Julia London 4 Book Bundle (98 page)

Yet there was something about the man that made her uneasy, matched only by her extreme discomfort with his son, Charles.

All right, then. She could not admit it to another living soul, but she could at least admit it to herself. Charles Moncrieffe was a ten-year-old lad arrested in the body of a thirty-year-old man. It was indeed a man’s body and the way Charles looked at her, the way he smiled … may she rot in hell for her thoughts, but poor Charles Moncrieffe made her skin crawl.

Kerry looked again at the two letters, trying to ignore the queasy churn of her stomach. As she could see it, the
letter from Mr. Regis left her with two options. She could watch what was left of the McKinnon land be seized, the rents increase, and tenants lose their homes like hundreds of Scots before them pushed out by the sheep-herders. They would be displaced to America or to the rocky shorelines to farm seaweed while she went to Glasgow, to her mother.

Or she could go to Moncrieffe.

The grandeur of Glenbhainn and Moncrieffe House always took Kerry’s breath away, but today, standing in the middle of such a beautiful place in her old black bombazine, she felt like a ragged beggar. Alone in what was once the great hall, she marveled at the oak paneling, the brass light fixtures, the polished pewter framing the oval mirror just above a library table. Even the new marble floor had been swept and rubbed to a sheen, which seemed especially remarkable to her—she was fortunate if she could just keep the mud from the floors of her modest home.

Kerry nervously wiped a damp palm on her skirts, then shifted the bonnet she held from one hand to the other.

“Mrs. McKinnon. What a pleasant surprise!”

The deep voice of Cameron Moncrieffe startled her; she jumped a bit as he sailed into the hall through a heavy oak door, followed by a small butler who carefully avoided her gaze. Moncrieffe was, as usual, impeccably dressed. She had always thought him fairly handsome, but he looked quite genteel with his gray hair fashionably crimped and combed and his thick side whiskers neatly trimmed. “Thank you for seeing me, my lord,” she said, dipping into a curtsey.

“It is my great pleasure, madam. My day is considerably brightened by such a …”—he lifted her hand to his mouth, his lips lingering on the back of her hand for a long moment before slowly rising—“such a lovely caller.”

Her skin prickled unpleasantly; Kerry gently withdrew her hand from his and clutched her bonnet tightly, forcing a smile to her lips. “You are too kind, sir.”

“Nonsense,” he said, taking her elbow. “Shall we be seated?” Without waiting for her response, he looked over his shoulder at the butler. “Tea,” he said curtly, then propelled Kerry forward to a grouping of furniture covered in blue china silk. She briefly wondered what it cost to cover a chair the exact color of the summer sky and sat gingerly, vaguely fearing she might somehow ruin the silk coverings. Her host selected a chair across from her and, casually crossing one leg over the other, folded his hands on his thigh and regarded her kindly. “Now, then. To what do I owe the extraordinary pleasure of your call, Mrs. McKinnon?”

Right. That. She glanced uneasily at the hearth, feeling a bit ridiculous—how exactly did one go about begging for money? “I, ah, I must admit I come on a matter of some delicacy, my lord.” Her voice sounded weak; she stole a look at him from the corner of her eye. His expression blank, he patiently waited for her to continue. “I suppose I should just come to the point, no?” she asked quietly.

Moncrieffe nodded.

Just speak.
“I’ve not come on a social call, really—although I am pleased to see you well,” she hastily added. He inclined his head in acknowledgment of that. “But … but there is a matter of business behind my call.” Oh aye,
business.
She liked the sound of that and forced herself to relax her grip on her skirts.

“Is there indeed?” he asked with an indulgent smile.

“Aye …”
I should like a large sum of money, please.
“I, ah, have found myself in a wee bit of a predicament.” A wee bit of a predicament? It was a full-fledged catastrophe!

Moncrieffe nodded encouragingly. “Please continue, Mrs. McKinnon. If you are in a … ah,
predicament
 … I should like to help you if I can.”

That was encouraging, but they were interrupted at that moment by the appearance of the butler carrying a silver tea service. She chewed on her lower lip, stared at her hands as she waited, feeling the pressure of her heart against her breast and fearing that he could hear its thunderous beating.

“You were saying?” Moncrieffe asked politely as the door shut behind the butler, and moved to pour her a cup of tea.

