Page 3 of Her Magnificent Mistake (Surprised Heirs #1)

CHAPTER 2

T he closer they got to Tostinham, the more Hawk found himself craning his neck to see the landscape ahead of the carriage. There was the comforting peak of Beinn Mhòr and a small herd of red deer grazing in a field. If he inhaled deeply, he could smell the sea.

It was a balm, after the chaos of London.

After holding Marcia again.

Christ . He squeezed his eyes shut and allowed his forehead to thunk against the glass. Thinking of her did nothing to help the knot of worry and anticipation he’d been carrying around in his gut since he’d learned of his uncle’s death and his inheritance.

There’d been one point, many years ago, when Marcia—even the thought of her—would soothe any ache, physical or mental. A time when her smile, wit, and curves were all he lived for.

A time before she’d dismissed him.

Ye have a bad habit of thinking ye’re doing the right thing, eh ?

He’d wanted to marry her. But despite their connection—the way she responded to his kisses and more, the way they spoke of a future together—she’d been more than happy to marry the man her brother had picked for her.

Apparently that marriage hadn’t gone through, but just knowing she wasn’t as committed to their relationship as he was had given Hawk the courage to walk away before her brother discovered the truth.

Bull would have killed him for dallying with Marcia, Hawk was sure of it. Their liaison had been clandestine and wrong , and ending it had been the right thing to do.

So why the hell had it hurt so much, seeing her again?

A gentle touch on the back of his hand had him twisting to see his niece smiling indulgently at him, as if he was the far younger one. “I know you would rather be out there.” She patted his hand again. “Thank you for riding in the carriage with me. I must confess…”

Alert now, Hawk settled against the squabs. “Confess what?”

Exhaling, she glanced away. “I was a little girl the last time I visited Tostinham, and only then because Grandmother insisted. I am grateful you consented to ride with me from the train station, rather than on horseback. I…I do not want to arrive feeling alone.”

Guilt—and worry—made Hawk’s stomach churn. “Of course, Allie.” He twisted his hand so he could grip hers. “I should have considered ye might be uncomfortable returning?—”

“Oh, not uncomfortable,” she was quick to assure him. “This is your home now, and since I am your only family, it is my duty to live with you, and keep house for you, and just generally annoy the loving piss out of you.”

Hawk winced. He’d grown up knowing he was too coarse, too focused on his work, too awkward for polite Society…and here was his niece choosing such attributes? He wasn’t sure if this was considered irony or just desserts. Probably both. “Perhaps avoid mentioning bodily fluids though?”

“Why? You curse whenever you wish.”

“Aye, but ye are auld enough to ken better— och ,” he broke off when he saw her smirk. “Ye’re doing it on purpose, aye? To piss me off.”

“See?” Her smile turned impish. “Every other word out of your mouth is a curse.”

He scowled, she laughed, and Hawk realized having an impressionably young niece as a ward—an impressionably young niece who didn’t care about Society’s rules—might become problematic. “I dinnae ken anything about propriety,” he grumbled, slouching backward. “I should’ve never been a lord.”

“Yes, but if you had not inherited, then you would not have control of Tostinham,” Allie pointed out with a gentle squeeze. “And even I can see how much you love this place.”

It was true.

Cowal was where he’d fallen in love with the natural world. His grandfather had been a great believer in the benefits of tromping through the woods , as he’d said, and had made many improvements to his land to make the wilds more accessible to people like his guests and grandsons.

Or at least, one grandson in particular. Hawk was one of seven grandchildren, with three older male cousins…but he was the one who had followed Grandda around, with his woolen knickers and miniature hiking pole, tripping over roots and laughing at funny-shaped mushrooms from a young age. While his older brother Stephen had viewed Tostinham and the wild nature as something to be avoided, Hawk had embraced it.

And now it was his .

“You do love it, do you not, Uncle Maxwell?”

“Aye,” he sighed sadly. “I never expected Tostinham to come to me, but I do love it with all my heart.”

“Well, then.” Allie pulled her hand from his and patted his arm briskly before sitting back with a satisfied air. “We are lucky it is yours now.”

“Much to Society’s surprise,” grunted Hawk through gritted teeth.

