A Question of Trust: Questions for a Highlander, #2

Prologue

Through this atmosphere of torrid splendor moved wan beings as richly upholstered as the furniture, beings without definite pursuits or permanent relations, who drifted on a languid tide of curiosity...

Somewhere behind them, in the background of their lives, there was doubtless a real past, yet they had no more real existence than the poet’s shades in limbo.

~ Edith Wharton from The House of Mirth

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Kilberry Manor

Newport, Rhode Island

June 1886

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The wedding ball of Katherine Preston to Mr. Frederick Hayes of Boston was the first social event to be held at Kilberry Manor, the newest of the Newport summer ‘cottages’, since its completion just three months before. The guests for the ball numbered five hundred and seventy-two, nearly a hundred more than originally invited, making it by far the grandest single social event in the history of the social register. It was most certainly guaranteed to be the highlight of the social season, outshining even Mrs. Astor’s famed Summer Ball.

All the oldest and wealthiest New York families passing the summer at their Newport cottages were present, as were so many others who had come by train from New York and Boston, some from as far away as Philadelphia. Every member of the Knickerbocker set vied for an invitation to see and be seen by families with the names Vanderbilt, Goelet, and Oelrich and for a chance to see the inside of the magnificent manor. Indeed, it was more immense than rumors had indicated. To the eyes of those seeing it for the very first time and entering into its halls, the overall effect was awe-inspiring.

Lelan Preston, the father of the bride, was widely considered one of the wealthiest men in America and most certainly in New York City. Bellevue Avenue was the most fashionable address for the elite to build their homes, as evidenced by mansions like Astor’s Beechwood, Jones’ Kingscote and the fabulous Chateau-Sur-Mer, and where the future summer cottages of Ogden, Goelet, and William K Vanderbilt were being built. A non-conformist most of his life, Preston had chosen instead to build his glorious mansion high on the cliffs at the southern end of Ochre Point Road, overlooking the Atlantic Ocean. Or rather, as the Irishman claimed, looking home.

The four-story mansion’s immense proportions had been designed by Richard Morris Hunt, an architect of growing popularity among the wealthy of New York. Though its exterior was modeled after a sixteenth century Venetian palace at Mrs. Preston’s insistence, Mr. Preston had named it Kilberry Manor, after his childhood home in Ireland near the Hill of Tara. It was rumored to have more than fifty rooms lavishly displaying antiques and art collected from around the world, all modern conveniences including contemporary plumbing and electric lights, and luxuries, it was whispered, such as solid silver knobs on every door. The cost of the palace was debatable, given an incredible—and inconceivable—number of closed mouths, but speculation estimated a cost of more than seven million dollars for construction. Five million more to furnish it.

As the guests arrived for the ball that warm June evening and stared up in awe at the structure looming over them, it was easy to believe all the tattle. Exclamations rose from around the foyer of Kilberry Manor as guests entered the wide double doors of the grand Newport mansion. And they knew, one and all, when entering that there would never again be a night filled with such excitement and enchantment as this. Beyond its imposing edifice, the Grand Hall into which they entered was a full four stories tall, forty feet long and topped by an arched ceiling of colorful, elaborately detailed stained glass. There were hundreds of butterflies flitting through the hall, fountains cast their pleasing music while liveried footmen roamed the rooms with trays overflowing with champagne. Five orchestras played throughout the reception rooms luring guests through them into the ballroom, a cavernous yet stunning sixty-five-foot room of white and gold. There, another orchestra played, calling the masses to the dance.

* * *

Once the eyes of the enthralled guests had consumed all they could of their surroundings, it was to the center of the dance floor their eyes turned as they watched the new Mrs. Frederick Hayes waltz gracefully about the large polished floor in the arms of her husband.

This evening marked the end of an engagement that had lasted almost two years. A short engagement period to some, but since the bride was already twenty-years-old it seemed the faster she and her fortune approached the altar, the better off her family would be. The older sister, Evelyn, had married the previous summer after an engagement of just one short year. But since that marriage had taken place at a lavish ceremony at St. Patrick’s Cathedral and she had wed no less than an English earl, such a brief engagement had been easily overlooked.