“My lord, I … I have nowhere else to turn,” she blurted, wincing at the bluntness of her admission. “Unfortunately, and m-much to my surprise, I have learned that my husband … Fraser … owed—that is to say,
owes
—quite a lot of money to the Bank of Scotland. And … and taxes.”

Moncrieffe lifted a delicate cup of bone china to his lips and sipped his tea as if he heard such devastating news all the time.

“And, ah, some creditors of some sort,” she shakily continued, “although I confess I am unclear as to the details.” She paused again, certain that was enough to shock and disgust him.

“Is that all?” he asked pleasantly, then waved airily at the tea service. “Please, drink your tea before it grows cold.”

Is that all? Drink your tea?
Good Lord, had the man heard a word she had said? Incredulous, Kerry stared at him. “You … surely you understand—I wouldna come to you, I wouldna
burden
you had I any other option, but really, I’ve come upon my wit’s end. Yet I want you to know that I am not without a plan. My … my cousin, Thomas, he believes that if we can sell a few healthy beeves this year, we might transition from cattle to sheep, because the sheep are much better suited to the grass—but even with a decent showing at the cattle market, I fear it is not nearly enough! I’m in desperate need of cash to hold the bank for a time, but I am certain—”

With a chuckle, Moncrieffe abruptly silenced her
rambling plea as he set his teacup aside. “I beg your pardon, Mrs. McKinnon, but sheep?” He chuckled again, shaking his head, as if that was a perfectly ludicrous notion. “You have been sadly misguided, my dear. You’ve not enough acreage for sheep. Your little scheme would never work.”

That declaration threw her—she trusted Thomas’s opinion so implicitly she was hardly prepared to argue his plans. “But Thomas said—”

“You would be advised to forget what your cousin told you, madam,” Moncrieffe interrupted, his voice noticeably cooler. “He does you an injustice by filling your pretty head with such fantasy. And frankly, I doona think it particularly important if it be cattle or sheep—you’ve simply not enough land to support the livestock you will need to buy back your debt. Aye, you are quite right, Mrs. McKinnon—you are in somewhat of a predicament.”

Stunned, Kerry could only stammer. “Aye, I-I realize—”

He held up his hand. “I doona think you do,” he said, and slowly leaned forward, his blue-eyed gaze piercing her fragile composure. “Your husband’s trouble began when the plague killed his herd three years past. How do you think he paid his debts that year? He sought my considerable help, that is how. And again the following year. When
last
year’s bull was ill-disposed to father a single calf, he rather gave up trying to appease the bank
or
me. Quite frankly, Mrs. McKinnon, your debt is greater than you realize. I am personally owed more than five thousand pounds.”

Five thousand pounds?
The air seemed to leave her lungs; she suddenly could not catch her breath. The sum was overwhelmingly large, staggering, almost as grand as the sense of betrayal she felt. She slumped against the chair back, too stunned to move or speak or even
think.
Fraser’s lies seemed to pile on top of one another, pushing her down into a morass so deep that she almost felt
as if she was drowning, right there, in a sky-blue chair. A flurry of memories whirled in her mind, of the dozens of times Fraser had assured her everything would be all right, that she had nothing to fear—

“Here, now, drink this.”

Moncrieffe was thrusting a dram of Scottish whiskey into her hand. Kerry sluggishly remembered where she was and pushed it away, shaking her head. “I … I didna
know
,” she whispered hoarsely as she forced herself to sit up straight.

“I am certain he didna want to burden you.”

That caused her to snort indelicately. “He hasna exactly left me without a burden.”

“There now, Mrs. McKinnon. You’ll only make yourself ill,” he said with a twinge of condescension, and strolled to one of six windows to gaze out at a green lawn below. “He knew he was dying, and there was little he might have done to reverse the course of things. He knew you would be adequately provided for, so he chose not to cloud the last few months of his life on this earth.”

That brought Kerry’s gaze up and around to where Moncrieffe stood. “He knew that I would be adequately provided for?” she asked, aware that her voice sounded shrill. “Surely you understand my situation now, my lord, and I therefore canna imagine what you might possibly mean!”