“Well, I admit the family tree is a little convoluted,” Allie continued conversationally. “Although arguably it is easier to keep track, now it has been…well. Pruned.”

Hawk’s jaw dropped. “Allie!”

“Well,” continued his unconcerned niece. “There was Grandda—your Grandfather, I mean. Then your cousin Franklin. Is that right?”

Hawk considered throwing himself out of the carriage to avoid this conversation, but they were moving at a pace, and he’d broken enough bones to last a lifetime. “Auldest son of my Uncle Douglas. He’d died the year before.”

“And Cousin Franklin died last year, yes?”

Allie was alert and attentive, and as little as Hawk wanted to have this conversation right now, he also had to admit that she deserved to know her family’s history. She had to know the history, since she was now his heir.

So he scrubbed his hand down his face and tried to be more alert. “Aye, he succumbed to a stomach ailment brought on by eating bad seafood. His younger brother Roger inherited, but barely had time to settle in before he was killed in a fall while riding.”

Allie clicked her tongue. “Tragic.”

“Aye,” Hawk muttered, folding his arms in front of his chest. “But Roger had always been a shite horseman.”

His niece held up her finger to tick off names. “Your grandfather had Douglas and William. The title skipped Douglas, the elder, who was dead by then, and went to first his oldest son—Franklin—and then his younger, Roger.” She frowned at the remaining finger. “So Tostinham reverted to William, Douglas’s younger brother?”

Hawk shifted his gaze out the window, finding the story easier to tell when he was looking at such natural beauty.

“My Uncle William was a jolly sort, loved his wine and heavy foods. He had three children, but his son—my cousin Willy—died many years ago of a childhood fever. He has— had —two daughters, Anna and Marianne.”

“But Tostinham can only be inherited by a female if there are no more males left, yes?” came Allie’s question.

“Aye,” he sighed, focusing on the farmland passing by. “When William became Baron, his solicitors told me I was his heir until such a time as he had a grandson. Anna has been married for a few years, so we all assumed it would only be a matter of time before that happy event occurred.”

“But he died first?”

Hawk swallowed. “A month ago he went to sleep and just…didnae wake up.” A deep breath, the emotions still strange and roiling at the thought of losing such a jolly man and benefitting so greatly from his death. “My cousin Marianne protested, her solicitors state that she has a better claim to the land but…”

“But the Crown has ruled in your favor,” Allie stated firmly, patting his arm once more. “And I am pleased for you, Uncle Maxwell. Your grandfather would be happy to know Tostinham is in the hands of someone who loves it as much as you do.”

That was… true .

Hawk was now Baron Tostinham, lord and owner of a property which had been special to him for most of his life but he had never expected to possess. The mountains of Cowal were why he’d become a naturalist and forester up in the Highlands. Och, aye, the income came from logging and harvesting on his properties, but what made Hawk’s approach different was the focus on sustainability and tourism. Newfangled things they may be, but profitable they were too.

And now he had the opportunity to shepherd Tostinham into the new century using those same techniques. Exciting…and a little terrifying.

His lips twitched slightly at the thought, and he turned to face his niece, his shoulders slowly loosening and his arms untangling. “Ye ken, lassie, ye’re really quite bright? Insightful.”

Allie beamed prettily. Pleased to have been complimented? Or pleased to be recognized? “Yes, I am brilliant, so good of you to notice,” she quipped. “Now… Will you tell me about it? The estate, I mean.”

“Aye,” he agreed gruffly, shifting so he could see her better—and the view out the window over her shoulder. “What do ye want to ken?”

“Your favorite part,” Allie announced immediately, as if she’d been considering it. “What is your favorite part of Tostinham?”

Well, that was easy. A slow smile tugged at his lips as he crossed one ankle over the other.

“Pook’s Glen. It’s a burn—a large stream—which tumbles down from one of the smaller peaks. My grandfather tamed it; he employed dozens of men for almost a decade to dig into the canyon walls and build bridges and paths and stairs. It used to be inaccessible for most, but now even ye could stroll up there in yer fancy gowns.”

Looking delighted, Allie clapped her gloved hands. “It is a good thing I only own a few fancy gowns, and the rest are perfectly serviceable though I suppose I could destroy them quite easily. Could I wear breeches?—?”

