Page 31 of A Rogue in Firelight (The Whisky Rogues #1)

E llison sat in the carriage, twisting her gloves in her hand.

“Do stop, Elly,” Sorcha said. “You are so nervous today.”

“Calm, dear,” the viscountess said. “He will do well in there.”

“I know. I just wish ladies were allowed to attend the levee too.” She looked through the carriage window and across the Holyrood courtyard. Dozens of carriages were parked along the graveled drive fronting the royal palace. In the vehicles, ladies waited for their gentlemen while others strolled up and down the drive, skirts billowing, bonnet ribbons flying on that windy afternoon.

“We are all waiting, including the very Duchess of Atholl and all the rest,” Lady Strathniven said. “Darrach will be praised as a perfect gentleman and an asset to Scotland, and this day will lead to good things for both of you. I am sure of it.”

Ellison smiled. “I do hope so, my lady.”

Ronan stood in front of Sir Hector as they moved ahead slowly in the long, crowded line of gentlemen waiting to be admitted to the room where they would greet and be introduced to King George.

“Not many ahead of us now, and scores of men behind us,” Sir Hector told Ronan. “You are well prepared, I think.”

“I am, all thanks to your daughter, sir.”

Sir Hector gave him a rare smile. “That turned out better than any of us could ever have hoped. I owe you thanks, and an apology.”

“Not needed, sir. All is well, especially once this is over and done.”

“And once Corbie and Pitlinnie have their comeuppance,” Graham muttered. “I owe you and Ellison thanks for that revelation as well. By the way, I wanted to tell you that I had dinner last evening in a small group with the king, and with the Lord Provost and Sir Walter Scott too. Your name was mentioned.”

“Mine!” Ronan looked at him in surprise.

“The king had heard of the scandal with my secretary, and as we filled in some of the story, you and my daughter were both named heroes in the matter. The king asked if you were the one responsible for the whisky he so enjoys. I said aye and proudly claimed you as my new son-in-law.”

“Thank you, Sir Hector.”

“The king is very busy, but wanted to know more. And—oh, we are moving again!”

Ronan peered ahead as the queue edged along in the reception room. At the far end of the vast room, he could see the draped dais and King George, tall and portly, in a kilt and saggy pink stockings, of all things. The king greeted guests in a booming voice and a rapid, abrupt way, which helped move the long line steadily.

“And what, sir?” Ronan asked, curious.

“King George mentioned reviewing a petition this week to restore an old earldom to the current Lord Darrach. He called you ‘that whisky lord,’ and we confirmed that as well. Then—you do have your calling card, sir? The Lord-in-Waiting is just ahead, taking the calling cards of those who will be introduced.”

“I have it. And then?” Ronan prodded.

“The king seems to favor restoring the earldom to the original family. That would be you, sir.” Sir Hector moved forward, as did Ronan. “He seems pleased to approve it, not only because he likes your whisky—ah, here we go,” Hector said as he surrendered his card, and Ronan did the same. “He also likes being associated with heroic men, and he had heard of your actions. He is impressed.”

“Thank you for telling me so, sir. But who petitioned to restore the earldom?”

“Lady Strathniven,” he answered. “She does not want to leave the title to her nephew, and she recently discovered—in talking to you—your family history. Your kin were the Earls of Strathniven. So she took it to Lord Lyon to be approved by the Lyon Court, the court of heraldry in Scotland.”

“She never said,” Ronan replied, astonished. “I am honored.”

“She is set on you becoming the legitimate earl. She would push the very king on it if she could, I think.” Sir Hector chuckled.

“I will thank her. And Lord Lyon as well.”

“You must meet him. A very good fellow—about your age, I think, with a similar background. Sir Alasdair Drummond—Lord Lyon is his official position in the heraldry office. He is here somewhere—there. I will introduce you later.”

Ronan followed Graham’s pointing finger to see a tall, black-haired young gentleman dressed in full Highland kit, a big handsome Highland man standing well above the others in the circle where he stood chatting. He saw the fellow smile broadly and laugh heartily. That alone made him like the man, aside from his immediate gratitude and curiosity.

“Sir Alasdair’s wife is the daughter of a very fine painter. You and Ellison should have your portraits done. I hear she does rather beautiful miniatures if you like that sort of thing.”

“Someday, aye,” Ronan said.

“Oh, one thing more.” Graham was in an unusually cheerful and talkative mood as they shuffled along, Ronan thought. “I told Sir Walter that my daughter is an exceptional writer who is working on a novel. He expressed interest in reading it if she would like.”

Ronan grinned. “She would be more than delighted, I am sure. What I have read is coming along very nicely.”

“Good. Ah, Mr. Cameron is just there. He is not being introduced, having met the king earlier, but here he is to cheer you on. Cameron!”

Hugh made his way toward them through the dense crowd. “Darrach! Sir Hector! What a day this is! Glad to see you both—have you heard the latest development? Murder is afoot!”

“Murder!” Ronan lifted a brow.

“Corbie is eager to paint Pitlinnie with tar and is blaming him for everything he can. He says Pitlinnie set you up to be arrested, as he wants to be rid of you. And—he says Pitlinnie was behind the murders of your brother and your cousin. According to Pitlinnie, Corbie was the one who thought to take down the Whisky Rogues to begin a takeover of Glenbrae and finally Strathniven. Those two have been plotting something for years.”

“Unthinkable, all of it,” Sir Hector said.

Ronan shook his head, sad to hear it. “I cannot say I am surprised.”

