“Afternoon, sir. Can I help ye?”
“I’m Lord Brenmore, come to see to Glenrose’s affairs.”
Judging by the widening of the young man’s eyes, Blair was expected. And perhaps feared already.
The lad doffed his cap and hastily took the horse’s reins, assuring Blair that the animal would receive close attention.
“My bags should arrive via coach before nightfall.”
“I’ll send them inside, sir—er, milord.”
Leaving the stables, Blair crossed to the manor’s front double doors. But before he had to decide if he should knock, the doors opened. Instead of a butler or footman, however, a woman of middling years stood clasping her hands and staring at Blair.
“Milord,” the woman breathed. “Ye must be the Earl of Brenmore, the late Earl’s relation.”
“Indeed.”
“Welcome to Glenrose, milord. I’m Mrs. Drummond, the housekeeper. Please, do come in out of the cold.”
Inside, an entrance hall had been created by dividing what once must have been a large, open great hall. At the back of the entrance hall was a spiral stone staircase leading upward. Two passageways branched on either side of the stairs, one to the left and one to the right.
“Would ye like to rest from yer travels, milord?” Mrs. Drummond asked, receiving Blair’s overcoat, gloves, and hat. “Or mayhap ye’d like to see Glenrose straightaway?”
“A tour, please.”
Mrs. Drummond dipped her white-capped head and set out at a brisk pace. Off to the right was the master suite, which presumably had belonged to Douglas MacInnish. Given that Mrs. Drummond hung Blair’s coat outside the suite’s dressing room, he was apparently to stay there.
“Beg pardon, milord, but Lord Glenrose didnae employ a valet. I could send up one of the lads from the kitchen if ye like, or—”
“Nay, that won’t be necessary.”
It was obvious the manor was operating with a skeleton crew of servants. Whether that was because the estate was in graver danger than Blair had originally suspected or because the late Earl wasn’t overly concerned with the customs of refined society remained to be seen.
Blair followed Mrs. Drummond back out through the dressing room, bedroom, and sitting room designated for the master of the keep, then into the left wing of the manor.
Here lay the bulk of the residence, it seemed. The passageway opened onto a large, sprawling chamber. Unlike the entrance hall, the space hadn’t been divided with recently added walls to create a more modern set of rooms. Instead, it had been left open, reminiscent of a massive great hall fitting the keep’s age.
The space served as both dining room and drawing room, just as it would have several hundred years ago. At the back sat a massive wooden table and a dozen heavily carved chairs. A door set into the stones along the far wall presumably led to the kitchen.
The front portion of the room was situated with several tall-backed, deep-cushioned chairs and well-worn sofas. They were arranged casually in front of an enormous fireplace—it was perhaps a dozen feet wide, with a mantel that was so rustic as to be little more than a giant tree trunk hewn in half.
Though the rambling room was washed in austere gray light from the tall windows filling the front wall, it felt surprisingly cozy and lived-in. The stone walls and floors were softened with thick, richly colored carpets and hanging tapestries, and the windows were trimmed with cascading burgundy drapery. Clearly this was a well-used and well-liked room.
Again, Blair was struck by the lack of formality in the space, along with the ancient yet cozy feel all around. The keep had been updated, renovated, and softened for the comforts of modern life ever so slightly, but it still bore a rustic and very Highland lack of polish.
“And here is the study,” Mrs. Drummond said, indicating an opening in the front corner of the room which Blair hadn’t noticed at first.
As he stepped in after her, he realized that the study was housed in one of the keep’s two round towers.
It was a breathtaking room. The ceiling soared overhead, spanning the height of both of the keep’s two storeys. Curved bookcases had been built to circle the entire study, except for where tall windows had been cut out of the stone to let in natural light. A ladder was propped against one of the shelves so that the leather-bound volumes on the upper levels could be reached. A cluster of comfortable-looking chairs and a large oak desk filled the rest of the space.
“This was Lord Glenrose’s favorite room,” Mrs. Drummond commented quietly. She nodded toward a gilt-framed portrait hanging on one of the few patches of exposed stone. “There is his likeness. If ye dinnae mind me saying, milord, I can see a wee bit of family resemblance.”
Blair studied the portrait. Though Lord Glenrose appeared to be at least fifty in it, his hair was the same coal-black as Blair’s mother—which Blair had inherited as well. Likewise, the pale blue eyes that stared down at him were a reflection of his own.
Though he had never met the man, blood and history bound them together. And now Douglas MacInnish’s legacy rested in Blair’s hands.
“Lord Glenrose lived a simple country life here, milord, but rest assured that ye will have all the comforts the Highlands can afford at Glenrose,” Mrs. Drummond said, straightening. “I hope ye’ll find life here pleasant and to yer liking.”
Blair turned to her, frowning. “I think ye misunderstand, Mrs. Drummond. I do not intend to stay more than a few weeks.”
Confusion flickered across her features. “But…Lord Glenrose’s solicitors told us they’d discovered a relation who would serve as guardian.”
“Aye, I am to oversee the estate and Lady Lavinia’s upbringing until she comes of age. But both can likely be managed from afar. Lady Lavinia is old enough for boarding school, and the estate…” Blair cleared his throat. “I