“Ye’re missing the point, ye dinnae need to worry about dirtying yerself!” Hawk calmed the exasperation in his voice. “Grandda made certain Pook’s Glen is accessible for picnickers, even. There’s a lodge up at the top, a simple cottage.” His voice dropped to a murmur as he gazed across the years. “He used to take me there sometimes. We’d build a campfire and howl at the stars, then sleep curled up in blankets.”

Allie’s nose wrinkled. “Howl? Perhaps I am not quite that adventurous.”

“There’s a bed and mattress in there,” he was quick to point out. “Grandda was just teaching me to survive on my own.” And how often had he used those lessons over the years, as he’d started his forestry business?

But Allie surprised him with her next question. “And why is it called Pook’s Glen?”

Ah, he had asked the same question of Grandda so many years ago. “Pook is a nature spirit, one of the auld ones. The little people of the legends. It’s said he lived in the Glen, and the burn was his home.”

“Was?” she teased. “So you have seen no evidence of a mischievous spirit?”

Lips curling wryly, Hawk shook his head. “If he ever lived there, he’s been gone since Grandda tamed the burn. It’s safe now.”

“Still…” she sighed surprisingly wistfully, reminding Hawk how young she really was. “It would be nice to meet a nature spirit. I have never heard of Pook before. Pook…” Allie tapped her chin. “I suppose it is probably the local pronunciation of Puck , the spirit from Shakespeare’s Midsummer Night’s Dream , yes? After all, you pronounce fuck like fook , so?—”

“Oh, look,” interrupted Hawk gratefully. “Here’s the front gates. Mrs. McGillicuddy is the housekeeper, and she’ll cluck and fuss over ye like the mother hen she is. Although she’ll likely swoop in to coddle ye, Artrip will have the rest of the staff lined up.”

“Artrip?”

Thank God she’d been distracted . “He’s been the butler here since Grandda’s time. Officious auld shite—” He cleared his throat. “I mean, he barely cracks a smile, and he has the most outrageous comb-over that he keeps meticulously neat. I cannae wait to see what ye do to him.”

Her grin grew mischievous. “I accept your challenge, Uncle Maxwell, and look forward to it.”

“I’ll bet ye do,” he snorted, reaching for the door handle. “Welcome to Tostinham, Allie.”

And despite his niece’s instance on impropriety, he felt his soul calming.

He was home.

“— t he absolute last thing I want to hear is?—”

Marcia quit arguing with Bull when Lady Mistree’s butler opened the door. “Lady Marcia, Mister Lindsay, my lady is expecting you. Please come in.”

Bull sent her a glare in response to the announcement she’d just made as they followed the servant to a beautifully appointed sitting room, but Marcia did not deign to meet his eye.

“Please make yourselves comfortable,” the butler intoned. “Lady Mistree will be joining you momentarily.”

As he backed out of the room and shut the door, Bull swung on her and continued their disagreement with a hiss. “Going to Tostinham?” Honestly, his memory could not be that poor. “Are ye mad?”

Doing her best to appear more confident than she felt, Marcia shrugged and lowered herself to a chair near the cold hearth. “It is up to us to prove Hawk guilty, yes? And Hawk is at Tostinham . He left right after Lady Mistree’s ball.”

The night she had danced with him. The night she had decided to seduce him.

Scowling, Bull sprawled on the sofa and began to crack his knuckles one at a time in his inability to be still. “The bastard has killed at Tostinham , Marsh. More than once. Ye cannae think I’d send ye alone…”

She shrugged. “You said yourself you cannot stand to be around him for long?—”

“Without punching him, aye.” Bull’s gaze went to the window, his expression…morose? “I cannae believe he fooled me for so long. He is…”

Her brother didn’t finish that sentence, but he didn’t need to.

Hawk was—had been his best friend since their school days. Because of his unconventional upbringing, Bull’s education had mostly been from home. When he’d finally been sent to school he’d met Maxwell Hawthorne, who he’d always called Hawk, and their friendship had bloomed.

The pair of them had been inseparable…And even her clandestine dalliance with Hawk hadn’t changed that.

In fact, Hawk had walked out of her life, but remained close with Bull. He might have chosen her brother over her, but he also never returned to visit on Hogmanay, as he’d done for years.