It was generally assumed by those in attendance that evening, unlike the sister’s fairy tale-like romance, that this marriage was an arranged one—most were, among their acquaintance. Matrimony to Katherine Preston would mean an extremely secure financial future and a connection to one of the oldest families in New York through the Preston girl’s mother, a cousin of the Astors. The sisters were the sole heirs to their father’s outrageous fortune. This, of course, meant their husbands would gain all upon his death. Nonetheless, when the groom was young and handsome with elegant blond looks—the mere sight of him in his evening clothes enough to make many a young debutante in New York swoon with delight—and the bride so lovely, her fair beauty a perfect match with his, it was easy to get carried away by the assumption of a love-match.

Indeed, the groom had eyes for no one except his lovely bride.

Passing his new wife into the arms of her father, Freddie Hayes watched her closely as the older man swung his daughter around the floor in big, sweeping movements more appropriate to a playroom than a ballroom. Katherine clung to her father, squealing with delight as he swung her into the air. A tolerant smile lifted Hayes’ lips, for her joy only amplified his triumph. He had wed the most beauteous and wealthy heiress in the land. But a frown replaced his contented smirk when another young gentleman about the same age as his bride cut in on the dance, such as it was.

The man bowed with exaggerated flourish and Katherine returned it with a deep curtsy as Preston turned to his daughter making a comment that had the younger couple laughing. The younger man must be John Jacob Astor the Fourth, Hayes thought. Jack, as family and friends knew him, was a cousin to the Preston girls, but he’d heard that hadn’t stopped the matchmakers from pairing him with one of the two since infancy. It would have been a powerful alliance, he admitted, as both were heirs to large fortunes. The pairing of old money and new.

Of course, Hayes was a much better match for Katherine, he thought with a frown as she batted her eyelashes flirtatiously at the other man. His family was old Boston, money in banking. Combined with the shipping interests that Preston developed, they would be able to finance any new developments in the coming years. His father had approached Preston several years before to contract a marriage with one of the girls. He had been put off several times as Mrs. Preston wanted a title for her daughters, but after a Season in London, only Evelyn had gained a titled husband, leaving Katherine to him. He preferred it thus, though his father had insisted either sister would do. But Hayes had long fancied the younger sister. It was not because of her looks, since the sisters looked enough alike to be twins. Rather her demeanor had drawn him. She was sweet and reserved as well as beautiful.

Never had he doubted that his proposal would be accepted for he knew himself to be a much sought-after bachelor. Preston seemed happy enough to give his consent to the match and had agreed to inform Katherine of their engagement. He never heard for himself Katherine’s reaction but was certain she had been as overjoyed as he with the engagement. How could she not be when he adored her so?

He watched her dancing with Astor. Noted their closeness. Katherine did not know Hayes very well yet of course, or she would never have paid such marked, flirtatious attention to another gentleman. Hayes was a jealous man by nature, he had long ago admitted that to himself. He kept what was his. Katherine was now his.

It occurred to him perhaps he should make sure she knew that as soon as possible.

* * *

Unaware that she was being scrutinized so closely, Katherine, or Kitty as she liked to be called, tried to enjoy what was supposed to be the most exciting night of her life, as the bold strains of the waltz carried her as much as the arms of her partner, Jack Astor. Her cheeks flushed, her green eyes dancing as well. Perhaps not so much from excitement as from the three—or was it four?—glasses of champagne she had drunk so far. Her mind was very far from her upcoming wedding night.

Kitty was not unhappy to be wed. She had longed for the day when she might come into her own. Nor did she feel a serious aversion to her father’s choice of a husband. She had known Freddie Hayes many years since their families both summered here in Newport. He was handsome enough, to be sure, and could be very charming. But he was only a year or two older than she and still had a childish tendency to be a bit temperamental and to anger easily when he felt she didn’t pay him enough attention. Marriage to him was certainly going to be a test in patience. Love, her mother assured her, would come in time.

In the meantime, she generally considered him a sometimes charismatic, occasionally knowledgeable young man. He could be somewhat dashing when he made the effort. He had shown himself to be a charming and reasonably intelligent conversationalist in company. It would be easy to develop a bit of an infatuation with him if she allowed herself, and she supposed she would. She cared not at all that he was rich, there were few families as rich as hers. But he had always been rich where the Prestons had not. It was a vital difference in their way of thinking. Money born from money had expectations that those who had once done without did not.

Despite those reservations, she tried to enjoy the evening. She was the center of attention—well, after a fashion of course, as the mansion was attracting quite a bit of speculation as well. Her gown was absolutely lovely and had been commented upon many times. It was a wedding gown designed by the renowned Charles Worth of Paris.

