Page 24

“Aye.” The solicitor folded his hands, leaning forward slightly.

“You can be sure the bidders won’t be interested in preserving the castle’s legacy.

They’ll see only its potential for profit—mines, timber, grazing land.

And I can assure you, the vultures are already circling.

Not two weeks after Laird Blair’s passing, I had an offer made for the place.

” He shook his head. “It would be a travesty to see it mishandled and unappreciated.”

Had he said castle? Grace blinked a few times, attempting to rework the image of Mosslea in her head from being similar to her dear Havensbrooke to something entirely different.

So many mystery-loving clues were flying, Grace wished she’d brought her notepad and pen to the meeting.

An unexpected death to the previous owner, a passionate steward desperate to protect his home, possible entrepreneur with a desire to own lucrative property, and a castle?

“A travesty, indeed.” Lillias’ voice pulled Grace from her mental image of fairytales and back to the very real mystery of this entire situation. “But even if we claim the inheritance together, how are we to manage such an estate? Are funds available for its upkeep?”

Oh, that was a very good question. One Grace should have considered.

“There are. More than enough, as Laird Blair’s predecessor had secured monies for Mosslea’s repairs before his death. The surplus, as well as the way you manage the resources of the land, are sure to keep you two in good financial stead for the foreseeable future.”

“Well, we have every intention of claiming what is ours, do we not, Grace?” Lillias raised her chin to battle proportions. “What must we do? When can we leave? And—and how will we procure the expense?”

“Assuming your current situation allows for it, Mrs. Dixon, I’d be happy to leave no later than the first of next week.”

“I am not at fault for my husband’s death, Mr. Barclay, so we should have no difficulty on that score.” The edge in Lillias voice brooked no argument, and Grace hoped the police proved as amenable to her sister’s tone as Mr. Barclay.

“Very well.” He dipped his head. “Your mother set up accounts for each of you in Harrington Bank to provide funds for travel and initial expenses.”

“She thought of everything, didn’t she?” Grace laughed. “How clever and well-planned.”

“Aye.” Mr. Barclay’s gaze softened with his smile. “She was a clever one, ye ken?”

Grace’s grin broadened at his warmth, and he continued.

“The accounts have accrued some interest since they were established, so they should amply cover your travel expenses and any other immediate needs you may have.” His gaze landed much-too-pointedly on Lillias, whose eyes gleamed like a child catching sight of presents on Christmas morning.

Or at least, Grace imagined that’s how a child’s eyes might gleam.

She hoped very much to find out firsthand one day, with Zahra and Elizabeth, and maybe four or five other little ones.

Oh! Christmas at Havensbrooke this year will be magnificent.

“Then let us proceed.” Lillias slipped to the edge of the chair, nearer Mr. Barclay. “Where do we sign?”

Mr. Barclay cleared his throat, his expression turning serious as he leaned forward. “I dinnae bring the official forms with me today.”

“What?” Lillias exclaimed, her brows furrowing. “I thought this was of the utmost urgency?”

“Aye,” He continued, his tone deliberate.

“But I needed to secure your intentions and interest before I brought the papers with me. There are only two copies of the will. One remains under lock and key in my possession at the hotel. The other is secured along with other important papers like blueprints, land surveys, and other personal items at Mosslea itself, in a safe location known only to the late Mr. Blair and myself. Now that I’ve met you and know of your intentions, we can secure another meeting for your signatures, and then I will escort you to Mosslea myself to give you a proper introduction. ”

It all sounded rather straightforward, if Lillias’ possible charges as a murderess didn’t complicate matters. Grace almost cringed. Certainly, a sentence she’d never imagined thinking. She shook off the thought, focusing on Mr. Barclay’s satchel instead. “So what have you brought with you?”

“Why on earth would his satchel matter, Grace, when we have an inheritance to secure?” Lillias huffed.

“It matters a great deal, Mrs. Dixon.” Mr. Barclay drew the satchel onto his lap and brought out a large envelope.

