A Question for the Ages

By Angeline Fortin

She lost faith in the person she loved most

Lady Piper Brudenall hoped, prayed, and pleaded for her brother to return to London and rescue her from the marriage her mother arranged for her to a despicable nobleman. Heartbroken by her brother's apparent abandonment but with nowhere left to turn, Piper knew she had no one left to trust. No one to count on. No choice but to save herself. Leaving behind life as she knew it, she ran away from it all. Living right under their noses. Fearing what would become of her if she were ever discovered.

He found love in the most unexpected place

Connor MacKintosh relishes the chance to take control of the Marquis of Aylesbury's estate, Dinton Grange, while his sister and her new husband were on their honeymoon. Getting his hands dirty evolves into a far more fascinating undertaking when he encounters a bonny lass with a smile potent enough to leave a man weak in the knees. As taken as he is by her, Connor realizes the mysterious woman is running from something, or someone. Unfortunately, he can be of no help to her if she persists in running from him.

Wariness of strangers has kept Piper's presence at the Grange a secret for more than two years. However, while distrust hasn't entirely guaranteed security... it has ensured loneliness. When Connor comes along offering a friendly ear, a helping hand, and something more unexpected, she's torn between her head and her heart. One knows she'd be a fool to put her faith in another man. The other promises that he is a man like no other.

As Piper's past threatens to catch up with her, Connor will do anything he can to keep her safe. Whether she will trust him with her life and her heart...

That's a question for the ages.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Angeline Fortin
• Release date: Jul 23, 2019

Angeline Fortin

Angeline Fortin is the author of historical and  time-travel romance offering her readers a fun, sexy and often touching tales of romance.  With a degree in US History from UNLV and having previously worked as a historical interpreter at Colonial Williamsburg, Angeline brings her love of history and Great Britain to the forefront in settings such as Victorian London and Edinburgh. As a former military wife, Angeline has lived from the west coast to the east, from the north and to the south and uses those experiences along with her favorite places to tie into her time travel novels as well. Angeline is a native Minnesotan who recently relocated back to the land of her birth and braved the worst winter recorded since before she initially moved away.  She lives in Apple Valley outside the Twin Cities with her husband, two children and three dogs She is a wine enthusiast, DIY addict (much to her husband's chagrin) and sports fanatic who roots for the Twins and Vikings faithfully through their highs and lows. Most of all she loves what she does everyday - writing.  She does it for you the reader, to bring a smile or a tear and loves to hear from her fans.

Book preview

Prologue

Victoria Square

London, England

December 1892

ONE WOULD THINK IT was a time of merriment in Victoria Square. Her mother’s laughter rang throughout the townhouse with none of the pomposity it normally projected in social occasions. Tonight, it tinkled like the crystal flutes being tapped together in repeated toasts and was as effervescent as the champagne filling those glasses.

Even from her bedchamber two floors above, Lady Piper Brudenall knew it was champagne. The distinctive pop of the cork had reached her ears numerous times over the last few hours. Her mother was indeed partaking of a hearty celebration.

Rejoicing in the death of the man Piper had cherished like a father for the past five years. Anger for the cold, conniving woman below brought more heat to Piper’s cheeks than the fire raging in the hearth. Open flame had nothing on the hatred burning in her heart. Randall Addington may have been no more than a viscount and stepfather—both facts the source of countless hours of mockery and disparagement on her mother’s part—but to Piper, he’d been the calm in the storm. The peace amid the furious whirlwind that was Celeste Brudenall Addington, Viscountess of Sedmouth.

Despite the sins of her mother, her stepfather had showered his love upon Piper. Called her the daughter of his heart.

He deserved better than this.

Better than a wife who took joy in becoming a widow.

Piper hadn’t even been allowed to attend the funeral. Though it was true that few young ladies did so in this day and age, the service had been a private one. A solemn and all-too-brief prayer over a stark coffin before it had been set into the cold earth of the Sedmouth family plot. Yet she hadn’t been permitted to attend.

To mourn.

She hadn’t been allowed to do much of that at all. If her older brother were present, perhaps things might be different. She might have had arms to comfort her. A shoulder to cry upon.

Instead, before a single shovelful of dirt had been cast into Sedmouth’s grave, Celeste commenced preparations to leave the viscount’s country estate in Basingstoke behind in favor of London society.

And plot her next move.