It had been a decade since she’d last seen Hawk, and so could admit it was possible he’d changed enough to become a killer. But poor Bull must be reeling from the realization.

Swallowing past the lump in her throat, Marcia looked away from the pain in her brother’s eyes. “He was important to you.” To both of us . “And to find out that he is not the man we thought him…could he really be capable of murder ?”

It wasn’t the first time she’d questioned the evidence, but it was the first time she’d trusted herself to voice that concern aloud.

Bull sighed and scrubbed a hand down his face. “It was difficult for me to accept as well, ye ken that. Her Highness doesnae have to send me her proof, only her certainties. And if she is certain he committed the murders, then we must be as well.”

Part of the cost of Bull’s connections with the Crown, and the Lindsay Group being granted the cases Her Majesty needed investigating was having to take each case Her Majesty needed investigating. Bull could not afford to turn this case down, or announce they’d hit a dead end after weeks of investigation, if he wanted to continue business with the Crown.

Marcia closed her eyes briefly. She hated this case; hated the hurt it dredged up, hated hearing her brother’s betrayed tone. “I am sorry, Bull. Sorry that we are having to take on this case.”

“Me too,” he sighed. “I thought I was a better judge of character.”

“Perhaps he has changed.”

Her brother snorted, and she opened her eyes in time to see him staring at his hands, his fingertips flashing through a complicated pattern that used to bring him comfort when he couldn’t seem to sit still. “He’s changed alright,” he said in a low voice. “But then again, I guess we all have.”

He lifted his gaze to pierce her. “And just because ye’re a partner in the Lindsay Group, I cannae allow ye to throw yerself headlong into danger! That is my job!”

She sighed and shook her head. “I can take this assignment, Bull, while you cannot—unless you want to get into skirts again. I will go to Tostinham, and I will gain his confidence, and I will get the information we need.”

Bull was frowning now, staring out the window, his fingers tapping along the back of the finely upholstered sofa. “How? What is yer angle? The auld amnesia trick?”

“What?”

He glanced at her. “Ye stage a fall, ye pretend to knock yer head. When ye are settled at Tostinham, ye pretend ye cannae remember anything of yer past. He relaxes, lets down his guard, is able to tell ye whatever he wishes, and what he decides will give ye the clues?—”

“Have you done this before?” Marcia pushed herself to her feet in surprise. “This is a ridiculous plan.”

“It’s no’ ridiculous! It works.”

“I am not pretending to have amnesia.” Flicking her fingers dismissively, Marcia turned her attention to the painting above the fireplace. “It is a silly plan. This landscape looks just like Merida’s work.”

“That’s because it is Merida’s work,” her brother mumbled, not quite looking at her. “I…gifted it. To Lady Mistree.”

Marcia’s brow crept up in surprise and she shot him a glance. “You really do know this lady well. I thought she was a mere acquaintance.”

Bull shrugged mulishly, not meeting her eyes. “She’s a friend, and quite special to me.”

No matter how big a charmer and flirt, Marcia knew her brother wouldn’t be in a romantic relationship with a widow three times his age. Lady Mistree wasn’t the first wealthy widow he’d considered a friend , but she knew they kept Bull around for his sense of humor and what at least one had termed his gorgeous arse . But if he was gifting Lady Mistree landscapes from their cousin Merida, then he cared for her.

Besides, the reason Bull was so good at what he did was because of that ability of his to make friends from all walks of life. Uncle Thorne was like that too, now that Marcia considered it. It had been a skill that had served him well as a spy for Her Majesty, and Bull used it the same way to solve their client’s cases. From debutantes to dockworkers, shepherds to princesses, Bull was beloved by all.

So her expression cleared to a fond smile. “You really do have the most remarkable set of friends, do you not?”

Her brother, on the other hand, merely scowled. “Clearly I’m shite when it comes to judging men’s natures, and I cannae allow ye to gallivant off to?—”

“Oh, come off it, Bull,” she sighed, throwing up her hands and turning away. “I will not go alone, is that what you want to hear?”

“Who will ye take?” he asked suspiciously. “Ye’ll need a maid and a guardian, in order to do things properly. Who can ye trust?”

Properly ? If Marcia’s plan worked, things wouldn’t be proper at all. She needed someone who wouldn’t mind that impropriety.

