Page 5 of A Rogue in Twilight
In the dumbstruck silence that followed, James examined his envelope.The Right Hon. The Viscount Struan, it read in some cleric’s hand. His grandmother, had she addressed it herself, might have written James Arthur MacCarran. He smiled ruefully.
“Share the contents among yourselves if you want, but keep it private otherwise,” Browne said. “Adhere closely to the requests or the inheritance reverts to the lesser amount.”
“I will not wait,” Patrick peeled open the seal, unfolded the page, and read quickly and silently. “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. “This is absurd.”
“Lady Struan asked me to advise you on fairy lore and such if you wish,” Sir Walter offered. “She was quite the expert herself, as you know, having written several books on folklore and superstition, and even published under her own name. She had a fine reputation among the literary set.”
William scanned his letter, folded it, and slipped it into a pocket. “I’ve been asked to do something similar,” he said without elaboration. “James?”
Frowning, James held the envelope. 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 evidence of ancient heat at the earth’s core and a lecture to prepare for his university classes in natural philosophy and geology. He was reluctant to discuss the matter of 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 create as dull a life as possible—numbingly boring, lacking risk, involvement, or emotion to the best of his ability. He had seen enough drama and excess for a lifetime. Safe, dull—he appreciated the merit of it and tried to enjoy it.
But if his grandmother had requested that he too find a fairy—let alone marry one or some such—that did not suit. Marrying anyone just now did not suit the bachelor existence he kept for himself. Besides, this was pure madness, and he was pure logic.
Fiona slipped her letter into her black net reticule. “This says I am to continue the charitable work that I’ve been doing, teaching English to Gaelic-speaking Highlanders,” she said. “And I am expected to marry a Highland gentleman with fortune and breeding. Nothing to dispute there,” she said with a brief smile.
“Is that all?” Patrick tipped his head.
“And I must draw fairy portraits from life. That’s unlikely.” She laughed. “And I am to give my drawings to James. Why is that?” She looked at her twin.
Everyone looked at him now. Sighing, James opened his letter and skimmed its contents. A muscle began to bounce in his jaw. “I am expected to stay at Struan House as its viscount—and complete any book that Grandmother left unfinished. She was working on another book about fairy lore. But I know little of fairy tales,” he added.
“Grandmother’s big book of fairies?” Patrick chuckled. “No topic for Professor MacCarran, who writes thick tomes about geographic strata.”
“What else does it say?” Fiona, as usual, knew he was holding back something.
“I am, uh, to marry a Highland bride of fairy descent,” James admitted. “A Highland wife is possible someday. Fairy? It is simply impossible.”
“Good Lord, is it so for all of us? Was Grandmother truly mad?” Patrick asked.
“If we cannot meet these requirements, Mr. Browne,” Fiona said, “who would inherit the bulk of Grandmother’s accounts?”
Mr. Browne glanced at the page. “Nicholas MacCarran, the Earl of Eldin.”
“Cousin Nick,” Patrick growled, “that damnable, rotten, scheming scoundrel! Sorry, Fiona. I wonder if he influenced Grandmother in this madness.”
“That lying rogue,” William agreed. “He stole our clan seat, Duncrieff Castle, away from our own cousin after he died at Waterloo. Even now, Nicholas enjoys the profits of that estate, while we—” He stopped, glancing at Fiona.
James saw his sister glance away. He knew she still felt keen heartbreak over their distant cousin’s death; the young chief, Archibald MacCarran, had been Fiona’s betrothed. James had felt the heartbreak of it too, for his sister’s sake.
“Nick called it a good business arrangement,” Patrick said, scowling.
“So if we do not comply, Eldin inherits all,” James said, low and flat.
“But for the lesser funds apportioned to each of you, yes,” Mr. Browne said.
“Why would Grandmother do this?” Fiona asked.
“To force us to meet her conditions,” James replied.
“Your grandmother was working on a book about Highland fairy lore,” Sir Walter said. He had remained quiet, but stepped forward now. “She hoped to restore the legendary fairy luck of the MacCarrans that she feared had become cursed over generations.”
“We have never been a particularly fortunate sort, I will grant,” William said. “But if I found a lass I could fancy and called her part fairy—who’s to know?”
“Lady Struan wanted all of you to approach this in serious fashion, as she did,” Sir Walter said. “Else it all goes to Lord Eldin. She hoped that would be your incentive.”
James exhaled sharply. Write a damned fairy book and find a fairy bride? He had other books to write, and he was not interested in a wife just yet. The inheritance meant little to him, but his siblings had scant resources. But they would all want to protect their grandmother’s funds from Lord Eldin—the only man James had ever truly despised.