More than likely, the object of her mother’s latest ambitions was below right now. Piper could discern a reverberating baritone rumble between breaks in Celeste’s bright tittering. No doubt he was imbibing copious amounts of champagne when he should be wary of the viper’s nest he’d entered.

A light tap sounded at her bedchamber door before it opened a crack. Through the gap a pale, solemn face caught the glow of the gas sconce on the wall. M’lady?

Yes, Edith?

The maid swallowed hard, pity clouding her wide eyes. Your mother would like you to attend her in the gold drawing room.

Piper closed her eyes, praying for strength and patience. You may tell my mother that I’m in mourning for my stepfather even if she is not.

Edith nodded. I understand, m’lady. In that case, I’m instructed to inform you that a pair of footmen will be sent to carry you down if you don’t come of your own accord.

A part of her liked to believe her mother wouldn’t dare go to such measures. Unfortunately, that part of her was the portion that dwelled in hope and delusion.

Glancing down at the letter she’d composed, Piper wondered if the plea she’d written there, too, was nothing more than fancy and fantasy.

‘Harry, please! Where are you? Haven’t you heard the news? Oh, dearest brother, you promised you’d take me away from here. Why haven’t you come?’

Piper set her pen aside and capped her ink bottle. Tell my mother I will be down shortly.

The maid sighed with visible relief. Yes, m’lady.

THERE SHE IS! THE unspoken finally was evident in the tight undertone of Celeste’s voice.

There’d be reprisal for dawdling, though Piper had managed no more than a quarter hour before another, more insistent knock had sounded at her door. No doubt there’d be a few harsh words as well for her appearance, as she’d sacrificed none of those fifteen minutes to pretty herself for the sake of company.

In a drab black gown with her equally black hair bound by a haphazardly tied ribbon, her eyes red and swollen from crying and her nose bright as a cherry, her presentation reflected her unsettled emotions perfectly. And she was glad of it. Her mother’s indecorous breach of proper mourning etiquette deserved no better.

Now more than ever. Her somber garb stood in stark contrast to Celeste’s burgundy velvet—a tactless splash of color amid the golden brocades of the drapery, wallpaper, and furniture—and her mother’s hair. Moreover, it had been bad enough to think of Celeste receiving a group of people when by rights the house should be closed in mourning. Even worse to realize her mother entertained only a single gentleman.

She had no shame, though Piper bore enough in that moment for them both.

Celeste’s guest stood near the fireplace, his elbow propped nonchalantly on the mantel, a glass of champagne dangling from his hand. Though he appeared to be at least two score years or more, his golden blond hair, chiseled visage, and crystal blue eyes bespoke ageless, angelic masculinity.

Your Grace, may I present my daughter, Lady Phillipa Brudenall. The moniker broke through the bedazzled haze most any handsome man could cast over a young lady of seventeen years, and Piper winced. The proper name it might be, however, she far preferred the nickname her brother had blessed her with years ago.

The manner in which her mother addressed her guest also sunk in to give her pause.

A duke.

True, Celeste cared for rank and wealth above all else. She’d possessed both when she’d wed Piper’s father, Robert Brudenall, after his beloved first wife passed away. Playing on his wife’s dying wish that he provide a mother for their son, she’d finagled her way into his life, his bed, and matrimony. In that order, if the whispers Piper had heard over the years were true.

Her subsequent marriage to Sedmouth had been a step down despite his fortune, and Celeste had never let him forget it. Since his unexpected death five days ago, Celeste had shed the title of viscountess, which she considered low and therefore distasteful, in favor of her former and far loftier one, Marchioness of Aylesbury—the title she preferred far above any other she’d obtained thus far in life.

Including that of mother.

Or rather, mother of a mere daughter.

Condemnation of Piper’s egregious choice to be born female rather than male had rung like a monotonous chorus in her ears for the bulk of her life. It had been the sole purpose of her existence, after all, and put quite the damper on Celeste’s plans to set her offspring ahead of Piper’s half-brother Harry, laws of primogeniture be damned.

Her grandiose ambitions knew no bounds. In all likelihood, the duke before her would soon sacrifice his stately title to Celeste’s schemes.

His grace offered a lazy smile, as oblivious as a lamb out to slaughter. The poor wretch had no idea what he was getting himself into by keeping Celeste’s company.

Phillipa, her mother continued, this is Ambrose Waldegrave, Duke of Rutledge.

Not just any duke. An edgy chill summoned by the Rutledge name dashed away whatever admiration for his fine good looks might have lingered. Even at the finishing school she’d attended until the previous year, she’d heard rumors of the scurrilous Duke of Rutledge.