It was no small matter to be introduced to Monsieur Bonhomme himself, as Worth was known. When Evelyn and Katherine made their visit to Europe, they were taken first to Paris to be presented to Charles Worth before going to London to be presented to the Queen. Each event was as important to their social standing as the other. In ceremonial fashion, she would accompany her mother and Eve to Worth’s studio at 7 Rue de la Paix in Paris twice a year to acquire her wardrobe for the next season. Although such extravagance seemed outrageous to many, even with the prices inflated for Americans in Paris, the gowns they acquired there were more stylish and with a better fit at nearly half the cost of what could be found in New York, and the Prestons always appreciated a bargain.

The gown she wore that evening was an original designed by the great man himself for Kitty. Worth had seemed very impressed by the sister in their initial meeting two years before. He had admired their tall forms, slim but full in all the right places, exclaiming that they were perfect models for the very best of his work. Tonight, a gown of ivory velvet gathered at her shoulders, leaving her arms bare, and cinched tightly at her small waist. The skirt front draped to her knees, sweeping up in the back over the tournure, trailing into a long train. The underskirt panel was of ivory eighteenth century point d’Angleterre lace trimmed with white ostrich feathers. Her white gloves reached to her upper arm and were encircled at the wrist by a magnificent diamond bracelet, a gift from her husband.

As Jack waltzed her about the room, her train lifted off the floor. He grinned at her as she wavered a bit.

"Too much champagne, cousin? Tsk, tsk."

Kitty laughed at his efforts to appear stern, as he was barely taller than she was. Never! One can never have too much champagne! Her attempt at haughty grandeur was greatly stunted by a stumble as she fell against him.

Laughing as well, he set her back on her feet and continued to spin her about. You should have agreed to marry me, dear Kitty. I would have bathed you in champagne.

How shocking! She giggled a bit as she tapped her fan on his shoulder. Oh, you know I could never have wed you.

And why is that, may I ask? He appeared slightly offended.

Well, you could hardly expect me to marry you after you stole my favorite doll and flushed it down the—

Jack put a hand over her mouth to cut her off. I was but ten years old at the time and merely trying to get your attention! Surely you haven’t held that against me all these years?

Of course not, she said, deciding that one small lie might be forgiven. And you’re right. I should have married you long ago. We would have been the most marvelous couple in all of New York. Kitty had never felt more than sisterly affection for her childhood friend, though he might occasionally think differently. Although he was very handsome, he was in her eyes still the little boy who stole her doll, and probably always would be.

Why on earth did you wed yourself to a man who lives so far away? he asked with some seriousness. I shall be close to you for a while whilst I finish at Harvard, but after that!

Kitty’s eyes turned soft. Not that I had a great deal of choice in the matter! Oh, Jack, I truly do not want to live in Boston.

Jack considered her for a moment. It is not so bad. I can show you about if you like. But when I graduate next spring, I plan on leaving the country altogether to travel abroad and see the world.

Kitty laughed as he spun her around once more, her long train rising again off the floor. I would adore it if you would introduce me to Boston. And after that, don’t forget Evelyn is in England now and I have other friends you might visit there as well. After all, I did go to boarding school in England for quite some time.

"Hmm, he considered thoughtfully, are they married?"

You are impossible! Do you never give up? She rapped his shoulder again with her fan. For your information, my friends Abby and Moira are both unwed.

Moira? Doesn’t sound terribly English.

She’s a Scot.

Scot? Gads, my father would have convulsions over that!

I would say so, since I believe I heard rumor he has Miss Ava Willing selected for your bride.

So he does. He sighed in defeat, but first I shall travel abroad and see the entire world for myself before I settle down.

I’m sure that will be terribly thrilling for you, Jack. While I don’t have the yearning for such excitement as you or Evie do, I am confident at least that my marriage will bring me what I’ve always longed for, she confided.

Jack laughed because he knew what she wanted. That’s why Mother always thought you’d make a perfect bride. You want nothing more than to be the premiere hostess in Society and you are well equipped to do it. I hope this Hayes can lay all that you desire at your perfect feet.

One can only hope, she quipped, hoping for the same. Her sister might have longed for adventure after adventure, but all she had ever wanted was to have a home and family of her own. She could finally run her own household, do things her way and make her own rules. Come, Jack, find me more champagne!