“Gabby,” she blurted, struck by inspiration when she glimpsed the painting once more. “I will bring Gabby as my maid.” Their cousin—technically Bull’s niece—had often accepted work from the agency, since she had such a unique skill set. “She’s bright, resourceful, and there is no reason Hawk will recognize her.”

To her surprise, her brother didn’t object, which should have been her first warning sign. “If she kens what to look for, she can investigate among the servants,” he agreed thoughtfully. “And I can go as yer guardian?—”

“No.” Marcia swallowed, trying not to sound too eager. Taking a deep breath, she turned back to her brother and clasped her hands before her modest blue day gown. “You said yourself you cannot be around him because you cannot keep your anger—your true feelings—hidden. But I can.”

Also, the thought of Bull being actually at Tostinham when she seduced Hawk…

Ten years ago, Hawk’s sudden abandonment had been painful. Now she wondered if it was the first sign of him setting himself on this murderous path. Bull, who had been friends with him all this time, had missed any signs. But she wouldn’t.

She had to find out.

And she couldn’t hurt Bull any more than he already was.

Discovering what she had planned—discovering what she’d done in the past—would definitely hurt him, and she wouldn’t be held liable for his subsequent actions.

“Rupert,” Bull suddenly announced, swinging his legs off the sofa to land on the floor. “Rupert can go with ye. He’ll lend the whole thing a respectable air, he’s no’ associated with the agency at all, and ye ken he’d welcome the chance to examine the horticulture in Cowal—that could be yer excuse for bringing him!”

The mountain rhododendrons.

Her younger brother Rupert, at twenty-seven, rarely left Peasgoode. Hell, he rarely left the library at Peasgoode! Since Uncle Ian’s illness, Uncle Duncan had devoted most of his time to coaching Rupert how to be the next Duke, though most of that appeared to be forks and fripperies.

Getting away would be good for him. Marcia slowly nodded. “Yes…that could work.” If nothing else, his ardent and enthusiastic questions about the flora of Cowal should waylay Hawk’s suspicions. “I could have him meet me there as early as next week.”

“Oooh…” Bull leaned forward, planting his elbows on his knees and lacing his long fingers together. “ He could have it!”

Marcia blinked. “It?”

“Amnesia!” crowed her brother.

Saints preserve her… “Why in the world would Rupert need to have amnesia?”

Her brother sent her a hopeful glance. “Gabby? Could Gabby have amnesia? That way, if she’s recognized?—”

Marcia planted her hands on her hips. “ No one is faking amnesia, Bull!”

He opened his mouth to argue right back, but at that moment the door swung open and the butler intoned, “The Lady Mistree.”

As the elderly woman hobbled into the room, Bull’s face lit up with genuine affection and he jumped up to assist her. “Good afternoon, Eliza. Ye’re looking as beautiful as ever.”

The woman snorted, but Marcia noted her cheeks did pinken slightly. Her skin was unusually pale, so the effect was obvious. Charmer.

“Sit down, sit down, boy” she commanded, waving imperiously. “Jones, you have the package?”

“Here, my lady,” the butler announced, waiting for her to settle herself on one of the straight-backed chairs before handing her a small box. “I shall fetch the tea forthwith.”

“Please stall a bit,” the countess commanded. “Fifth-with, perhaps? Seventh-with?”

“Very good, my lady,” he intoned with a bow. “I shall return not quite imminently, after waiting in the corridor, covering my ears, and counting to a thousand.”

As he backed from the room, Lady Mistree reached for Bull’s hand—he still stood beside her—fixed them both with smiles, and announced without a seeming care in the world, “I am dying.”

Marcia’s stomach dropped.

Her brother went one further, dropping to one knee and gathering the old woman’s hands in his. “Nay,” Bull cried, evidently upset. “Dinnae say—Eliza, ye’re strong?—”

“And ninety-seven years old, dear one.” She lifted her hands to place a kiss on Bull’s fingers. “I miss my Reggie fiercely, and I have had a wonderful time here in this world. Allow me the grace to know when I am ready to leave it?”

Since Bull was still looking surprisingly shaken, Marcia supposed it was up to her to be diplomatic. “We are sorry to hear this, milady.” She perched on the edge of the chair she’d initially taken. “I know you have been a dear friend to my brother.”