Casting her eyes downward, she studied the intricate pattern inlaid into the wood floors. The Greek key design in light and dark tones began just beyond her toe. Inside that border, interwoven golden circles and rosy cherry squares spread like a carpet. Or as she’d often fancied, stepping stones across a bubbling creek. Now, they were planks traversing the hell fires below...with the devil on the other side.

Rutledge pushed away from the fireplace and strolled toward her. His assessing stare raked her from head to toe and the urge to flee besieged Piper.

Who was the innocent lamb in the room now?

He took her limp, icy hand and bowed over it. My lady. A pleasure.

Piper said nothing. Her mother might be able to force her presence but she couldn’t compel conversation. A far better excuse than admitting she feared no sound would emerge from her suddenly parched throat.

Nothing of the wolf Piper had heard him to be reflected in Rutledge’s beatific smile as he studied her. She might have been inclined to dismiss the rumors of his unscrupulous nature if his direct scrutiny hadn’t made her flesh crawl. Dead fish bore more emotion than he.

This man was no pawn. His ruthlessness was legendary. As conniving as Celeste was, she couldn’t hold a candle to Rutledge’s reputation.

Rarely have I found rumors to bear any truth, he said so abruptly, Piper feared he’d read her mind. What a pleasure to confirm those regarding your beauty weren’t exaggerated. You’ve the most vibrant eyes, my dear girl. Like the skies of heaven.

A nauseating quiver slithered through her as he clasped her hand between his, his thumb caressing her palm. He might resemble an angel, though by all accounts, he’d never get a glimpse past the pearly gates. Piper tugged; he didn’t release her.

Duke? Celeste’s tone hardened. You’ve seen her and I can readily see you approve. Have we a bargain, then?

Rutledge cocked his head, his pale gaze never leaving Piper. We do.

A rustling of papers drew Piper’s attention, even if it didn’t sway his, and she turned to see her mother fanning a sheaf of parchment atop a nearby table. A pen and ink stood at the ready. The reality of what transpired under her nose seized Piper with all the rage that had assailed her for days.

She knew that her mother had pinned high hopes on her marriageability. Not that she differed from any other society matron of the ton with an eligible daughter to marry off. Many, including her dearest friend Jane’s mother, aspired to a great match. Winning her daughter a duchess’s tiara would be a social coup for Celeste. Admittedly, somewhere in her childish fantasies, Piper had dreamed of the same.

But not yet. Not now.

Over the past year, she’d often overheard her mother badger Sedmouth to arrange an advantageous marriage for her daughter. He always refused to hear of it, saying Piper was deserving of a Season or two before such serious matters were considered. To have her mother coordinate this, days after his death when she’d already thrown propriety to the wind, was too much. Piper wouldn’t have it.

Most definitely not with him.

You think to marry me off to this...this...old man? Piper managed to temper the far worse epitaph on her tongue, though she couldn’t resist freeing her hand from the duke’s grip.

Celeste’s smooth, ivory complexion grew mottled with blotches of unflattering crimson. The duke, on the other hand, stilled like a pale marble statue but for the tiniest boost of one brow.

Piper bit her lip to stifle a yelp as her mother pinched the tender flesh at the back of her arm. A favorite punishment of hers, painful yet rarely leaving a visible mark. Piper should have known better than to stay close at hand. My apologies, your grace. My daughter is out of sorts.

Your daughter is in mourning for Sedmouth, Piper retorted. As this entire house should be.

You will hold your tongue, you wretched fool, Celeste hissed under her breath and pinched harder. The duke’s brow notched up further, though he offered not a word. I would expect you to be suitably honored if the duke were inclined to propose such a union. However, he has not.

He hasn’t? A flush of shame warmed her cheeks. Her rudeness knew no bounds. She shouldn’t have jumped to conclusions. In her defense, having been summoned and paraded before the duke, Piper considered her assumption a logical one.

"His grace has requested my hand in marriage."

The news dumbfounded Piper even more. It took a moment to blink away her incredulity. For years, speculation of Celeste’s calculated coercion of first Aylesbury and then Sedmouth had spread as thick as jam on a fresh scone. That a man of the duke’s repute could be gulled into voluntarily falling into her well-known mechanizations for greater title and wealth was astonishing.

She glanced at Rutledge, biting back the urge to ask what possessed him. You have?

