Page 20 of The Nabob's Designing Daughter
He plopped down in the chair. A year in the Highlands? His mind raced through the names of his university classmates. Who could he pay off to spend a year of his life in this godforsaken place?
“I’ve accepted a position with a practice in London,” he said. “Tell me, Henderson, if I pay back the benefactor, will that nullify that requirement?”
“That was not a stipulation of the contract, but you can certainly make the proposal.”
“Is there enough cash in the Darleton estate—”
“No, I’m afraid not.” Henderson paused, frowning. “Since there’s no entail, you could sell the castle and land, and the title with it. Ihavereceived an inquiry from an interested buyer. But, I can’t emphasize enough, you must see the property first. It is, after all, your family legacy, and if you must stay, you can easily live at Mounth Tower and run a practice in the village.” Henderson examined his watch. “Do review those documents. I trust I will see you at dinner?”
It was a clear enough dismissal by the little solicitor. “Who is the interested buyer?” he asked.
“That I don’t know. The inquiry came through another solicitor. Dr. Robillard, I have some more business to attend to, but I’ll be happy to answer any questions you have after reviewing those documents. Perhaps on the ride over to Mounth Tower tomorrow?”
Errol rose heavily and tucked the folder under his arm. Henderson saw him to the door and closed it behind him. Halfway up the stairs to his well-appointed bedchamber with its writing desk, he realized—he hadn’t asked Henderson the name of his benefactor.
No doubt it was the duke. He turned around and descended the stairs and learned from a footman that the duke was in the factor’s office.
After stumbling down wrong corridors and making wrong turns, he finally reached a humbler door on the ground level, and Forbes answered. From his chair by the fire, the duke called out a greeting.
The factor’s office was a smaller version of the duke’s study, with identical curtains and upholstery, but only one wing chair by the fire, where the duke was sprawled.
Kinmarty sat up and lifted a glass. An inch of amber liquid shimmered in the firelight. “Join us, Robillard. For heaven’s sake, sit down, man, and pour him some, Forbes.”
“Have a drink and tell us what you think. Forbes and I have established a distillery.” He laughed. “A legal one.”
“The water of life?”
“Yes. ‘Uisge Beatha.’ I understand your father kept a drinking establishment.”
“Yes, and a good-sized inn as well. He himself was more given to the rum, being that his father was a man from the West Indies.”
Forbes slid a wooden chair over and then handed him a tumbler.
“Sit man, and drink,” the duke said. “You’ve had a shock.”
He sighed and took a sip. The smooth liquid coursed through him with a reviving warmth.
“Well?” Kinmarty asked.
“It’s good.”
“All credit goes to Forbes, the master distiller.”
He tipped back the glass and drained the rest of it and found Kinmarty watching him.
“You knew about Darleton,” Errol said.
“Yes. Henderson told me in confidence, but Forbes and I are the only ones who know. Not even the Darleton factor knows the name of the heir. The estate is in bad repair, I’m afraid. I would congratulate you, but I believe I know what you’re feeling right now. I didn’t expect to inherit Kinmarty.”
“I’d appreciate it if you continue to keep this matter quiet until I visit the estate,” Errol said. “There’s an interested buyer. Is it you, your grace?”
Kinmarty laughed. “Good Lord, no. I’ve had to humble myself by letting awoman, my sister-in-law Penelope, invest in Kinmarty. I sooth my conscience by telling myself she ought to have been the duchess here. I don’t have funds to buy your estate.”
“Might the buyer be Mrs. MacDonal?”
“Henderson didna give you more of a hint who it is?” Forbes asked.
“He told me another solicitor approached him and wouldn’t give the name.”
