that Lady Struan’s fortune would ensure the future for his siblings especially. As a nearly penniless viscount, he could not adequately do for his twin or his brothers, much as he wished to help them.
But—fairies. James felt as bewildered as the rest. He glanced at Patrick, who still seethed; Fiona, her serene air masking a willful nature; and William, brow furrowed beneath a sweep of golden hair, a physician as skilled as James at hiding his thoughts. In boyhood, James had kept himself to himself after the deaths of his parents and the separation of his siblings for fostering elsewhere. William and Patrick had gone to uncles, James and Fiona to a great-aunt. He had learned the knack of a self-imposed emotional exile, finding it useful.
William cleared his throat. “Grandmother was fond of fairy tales and scribbled some of her own, but it is surprising to learn that she took it so seriously.”
Fiona, sitting beside William, turned with a graceful swirl of black satin, her bonnet’s curved rim highlighting her pretty face and wispy brown curls. Gazing at his twin sister, James knew suddenly what she would say.A kerfuffle—
“It’s a kerfuffle,” she said, “but we shall resolve it.” She smiled tightly.
Did he often guess her words from simple logic, knowing her, or was it the mysterious bond of twinship, as his grandmother had thought? He preferred scientific reason, cool and supreme to his way of thinking.
“More than a kerfuffle,” he said. “This is a disaster.”
“One must wonder if Grandmother was of a capable mind when she decided these conditions,” Patrick said. “She was smart and stubborn, but quite ill in the last weeks of her life when Mr. Browne says this was amended. William, what say you?”
“Her condition made her frail, but her mind seemed balanced. I noticed no diminished faculties when I visited. We all saw her often, as she was staying in the house on Charlotte Square.”
“She knew her mind. I never doubted her faculties either,” James said, “but she never mentioned the will.” He rented a house near his grandmother’s townhouse; during the last months of her illness, he had grown closer to her than ever before—yet now he felt dismayed, realizing he knew nothing of her intentions.
“I was aware of Lady Struan’s plans,” Sir Walter Scott admitted. “I regret that I was not free to confide in you.” He smiled sadly. The poet and author had been a longtime friend to Lady Struan, and though James did not know Sir Walter well, he admired the man’s genius, integrity, congeniality, and his loyalty to friends.
“Grandmother enjoyed your visits, Sir Walter,” Fiona said. “We very much appreciate your attention to her. She looked forward to King George’s upcoming arrival in Edinburgh this summer, and enjoyed hearing about your plans for the events. It is unfortunate that she died before his visit.”
Scott nodded. “She enthusiastically listened to my ideas for the festivities. I know she will be there in spirit for the king’s Scottish jaunt next month.”
“And we will be there in her honor,” James said. “Mr. Browne, I suppose we should hear the rest of Grandmother’s fairy scheme, if you will.”
“Aye,” the lawyer said, shifting the papers on his desk. “As Lady Struan’s executor, Sir Walter did consult with her, but this scheme, as you say, was her own.”
“Of course. Go on, sir,” James said.
“Now that the will has been read, there are a few points to discuss. Each of you has some individual conditions.” Browne turned a few pages. “Your obligations must be fulfilled. Lady Struan stipulated that if one of you fails to comply, everyone fails.”
“What if we do not, or cannot, meet the conditions?” Patrick asked.
“Then most of the inheritance will go to another party.” Mr. Brown took up a stack of folded and sealed letters and handed them around with Sir Walter’s assistance, the author using his cane as he limped around the desk to present a packet to Fiona, while James, Patrick, and William got letters too.
“The conditions are explained in the letters. Once the stipulations are met,” Mr. Browne said, “you will each be entitled to a share of Lady Struan’s fortune, approximately fifty thousand pounds apiece. However, your portions will be reduced to five thousand pounds if you forego the conditions of the will.”
In the dumbstruck silence that followed, James looked at the envelope in his hand.The Right Hon. The Viscount Struan,it read in some clerk’s hand, not his grandmother’s. She would simply have addressed him as Struan, or as James Arthur MacCarran if she had not been happy with him. He smiled ruefully.
“You may open the letters now, or wait,” Mr. Browne said. “Share the contents among yourselves if you like, but keep this private otherwise. The requests must be adhered to as exactly as possible, or the inheritance reverts to the lesser amount.”
“Well, I will not wait,” Patrick peeled open the seal, unfolded the page, and read quickly. “Ah. I am to help win back Duncrieff Castle, lost to debts ten years past. But—what the devil! I must make a love match for myself, with someone of…fairy blood.” He looked at the others in disbelief. “It’s absurd!”
“Lady Struan asked that I advise you if needed,” Sir Walter said. “She was quite an expert on fairy lore, as you know, as she wrote several books on folklore in Scotland. Her work was quite popular and she had a fine reputation.”
William, reading his page, folded it and slipped it into a pocket. “I’ve been asked to do something similar. James?”
Frowning, James held the unopened paper in his hand. He did not want to open it. He wanted to leave this meeting and return to his geological studies; he had a journal article to complete on the evidence of ancient heat at the earth’s core, and a lecture to prepare for his university classes. He did not want to discuss this preposterous will any further. But he had no choice.
After what he had witnessed and endured at Waterloo a few years earlier, he had chosen to lead as dull a life as possible—boring, lacking risk and emotional entanglement. In war, he had seen enough tragedy, drama, loss, and excess for a lifetime. He appreciated the merits of a safe, quiet existence.
Marrying a fairy, even a pretended one—very possibly Lady Struan had required something similar of him—did not suit a dull bachelor existence. He had no desire for an adventure. This was pure madness. And he was pure logic.
Fiona slipped her letter into her black reticule. “I am to continue the charitable work that I’ve been doing, teaching English to Gaelic-speaking Highlanders,” she said. “I am also expected to marry a Highland gentleman with fortune and breeding. Nothing to dispute there, if an unmarried fellow can be found,” she said with a smile. “The odd requirement is that I must draw fairy images from life. That’s unlikely.” She laughed. “And the letter says I must give my drawings to James. Why so?”
Everyone looked at him. Sighing, James opened his letter, studied its contents, and felt a muscle began to bounce in his jaw. Absurd indeed, he thought. “I am expected to go to Struan House as its viscount, which is reasonable,” he began, “and complete the book that Grandmother was working on before she died. A book about fairy lore. I have read some of her work, but I know nothing about the subject otherwise. Writing fairy tales is hardly suited to me,” he added.