Indeed, I have, the duke drawled, then offered the reason himself. On the condition...

We are both to have a title in the bargain, darling. Celeste fluttered her lashes at Rutledge with false lightheartedness. Isn’t that wonderful? For us both? I will be the duchess for now and then someday, you will inherit the same title. It is an incredible oppor— She shot a glance at the duke. Rather, an incredible honor his grace does us both.

Of course. Piper nearly laughed at the admission. Celeste did nothing that she didn’t benefit from herself. She’d have herself a handsome, if heartless, duke and the title to go with it while leaving her daughter to...

The reality of the deal at hand struck her then. To gain the title of Duchess of Rutledge one day, she’d have to be the wife of the duke’s son. And as far as she knew, he had exactly one.

If the thought of wedding the duke had her in shudders, contemplating the alternative nearly sent her into a swoon. If Rutledge were the king of debauchery, his son Milford Waldegrave, Viscount Dormer, was the crown prince. Tales of his moral depravity bordered on the criminal, and there was talk that disease stemming from his exploits had rendered him half-mad. She’d heard that he’d brutalized and ruined a highborn young lady, first denying it then later boasting of his evil deed.

Piper did not know what brutalized entailed, nor did she care to. All she knew was that Rutledge had consigned his son to his country estate under guard after the scandal had broken.

No decent mother would allow her daughter within a mile of him.

Her mother wanted her only daughter to marry him.

I will not. Her vehement rejection surprised them all. Herself included. Once vocalized, Piper had no intention of recanting her refutation. Without maternal protection on her side, she had to speak out.

The duke’s brow, already elevated, rose to greater heights. Celeste’s reaction was not as composed. Her forehead and mouth creased into deep, unattractive grooves that her mother would have been horrified by. Jaw clenched, she managed a stilted, Duke, would you allow me a moment alone with my daughter?

I think not, my lady, the duke answered contrarily, crossing his arms over his chest. I find myself intrigued to hear your daughter’s rationale on the matter.

Agape, with no idea how to rebuke such an open denial to what had obviously been a rhetorical request, her mother vacillated between continuing on and an utter stupefaction that would have provided Piper a fair amount of merriment at any other time. She did enjoy seeing her mother silenced for any reason and took the opportunity to step out of reach of her mother’s pinching fingers.

You were saying? he prompted.

Piper’s moment of triumph slipped away at the emotional void in his eyes. She swallowed the lump growing at the back of her throat. I have no wish to wed at this time, your grace. Especially not to someone like the viscount, she refrained from adding aloud. She did, however, feel compelled to inform him, Nor does my mother have the right to contract a union on my behalf.

I have every right. Celeste cast an anxious glance and gaunt smile at Rutledge. I am your mother.

Adamant, Piper shook her head. But not my guardian. Even Sedmouth could not have arranged a marriage for me, your grace, nor could I accept any offers, she assured him. Not without the permission of the Marquis of Aylesbury.

What makes you think your brother hasn’t given it? her mother bit out, before forcing another smile for the duke’s sake.

He wouldn’t. Piper clasped the conviction close to her heart. Her dear brother would never be so cruel. Couldn’t be.

Yet, Harry wasn’t here as he’d promised to be. He hadn’t come to whisk her away from the nightmare of life with Celeste, again, as he’d promised. He’d done none of the things he’d sworn to do.

Her mother picked at the fraying threads of her faith. He did. Wholeheartedly. He came and left from Sedmouth’s funeral without asking once to see you and offered his approval for the match. He wants nothing more to do with you than I.

You’re lying, Piper managed, although her conviction wavered. Harry had been there? Why hadn’t he spoken to her? Written? It had been weeks since she’d heard from him.

She glanced at the contracts spread on the table and the seal of the marquisate stamped at the bottom. Her heart sank. She refused to believe her ever-loving and affectionate brother would abandon her to a marriage to the most disgraceful heir in the land.

He wouldn’t.

A shaft of sunlight made its way through a gap in the curtains to illuminate the blank lines next to the seal. Her unbreakable confidence in her brother’s devotion revitalized. His signature is not on those agreements.

A technicality, Celeste insisted, glaring at her.

A necessity, she countered, optimism renewed. "Until I see it there or hear it from my brother’s own lips, his grace can take his offer and shove it up his blistering ar—ouch!"

Piper glowered at her mother and for the briefest moment, something vulnerable showed through Celeste’s shrewd gaze.