“Indeed I do understand,” he said, turning toward her. “Better than you know.” The strange smile that spread his lips made her blood suddenly run cold. “Your husband and I came to some agreement about the debt, you see, and he was rather insistent that your future be part of any agreement between the two of us. I was very happy to oblige him.”

Fingers of dread scraped at Kerry’s belly. “
What
agreement?” she forced herself to ask.

Moncrieffe extended his hand in a gesture for her to join him at the window. “Come here, will you? I would show you something.”

Her legs and arms did not want to move. Kerry rose slowly, moved stiffly across the large expanse of room, the dread thickening. As she neared the window, he put his arm around her shoulders and smiled warmly. “See there?” he asked, pointing to the green. His son Charles was on the lawn, holding a stick and playing a game of keep away with two dogs, exactly as a young boy might play. To one side, under the canopy of a tree, Thomas leaned against the wagon, watching him from beneath the brim of his hat. “Charles has now reached his thirtieth year. I think it rather obvious he will never possess the mind of a grown man, but I’ve seen to it that it will never matter. Charles will inherit considerable wealth. In addition to the property I own now, and will soon repossess from you, I rather suspect that the Bank of Scotland will be quite pleased to sell me your land, Mrs. McKinnon.”

Now he was confusing her. “But … but the land in question apparently belongs to someone else. The Bank of Scotland has written me so.”

“An absentee owner who has never so much as set foot on the property. I rather imagine he, too, will be quite happy to be relieved of the debt.”

This wasn’t making any sense. Kerry shook her head. “I doona understand,” she said, moving away from his arm draped heavily around her shoulder.

“Then let me explain it simply,” he said, as if speaking to a child. “The bank will want what is owed them. The owner will want to be relieved of what has become an extraordinary debt. I can purchase your paltry acreage for perhaps a fraction of its market value and make both owner and bank happy.”

Her mind was swimming; her gaze shifted to the figure of Charles on the lawn, and she vaguely noted that his shirt had come loose from his trousers and his hair was flying in all directions—a perfect contrast to his neatly attired father. “I doona believe you,” she muttered. “Fraser intended for me to remain in Glenbaden.
He wouldna have agreed to give what was left to you or anyone else.”

Moncrieffe laughed, put his hand on her shoulder, and leaned down so that his mouth was just a breath from her ear. “You are quite mistaken. He didna want Thomas McKinnon to have you, so in exchange for forgiving his debt, Fraser agreed that you would make a lovely wife for my Charles.”

Something in her breast exploded; Kerry leapt from his reach and whirled, her hand pressed against her racing heart. “How
dare
you!” she cried as the thick dread quickly turned to bile in her throat.
How dare Fraser? How dare he betray her so?

“Come now, it’s not as if you have any other options!” he reminded her. “When you rid yourself of those widow’s weeds, do you think any decent gentleman will come running to your door? Even McKinnon willna have you then! You have
nothing!
Your only alternative to my rather generous offer is to seek shelter with your mother, whom I daresay
will
find a man to provide for you!”

No words would come; her tongue was frozen. The shock was too great; she felt herself crumbling under the weight of it.

A heavy sigh escaped Moncrieffe. “You couldna hope for a better solution, Mrs. McKinnon. I’ll grant you my Charles is rather slow, but you will have all that you want—”

“I will
never
marry Charles,” she said, surprised at how calm she sounded. “And I willna be coerced, by you or anyone else.”

Moncrieffe pressed his lips tightly together as he considered her for a moment. “Think before you speak, Mrs. McKinnon. You might regret such rash words.”

“I will regret nothing,” she said, her voice growing stronger. “I willna marry your son, not under any circumstance.” Moncrieffe’s face turned red in response to that, and Kerry was suddenly anxious to be gone from
there. “You will have your five thousand pounds,” she said haughtily, and turned on her heel, marching for the door, unable and unwilling to think just how she might accomplish that extraordinary feat.

“Mrs. McKinnon!”

Her hand stilled on the door handle; her instinct was to flee while she could, but she lifted her chin, forced herself to turn and meet his gaze. His eyes were blazing with anger, his fists clenched tightly at his sides. When he spoke, it was through gritted teeth. “You canna possibly manufacture five thousand pounds! But I will allow you to try—as it is, you are no use to us in your mourning habits. You have
one
month, and then you will honor your husband’s debt to me, do you quite understand?”