“Yes indeed.” Lady Mistree winked at her and, ignoring Bull’s presence at her side, directed her words to Marcia. “And he has told me ever so much about his friends and family. I know all about you, and the twins Hunter and Gabby, and Merida the artist, even young Rose. I feel as if I know you all well, despite only recently meeting you.”

Surprised, and a little flustered, Marcia realized she was also blushing. “I am…thank you, milady. I wish…” I had the chance to know you as well .

But the countess tsked and pulled her hand free from Bull’s just enough to pat his arm. “Bull is a dear friend, not just to me but to you all as well, and he is a boy that cares deeply. He has convinced me to care deeply for you as well, and as such, I am minded to give you your inheritance early.”

Marcia’s lips parted, but no sound emerged.

My…inheritance ?

Since Lady Mistree was beaming at her, Marcia suspected the widow knew exactly how surprising such an announcement was.

“But—” Marcia shook her head, but the pronouncement still made no sense. “Milady, I am not… You have no need…”

“ Inheritance , Eliza?” Bull blurted. “We are no’ yer heirs.”

Eyes twinkling, the countess patted his hand again. “Yes, you are. I have no children—a choice Gerald and I never regretted, let it be known—and I can leave my treasures to whomever I wish. I wish to leave Marcia her inheritance now , before Jones returns with the tea cart. We must have used up at least three of the allotted five-to-seven minutes already.”

“You—you do not need to give me anything,” Marcia whispered, twisting her hands in front of her.

“I know.” The elderly woman grinned. “I just like seeing your surprised expression. Here, my dear.” She nudged the small box toward Bull. “Bring that to your sister.”

Still wearing a stunned look, Bull managed to get to his feet and stumble toward Marcia. She took the box while eyeing him in worry.

He was taking Lady Mistree’s announcement a little hard, wasn’t he?

Marcia wasn’t truly paying attention as she opened the lid, her awareness more focused on her brother, but Bull’s sharp inhalation had her dropping her gaze to what she held in her lap.

“Oh my,” she whispered, reaching into the interior to lift a glittering blue pendant on a chain. “I have never seen a stone sparkle so…”

“That is because it is no stone, my dear,” Lady Mistree declared gleefully. “It is an amulet , and it contains a very special secret.”

Still in shock, Marcia lifted the chain to allow the pendant to dangle free, turning and twinkling in the light. Now she could look closer, she could see it really wasn’t a stone, but a small glass bulb. Inside it, specks and sparkles danced in a way she’d never before imagined. Movement. Complexity. Mystery.

“ Eliza ,” growled Bull. “ What are ye doing ?”

“I’m giving my heir her inheritance ,” the dowager stressed in return. “Marcia, that amulet is no stone, it is a home . A home to a spirit, trapped inside the glass. As long as you treasure that pendant, no harm will come to you.”

“No harm?” Marcia whispered, still entranced by the way the light danced within the small glass pendant. What on earth?—

“He will watch over you, my dear.”

At her side, Bull snorted. “Ye expect us to believe ye’ve captured a sprite and imprisoned it within a tiny chamber? It’s likely oil and powdered lapis, aye?”

“Oh, you can tut, my dear,” said Lady Mistree in a sing-song voice, “but doubting will not remove the truth. Marcia, my dear, put on the necklace. Claim your protection.”

Blinking, Marcia dragged her gaze away from the blue twinkling, to the elderly lady whose eyes were not wholly dissimilar. “I-I beg your pardon?”

“ Put it on. This is your inheritance from me, and as long as you treasure it, the spirit will protect you from his tiny home.”

Bull muttered a curse. “It does make yer eyes sparkle, Marsh,” he announced, snatching it from her hold. “Better than brown, anyway.”

Before Marcia could object, her brother had clasped the chain around her neck. She murmured her thanks, already fingering the smooth glass. It felt…right.

“There, is that not beautiful?” asked Lady Mistree. “See how perfect my choices are, Bull?”

“I hope ye ken what ye’re doing,” he muttered, throwing himself down atop the sofa once more. “ Heirs .”

“ Surprised heirs,” she corrected with a snicker. “Oh good, here is the tea.”