Darling, I’ve never wanted you to experience a moment of life’s uncertainties. Not as I have. Think about the benefits that will be yours. Not only a title and wealth, but security. The settlements and jointure Rutledge offers are beyond generous. You will never want for anything in life. What more could I ask for than to know my child is settled in the best possible situation?

The words rang with a truth Piper didn’t often hear from her mother. A smidge of sympathy crept into her steadfast resolve. Contracting an advantageous marriage for their daughters was the cornerstone of a mother’s ambition and hallmark of their success. All the girls at her boarding school had mothers who said that very thing. Many who’d accomplished it.

Perhaps Celeste was no different from them, after all.

I want nothing more than to see you safe and sound, her mother added. Well taken care of.

Piper’s defenses rose once more at that addendum. Her mother might be like all the rest in wanting the best for her child. Contrary to the notion, the last thing Piper would be as Viscountess Dormer was safe or well taken care of. Not in his hands if there were the tiniest grain of truth to the rumors.

She wasn’t willing to take that chance. I will not do it, and Harry would never insist. Of that, I am confident.

Lady Sedmouth. Rutledge smoothly employed the lesser title Celeste abhorred so much. Piper might have admired his maneuvering against her mother if she weren’t furious with them both. "Perhaps you might allow me a word alone with your daughter?"

Such a disregard for propriety provided even Celeste a moment’s pause. A second later, she blinked away her consternation and stepped toward the door. I’ll be right outside, your grace, if you... I’ll be right outside.

She left, shutting the door firmly behind her. Either she had incredible, unfounded confidence in the duke’s good manners or Piper’s reputation was nothing in comparison to her ambition for a duchess’s tiara.

Piper knew which it was without a second thought.

Do you know, from what I’ve heard about you, I imagined a feeble-minded child with naught but beauty to recommend her? He shook his head and clucked his tongue, as if the folly of rumor were tiresome. It’s true.

My guardian may not be present, but I assure you, I’m strong enough to stand up for myself.

Yes, I can see that. Admirable quality. Rutledge took her arm and drew her away from the door, insistent yet gentle. Lacing her arm through his, he propelled her into a measured promenade around the room. His head bent close to hers. You are young, my dear. Perhaps too young to realize that there are only three things that truly matter in life. Power, wealth, and reputation. The first two will get you far. Nevertheless, without the third, a man is nothing. My good name has been besmirched by malicious defamation against my son. A wife of noble repute and impeccable lineage will go far to restore the Waldegrave name. The duke paused near the window and smiled down at her, the gesture taut without a hint of emotion. While you’ve quite charmed me with your vivacity and steadfastness, my dear, I think you will find that I, too, am known for my determination. I will have this union.

Dread curled in her gut at the chilling declaration. Piper steeled herself. With respect, Duke, I must decline.

He braced his hands on the mantel, one on either side of her, effectively pinning her in place as he loomed over her. You refuse the title of duchess?

A lump formed at the back of her throat. She swallowed it back. No, your grace, I refuse to wed your son.

Though his expression had remained impassive until then, his eyes glittered with something she couldn’t identify yet instinct tempted her to flee from it. He stepped back and she took a deep breath. Is that so?

In that moment...for the blink of an eye, it felt like Piper had achieved a victory.

The merest blink. That was all.

Chapter 1

I pray Harry can sway Mother from her absurd plan to force me into marriage with the viscount. The turn of the century draws near, after all. Arranged marriages are so passé.

~ from the diary of Piper Brudenall, Dec 1892

Dinton Grange

Home of the Marquis of Aylesbury

Aylesbury, England

Late June 1895

FOR ALL THAT IS GOOD and holy, please, just go. Connor MacKintosh pinched the bridge of his nose, primarily in effort to refrain from pitching his sister yet another look of exasperation. He’d been heaping reassurance on top of reassurance upon his sister and her new husband for a quarter hour straight thus far to no avail. I assure ye, I can handle this.

Are you quite, quite certain?

Connor lowered his hand and imparted his mounting frustration with a glower and something close to a growl. Dearest Heather Blossom, I love ye, by God I do. And as I would like to continue doing so for the rest of my days, I’ll be needing ye to get yer bloody arse into that carriage and drive away now before ye make it impossible.

Fiona’s jaw sagged before she snapped her mouth shut, a fierce frown burrowing its way between her brows. Her newly acquired spouse released a bark of laughter before biting back a grin.

Don’t you encourage him, Harry Brudenall! This is serious business.