“We need evidence, of course,” Sir Hector said. “But it is sobering to realize they were scheming to take others down, and now seem determined to undo each other.”

“Corbie feared he would not inherit Strathniven without marrying Ellison,” Hugh said. “He admitted it. And Pitlinnie wanted your distillery, and your glen, and went after those.”

“What a tangle,” Ronan said. “It will take a long while to sort through that unsavory mess.”

“Eventually we will see what a jury decides,” Hugh said.

“The line is moving again,” Sir Hector said. “Sir Willie Collins. He is so rotund that someone mistook him for the king the other day and bowed to him. Got quite the laugh!”

Chuckling at that, Hugh leaned toward Ronan. “You know Pitlinnie wanted to buy Glenbrae. Sir Evan has refused the offer.”

Ronan raised an eyebrow. “I thought it was done even before we were in Jameson’s chambers.”

“Not fully signed. But Sir Evan refuses to consider Pitlinnie now. He has had another offer for Glenbrae which would absolve the debts on the property.”

“Ah.” Ronan felt a new twist of grief at the thought of losing Glenbrae.

“I cannot say much, but the offer would dissolve the debts and still give you full rights to the glen and the distillery.”

“Me? To run the distillery, perhaps?”

“This party would gift Glenbrae back to the Darrach estate.”

Ronan narrowed his eyes. “Lady Strathniven?”

“I did not say that,” Hugh teased.

“I am stunned. So grateful. I just heard about the petition for the earldom.”

“Aye, to restore the earldom of Strathniven and rejoin it to the estate of Darrach and Glenbrae. Lady Strathniven petitioned the king. She did not want you to know. A surprise, see.”

Ronan huffed, still astonished. “She said nothing of any of it.”

“Then be surprised when she does, hey? She is very pleased with herself over it. The Crown still needs to approve it, though the Lyon Court will move it along.”

“This is beyond my dreams,” Ronan said. “I did not dare hope the old estate that belonged to my family would ever come back together.”

“Not guaranteed yet, but aye, it could happen. You would have to give up the title of viscount. Scottish peers are not permitted to hold more than one title. But you would be earl.”

“Restoring the original estate would be a huge benefit. But what of Lady Strathniven?”

“She confided to me that she would be happy to rent from you.”

“I could never take rent from her. I would give it to her for free. Peppercorn rent,” he said, remembering the old tradition. “A token. She might like that.”

Hugh laughed. “A bunch of heather every summer. We will write it into her lease.”

“She would love that. So much to think about. So many changes. I am a married man, a viscount—it is a lot to take in.”

“And a free man,” Hugh drawled.

“Most of all, a happy man,” Ronan murmured as his friend clapped his shoulder.

“They are calling your name,” Sir Hector said, pushing Ronan ahead of him.

“John Ronan MacGregor, Viscount Darrach!” the Lord-in-Waiting called out. “Maker of Glenbrae whisky. Introduced by The Right Honorable Deputy Lord Provost of Edinburgh, Sir Hector Graham.”

Ronan stepped forward.

Seeing Ronan walking through a fresh downpour to make his way between the waiting carriages, Ellison leaned past Sorcha to open the door. “Darrach!” she called. “Here!”

“It is raining buckets! You will ruin your gown,” Lady Strathniven said.

“It will dry!” Ellison stepped out. “Darrach!”

He ran toward her through the rain, holding onto his dark bonnet, plaid flying. Picking her up by the waist, he spun her about, set her down and kissed her. Laughing, Ellison looped her arms around his neck, the next kiss hidden under the brim of her bonnet and his flat cap. As the rain soaked them, she heard applause and giggles from nearby carriages.

“Not very proper behavior, sir,” Ellison said, leaning back to regard him.

“Hang proper. Though if you want to tutor me further, I would not object.”

“You know more than I do by now. How was it in there? You are in a rare mood!”

He put an arm around her to hurry her toward the carriage in the rain. “I have some excellent news.”

“Tell me!”

“Later, lass. You are soaking wet. And some of the news must wait for privacy.”

“Can we wait in the Highlands? I am tired of the city.”

“We can. First, the king asked me to bring you to the ladies’ assembly in a few days to be introduced.”

“Truly!” Eyes wide, she smiled up at him.

“It will be just a greeting and a quick kiss from the king—after you wait hours in the crowd and the heat. But,” he said, as they reached the carriage, “it might even change your life.”

“I have already had that pleasure. I once met a Highland smuggler who changed my life completely.”

“His too.” He opened the door and helped her up the carriage steps. “Lady Strathniven, Miss Beaton! Good to see you.”

“Darrach, you are cheerful,” the viscountess said as they sat, brushing away raindrops. “What did the king have to say when you met him?”

“He likes our whisky, my lady.” A little quirking smile and his crinkled blue eyes told Ellison he had a secret that pleased him greatly.

“Well, I could have told you that! You are thoroughly wet, both of you, but you look happy as two puppies, I vow.”

“Happy? Oh, yes.” Ellison smiled at her husband. He kissed her gloved hand, his eyes twinkling with some secret that she wanted to hear once they were deliciously alone.

Ronan wove his fingers in hers. “Shall we go home, ladies, with a stop at the Graham house first for my lady and Miss Beaton? Then my wife and I will go up to North Castle Street.”

“I do hope we can leave for the Highlands as soon as the king departs.” Ellison leaned her head on his shoulder, while Sorcha giggled and the viscountess beamed. “That is truly our home.”

“It is,” he said, and kissed her gloved hand. “Tell me, ladies, how has your day been?”

“Not as good as yours, I think!” the viscountess said as they all laughed.