Steady on, or you’ll fall asleep before your husband can make you his wife.

Would that be so bad? she asked innocently, but he only laughed at her.

Chapter 1

The only way to not think about money

is to have a great deal of it."

"You might as well say that the only way not

to think about air

is to have enough to breathe.

~ Edith Wharton, The House of Mirth

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Glen Sannox House

Haddington, Scotland

February 1892

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Looking about the great hall of his ancestral family home, the newly conferred Earl of Haddington’s heart was saddened. Glen Sannox House was merely a dim reminder of the grandeur that had once been present in the stately residence. The black walnut paneled walls were but dismal remnants of their former rich glow. Years of harsh sunlight had faded the exposed wood to a pale brown that contrasted sharply to the dark outlined reminders of the once glorious decor of the room. Hundreds of arms and weapons had once lined the paneling. English-made brown Bess muskets with their bayonets had marched sharply about the perimeter, interrupted only by contrasting displays of crossed sabers and horse pistols, which circled shining medallions emblazoned with the coat of arms of the powerful Merrill clan. More muskets, encircling a gilded medallion, had radiated from the center of the towering ceilings. The colors of Scotland and the Merrill clan had draped across the splendid archway that led visitors into the connecting receiving room.

All of it was gone.

Now only the Merrill plaid remained, draped mournfully over the intricately carved remains of an imposing marble fireplace on one wall of the octagonal hall.

The old lassie has surely lost her shine, the new owner of the manor thought, taking in the devastated walls with a heavy heart as he followed the ghostly trail of silhouetted weaponry through the lower passage into the ballroom. Here and there along the way, other scars marked the paneling where exquisite works of art had once graced the periphery. The vast ballroom itself was even more daunting. The nineteen-foot high ceilings were bare of the four glorious hand-blown glass lusteres that had illuminated many exalted affairs for over a hundred years. On the walls, tooled and gilded leather wall-coverings were cracked and peeling, and, like the periphery of the passage, bare of their artwork. Even the two life-size portraits of King James VI and his Queen Anne that had flanked the doors for hundreds of years were dishearteningly absent.

This was Jack Merrill’s first return to the manor after six years away. The splendor of rooms he had remembered—if not fondly at least proudly—was gone. A weight of despair settled on his shoulders. This once rich property had been depleted by his thoughtless father and what had miraculously survived his lifetime had, in turn, been squandered by Jack’s wastrel older brother, Cullen.

Heavy footsteps on the wood floors interrupted his morose thoughts. Turning, he was buoyed by the sight of his long-time friend Francis MacKintosh. I’d have thought you would be celebrating your good fortune, my friend. You are now an earl, the other man spoke first. What has you brooding so?

Celebrating? Jack’s skepticism echoed in the thick silence of the room. What would you have me celebrate? The destruction of my home? The corruption of my childhood memories? Look about you, old chap, and tell me.

MacKintosh did not have to look. The sight of rooms stripped bare of the glory he remembered from years past was indeed saddening. From childhood he had roamed these vast halls with Jack, had time and again been reprimanded by first Jack’s mother and eventually his stepmother for playing with the ancient armament that had once been abundant here. The death of Jack’s stepmother, Judith Boughton, a proper English lady, had called forth a new era at Glen Sannox House. Jack’s father, Angus, had become free to spend where he please, on his own undisciplined habits and on those of a third, and much younger wife, Oona Seton. This newest wife had been many years younger than even Jack himself and had wasted no time in helping herself to the remaining riches of the manor.

It was, in fact, the introduction of that latest wife into the household that had finally prompted Jack’s more permanent departure from his home, since Jack hadn’t been able to abide the woman. The deaths of both his father and brother in the past year may have necessitated Jack’s return to Scotland, but Francis knew his friend was none too pleased over the continued presence of his young stepmother.

After several minutes of silence, during which Francis refrained from commenting, Jack took up the conversation again. ’Tis a hard thing to celebrate the acquisition of a title one never expected to gain. Behold the Earl of Haddington and what a grand title it is! And wi’ it, the responsibility to clean up after Father and Cullen as if they were errant children. That is the legacy I’m blessed wi’, Francis, his words dripped with sarcasm. I know it was not as such when you gained your own title.

Since Francis could hardly remember a time when he had not been Earl of Glenrothes, he did not comment on this. He searched for some words of encouragement but, finding none, remained silent.