Aye, Connor agreed with a nod. And if ye hadn’t thought me capable of taking on this serious business, ye wouldnae have bothered to ask it of me in the first place, aye? Or did a ring on yer finger and a fancy new title somehow elevate ye to some intellectual and moral high ground of which we were previously unaware?

Sparks snapped in her bonny green eyes as she wielded her ridiculously frilled parasol like a rapier. That was before I realized everything you do while we’re gone will reflect on me!

Perhaps marriage had raised his sister to some higher plane of existence. As far as Connor could tell, entrée into that institution had brought a change to each of his older brothers, as one by one they entered into it. Fiona carried it quite differently than they. He and his sister had spent a lifetime engaged in banter of some sort. From playful to fierce. In the week since donning the mantle of marchioness, the constant pecking that had long bemused their siblings had become a far more irksome henpecking.

Could be it was nothing more than nerves on her part. The weight of her new position combined with the desire to make a suitable impression. And aye, Connor would allow that as a representative of her family, all he did in her absence would indeed reflect upon her.

On the other hand, a man only needed a score of reminders of the fact to accept her point with due gravity. Not a bloody deluge of them.

While I continue to appreciate the finer aspects of your sibling squabbles, I’m afraid we must be on our way if we are to make our train. Harry checked his pocket watch for the third time since they’d exited the house. His internal clock must not have been as fine-tuned as Connor’s, who’d been able to tick off each excruciating minute as it passed. I’m sure you’ll manage it well enough, Connor. I’ve faith in you.

Good to know someone does. Connor held out a hand and clasped his new brother-in-law’s firmly. God bless ye, Harry, I hope ye ken what ye got yerself into by wedding her. Howbeit, I offer my thanks for taking her off our hands.

The marquis grinned. So you’ve said. Time and again.

"Oh, ha ha, Fiona mumbled under her breath. There’s nothing wrong with wanting to assure myself that the family representative we’ve appointed to care for Dinton Grange will do a quality job of it."

Connor glanced up at the façade of the sprawling mansion that cast its shadow over them. Harry had told him that it had once been nothing more ostentatious than the average lordly English manor before his stepmother pestered his father into reflecting his station in a more outward and appropriate manner. After the addition of two rambling wings and a revamped exterior, the behemoth was better suited to sit among the French Renaissance châteaux of the Loire Valley than to rise from the bucolic pastures of Buckinghamshire.

Aye, it reflected the station of the Marquis of Aylesbury...if pretentious and extravagant were part and parcel of the rank.

Still, it couldn’t hold a candle to another beastly mansion built out of spite.

This place is easily half the size of Glen Cairn Manor, he reminded his sister, referring to the MacKintosh family manor in Glenrothes, Scotland where they’d been raised. No doubt it’ll take me less time and manpower to clear the trees from a hundred acres of the Grange than it does an army of maids to dust the main floor of the manor.

Fiona conceded the point with a sigh, aware she couldn’t argue the fact. Quite likely true, nevertheless I feel I mus— Oh!

Enough was enough. Connor heaved his sister up and over his shoulder, ignoring the fists pounding his back and narrowly avoiding a foot to the groin. Carrying her to the waiting carriage, he dumped her inside without ceremony. Ye have a nice honeymoon, Blossom.

Connor MacKintosh! She straightened her absurdly broad and bedecked hat and waved her equally frivolous parasol at him. You see, I’m right to worry! You haven’t a serious bone in your body.

Nonsense. He brushed his hands together. I’m quite serious in my intent to see as much distance as possible put between us straightaway. Turning to the marquis, he begged with a hint of humor, Keep her too busy to write and bedevil me, will ye?

My pleasure. Harry’s grin broadened. I’m sure you’ll do fine here. I have every confidence in you.

He offered the sentiment with more conviction than Fiona. Connor appreciated that. He hadn’t had the opportunity to acquaint himself with Aylesbury beyond polite small talk as yet. Harry’s hasty wooing of Connor’s sister had led to a shockingly abbreviated engagement prior to their recent wedding. However, he liked what he’d seen thus far. His new brother-in-law had proven himself a man of few words, lacking the tendency toward the undue badgering that Fiona favored. A man of solid character and impeccable opinion, as evidenced by his support of Connor’s ability to handle the challenge he’d been presented with.

Connor anticipated the opportunity to prove himself as a capable land manager. Not only to Harry and Fiona but to his brothers, as