“These are paintings and photographs of Mosslea and Angloss. There are a few of Laird Blair and the surrounding areas, and I located some photos taken of your mother.” He turned his attention fully on Grace. “I feel you’ll appreciate them.”

“Most certainly.” Grace took the offering into her arms as if the package was as fragile as baby Thomas. “Thank you.”

“And when do you wish to meet for us to sign the documents?” Lillias interjected, doing nothing to hide the impatience in her voice.

Mr. Barclay turned toward her and drew his pocket watch from his jacket. “I will prepare everything tonight, so”—he glanced down at the watch—”would noon tomorrow suffice? In my hotel’s private parlor.”

“We will be there.” Lillias stood, answering for the both of them, and Grace hoped she had more foresight into her personal freedom than Grace did.

“And my husband, Lord Astley, will join us as well.”

Mr. Barclay stood, nodding toward Lillias with a courteous smile, before turning to Grace. His smile deepened, something warm and almost mischievous in his gaze. “I look forward to our meeting tomorrow.”

And Grace had to curb the urge to hug him for the third time.

As he reached the door, Mr. Barclay paused, looking back at them with a hint of something unreadable in his expression.

“One last note—should either of you have second thoughts or should complications arise, it is imperative you inform me immediately. Time is not on your side, and any delay could jeopardize the inheritance.”

Lillias squared her shoulders. “There won’t be any complications.”

Grace hoped that to be true.

Mr. Barclay’s lips twitched, a subtle expression that could have been approval or skepticism—or perhaps a mix of both. “Good day, ladies.” He swept from the room.

The door had just closed behind him when Grace sent her sister a quick shrug of apology and rushed out of the room after the man. He’d not made it but a few steps down the hallway and turned at her approach.

“I’m so sorry, Mr. Barclay, and I’m certain you’ll find this question impertinent, but what happened to Mr. Blair’s wife?”

“His wife?” Mr. Barclay’s brows shot skyward.

“You mentioned his death, but is she still living in Mosslea? Should we be considering her in our decisions?”

Mr. Barclay’s confusion melted into a knowing smile, as if some piece of the puzzle clicked into place.

“Ah, I see. I didnae make that clear, did I?” He nodded once, then sobered.

“It’s a private matter, but since you’ll be inheriting the rumors along with the estate, you ought to know, I s’pose.

” He sighed. “She drowned, along with him.”

Grace’s palm flew to her stomach. “Oh no.”

“Aye, it was a sad discovery, make no mistake.” He shook his head. “They’d gone out in a boat to visit the ruins on an island near the house—’twas a favorite picnic spot for the couple, so the house servants say. And on the return, the boat capsized.”

“How awful,” Grace murmured, struggling to process this new detail. “And they couldn’t swim?”

Mr. Barclay hesitated before answering, his gaze growing distant. “I dinnae know if Lady Blair could swim, but the laird could, or so I’m told. They say he tried to save her, but …” He allowed the rest of the sentence to hang in the air like an unfinished thought.

So the heroic sort of drowning? “And the poor servants are the ones who recovered the bodies, I suspect?”

Mr. Barclay flinched at Grace’s directness, or she supposed that was why, but after a moment, he answered. “Laird Blair’s body was found by the servants, aye.”

A wave of foreboding washed over her. “And his wife’s?”

He sighed deeply, as though the weight of the story had followed him all this time. “They found her scarf and hat, as I recall.” He pulled his hat from his head, adjusting it slowly. “Loch Ness takes its own, and they’re none too easy to find beneath those depths.”

With that, he dipped his head and walked down the hall, leaving Grace frozen in place. Loch Ness?

She’d heard of it. Read about it in a few obscure books in her family library about Scottish history, no doubt left there by her mother. But did Mr. Barclay’s revelation mean that Mosslea was close to the mysterious loch and even more mysterious creature?

Grace looked back at the breakfast room door. She should talk to Lillias about everything, but after only a moment’s hesitation, she dashed toward the stairs. First and foremost, she needed to write down every new clue she’d just uncovered and sort out a plan for the next adventure.