Look about. I know you remember it as it was just years ago. Look what it has become! Everything is ruined or gone. Rare works of art sold off piece by piece to cover the outrageous habits of that spendthrift pair. Jack paused, his angry words echoing through the empty hall. After a moment he shook his head in what Francis would have thought defeat if he had not known his friend better. I’m earl now for just a sennight, Jack spoke softly now, "and already their creditors are pounding at my door to make themselves known. They come to me. An earl I never thought to be. Now I am responsible for all the misdeeds of my kin. If this is what it means to be an earl, then I want it not."

Francis felt the compulsion to squeeze his friend’s shoulder in sympathy but refrained from the impulse, knowing it would not be appreciated just yet. Damn Angus Merrill for a wastrel! And damn Cullen also, for following in that old man’s footsteps! It had benefitted Jack immensely when he had finally left their company those years ago. Not that he would have gone the same route, Francis was sure. Despite his outward appearance of scoundrel and wastrel, Jack was a careful man who lived within his means. He honored his debts and contracts and made a tidy living for himself through investments of his own small income. Jack had always disliked the pursuits of his father and older brother and was glad to have an excuse to be well rid of them.

That excuse had been his father’s new young bride, Oona Seton. Jack had been twenty-two when Angus had wed the eighteen-year-old Scots lass a mere four months after the death of his esteemed stepmother. Despite her joy at the diminishing wealth she had married into, Oona had become increasingly bored with Angus, a man more than thirty years her senior. She had turned her sights first to Jack, who had rebuffed her soundly, and then Cullen. Never had she forgiven Jack for denying her and she had tried to make his life miserable for it. He might have left the manor long before he did, had he not felt the need to protect his half-sisters from her wrath.

The daughters of Judith Boughton, Angus Merrill’s second wife, were all three fine beauties. Catherine and Patrice were petite girls with their mother’s gold hair and blue eyes. They were also frivolous twits who thought their lovely new stepmother would lead them and guide them to find good husbands. Abygail, the eldest sister, like Jack, could not even stomach Oona’s company.

Though only twelve when Angus remarried, Abygail refused to accept the woman as her mother and made no attempt to temper her cold fury in the woman’s presence. It infuriated Oona that she could not break the child’s icy stoicism, though she tried countless times. As Abygail grew, her dislike of her stepmother blossomed as well. Oona used what power she had in the household over her stepdaughter and took joy in humiliating the girl at every possible turn. But what Oona could not tolerate was the fact that Abygail was fast becoming more beautiful than herself. Abby’s fair angelic beauty outshone her own darker looks by far.

Francis knew the woman had taken great pleasure in sending Abygail away to an English boarding school, since Oona thought that she was punishing the lass. She would never know how dearly Abygail had rejoiced at her exile. And with Abby gone away, Jack no longer felt a need to stay nearby and protect the one sibling he was so fond of, so he had left as well, much to Oona’s chagrin. Less than eight months later, the newest Lady Haddington had given birth to a son with strange topaz colored eyes, whom she named Alexander. In the history of the Merrill clan, only Jack and his mother had eyes of that color. And so Cullen had placed the blame on Jack, enraging their father, and he was never to be welcomed back to Glen Sannox again. Their father never knew that the boy was Cullen’s after all.

Of course, only Jack and his closest friends knew he would not have come back even if he were invited. He roamed about Scotland and England staying with friends such as Glenrothes. He visited Abygail at her school and at her English grandparents’ estate from time to time, after an accident forced her to leave the boarding school. Even when Angus finally called Abygail home, he would not follow. So, it had been a number of years before he saw her after that. In fact, Jack only saw her again before her wedding...to Francis’ own brother Richard. How they had laughed at Richard when he had bemoaned the fact he was in love! They teased him quite unmercifully, in fact. Richard had withstood their jests, and with reason. Abby was certainly worth taking a little teasing for and was, in fact, the only female besides the MacKintosh’s young sister, Fiona, and Abby’s friend, Moira, whom Jack truly liked.

Reminded now that Richard and Abygail were waiting in the front parlor to see Jack even as they dallied, Francis returned to the situation at hand. Is there any chance you might be able to repair the fortunes and return the estate to its glory? he asked after a moment of thought of how to best help his friend.

Jack shook his head again in that peculiar way that made Francis think he had indeed given up the fight. I have thought and thought, but I cannae think of a solution. There is nothing left to sell, of course. Most of my own monies have already gone to pay off the worst of the earldom’s debts and what little is left is caught up in investments. Even those modest returns will not be enough or be quick enough...

Perhaps I could–

Jack held up his hand to stop the idea before it was even spoken. Thank you, old chap, but nay. In good conscience I could never take what was needed. Don’t you see? It is just too much!

He whirled about the room in a sudden bout of fury. Damn my father! Had he been a man such as yer own sire I would never be having this problem. He was a grand man, was Alec MacKintosh! He did his duty by you and your kin, to be sure. You gained your fortune in simple fashion, Francis. You inherited it! Not only you but nine brothers behind you all left wealthy men because of him, and wi’ enough left over to dower wee Fiona as an heiress. ’Tis an enviable thing, old man.

Aye, Father was a good man, to be sure, Francis had to agree, with a nod of his head.

And then! Jack continued with a wide wave of his arm. To boot, you and yours have the most amazing tendency to wed wi’ wealth. Richard bettered his fortunes by wedding Abby, her English grandparents making her an heiress in her own right. And now, Sean and Colin marrying Teynham’s lasses! Even you, old chap. You doubled your fortune in wedding Westmoreland’s lass!

The new Earl of Haddington shook his head at the irony and collapsed into a deep window seat, staring thoughtfully out the window. The luck is wi’ the MacKintosh clan, to be sure, but the Merrills have no such good fortune. I’m afraid there is no way for me to recover this, old chap, no way at all.

Now Francis gave in to the impulse to put a comforting hand on his old friend’s shoulder as he sank onto the bench as well, for a solution had just been realized. Perhaps you are overlooking the most obvious way to gain a quick fortune, my friend, though you speak of it yourself.

Aye, and what would that be?

There is a way to do it. Aye, my brothers Colin and Sean are doing it. Richard did it, albeit unintentionally and even I have reaped one benefit from this wretched state. You need wealth... Francis paused and nodded in grim satisfaction. Gain it in truly simple fashion. Marry into it.

Jack’s jaw sagged briefly before he snapped it shut.

Chapter 2

"Marry! Och, MacKintosh, when you yerself have been vehemently outspoken against the institution?" That was such an understatement that Jack lost his train of thought for several moments. Aye, Francis MacKintosh hated marriage and women, with good reason. He had been forced—or the closest Alec MacKintosh had ever come to forcing—to marry Vanessa Fane, daughter of the mighty Earl of Westmoreland. No good had ever come of it. The lass had given birth to a daughter five months after the wedding and all knew it could not possibly have been Francis’.

After that, things had gone from bad to worse in their marriage. The Fane lass disdained her young husband but loved men in general and had worked her way from lord to coachman on the MacKintosh estates. She made no attempt to hide her affairs, boldly pursuing even Richard and Vincent, another brother, though with no success.

It had Jack considering then that she and Oona would probably make excellent friends.

At least MacKintosh was rid of Vanessa now. He had managed, after years of Parliamentary red tape, to be granted a divorce just four years earlier, after a dozen years of the bitch’s perfidy. She still came by occasionally for money that Francis was glad to give her and see her gone. After all that, he would recommend marriage to him?

Jack voiced that thought aloud.

Francis corrected him immediately. I said marry, Merrill, not enjoy it, revel in it or take it too seriously. That will only bring you misery. His voice was bitter. But you could make it work to your benefit. Go to London or Edinburgh for the Season, pick yourself out some sweet, innocent heiress and wed her. Don’t get involved with her. Hell, you don’t even have to like her! Wed her and make yourself a wealthy man.

"Take her money and run, eh?"

That would be my recommendation.

The idea does have some merit, Jack conceded after a moment’s reflection.

Stay in my townhouse in London, if you like, Francis offered, baiting the hook some more. Richard was there a couple of months ago, so I assume it’s still in good repair. I have the one in Edinburgh as well if you haven’t any luck in London.

That’s kind of you, old chap, Jack responded vaguely, the wheels already beginning to spin in his mind. Francis could almost see the plan fall into place in Jack’s mind. Merrill spoke again. Now, if you’ll just come wi’ me to help find the right lass. You can help me ferret out the good ones and I can accomplish my goal that much quicker. Aye, you can be an advisor, of sorts.

Francis shuddered at the thought of returning to town. "I think not, my friend. The scandal from the divorce is still strong and couldn’t