But when he glanced at Amelia, he knew he’d been correct. She’d straightened in her chair at the end of the table, her lips pursed and her eyes bright as she ran her own calculations.
“That…could work,” she breathed.
“But all that about a licensing fee,” George said with a frown. “I dinnae have that kind of coin.”
“I would pay for the fees, as well as any equipment ye’d need,” Blair replied immediately. “What I’d need from ye is yer expert knowledge to make this superb whisky.”
George’s salt and pepper brows winged at that. “And the grain? I cannae make but a few gallons a year as it is now.”
“Not if ye had access to the entire estate’s supply of barley.”
That had George’s jaw hanging slack. While he sat there in stunned silence, Blair smiled slowly. “Grain prices have been falling for decades—as a raw commodity. But whisky has never been higher—far higher even than wool. Not just anyone can make it. But we can.”
“You could set the entire estate to work on this,” Amelia murmured.
“Exactly.” Blair leaned forward on his elbows. “Whisky takes money, and grain, and equipment, and knowledge. Not to mention manpower, land, and water—all of which Glenrose has. With its resources applied this way, the estate could remain solvent. Nay, more than that. It would shore us up against the whims of the market, take us so far away from the brink that we could reinvest in the land. In the people.”
George glanced uncertainly between them. “I heard they went above-board over on the Glenlivet estate. Brought a great deal of trouble onto themselves when they did, angering folks like me. I wouldnae want that kind of trouble coming to Glenrose.”
“I heard that, too,” Blair conceded. “But that was more than ten years ago. Things have quieted down since then. And more distilleries are joining them. We wouldn’t be alone.”
George rubbed his jaw, considering all they’d said. Yet Blair detected a lingering uncertainty in the man. He drew a breath, readying the only argument he had left.
“I know ye’ve lived in fear for some time now,” he began quietly. “Fear of being found out, of losing yer land, yer home, and being replaced with sheep.”
Surprise, followed by flinty pain, flashed in the old man’s eyes.
“If we do this, ye’d never have to be afraid again. I’d have to go to Edinburgh to confirm the finer details before I can guarantee that this will work, but if it does, ye’ll be safe—all of Glenrose would be. Ye have my word on that.”
George exhaled slowly, lowering his head into his hand. He rubbed his brow for a long moment. When he lifted his gaze at last, his eyes were sheened with emotion.
“It…it all seems too good to be true.”
“Perhaps it’s a Christmas miracle!” Livie exclaimed.
Blair breathed a chuckle, but then his attention snagged on the girl. “Livie, how did ye know to come here?” He frowned in confusion. “And how did ye know about this whisky solution?”
Livie smiled sheepishly and lifted her shoulders. “There is a secret passage behind one of the study bookshelves.”
“What?” Blair and Amelia blurted in unison.
“The shelf to the right of the southerly window on the upper level is false. All ye have to do is climb the ladder, tilt the book with the worn red spine forty-five degrees, and give the whole thing a good shove.”
Blair stared in flabbergasted silence as the girl continued.
“It’s rather musty and dark back there, but it’s perfect for getting a secret snack. Ye see, behind the bookshelf is a passageway that leads to an old spiral staircase. The stairs end at a hidden door at the back of the larder in the kitchen.” She shrugged. “Sometimes if I’m reading in the study, it’s easier to get to the kitchen and back that way.”
Amelia turned her stunned gaze on Blair. “That’s one hiding place I didn’t know about.”
“I dinnae think even Mrs. Drummond kens it’s there,” Livie offered. “My da showed it to me. It was our secret.”
“It must have been built into the original medieval keep.” Blair shook his head in amazement. “In the time of raids and sieges, a hidden escape route would have been essential.” He cocked an eye at the precocious girl. “Little did they know it would also make the perfect shortcut for a late-night snack. And eavesdropping.”
Livie blushed, but gave Blair her most winning smile. “But arenae ye glad I heard ye talking with that Englishman? As soon as ye began scratching out yer calculations, I kenned where yer thoughts were going. I knew ye’d need to speak to Mr. MacMunn.” She glanced at the stoic crofter. “And that he might need a wee bit of…preparation before ye arrived.”
George gave a good-humored grunt at that. “Aye, milady, I do appreciate ye softening me up to the idea first. I’m no’ used to change or newfangled ideas, especially when it comes to my whisky.”
“That is exactly why ye’ve done so well, Mr. MacMunn.” Blair nodded to the crofter, but his gaze slid to Amelia. “Ye’ve remembered where ye come from, and carried our traditions along with ye. Glenrose will live on longer than any of us because of it.”
“Ye arenae angry, then?” Livie asked, looking hopefully at Blair.
“Nay,” he answered without hesitation. “Yer actions, while a bit…rash, only prove that ye understand the estate and its people better than most grown landowners. Ye’ll make an extraordinary Countess of Glenrose when the time comes.”
When the girl’s face melted with teary pride at the unexpected praise, Blair had to blink against the sting mounting behind his own eyes.
Once they’d risen and said their farewells to George MacMunn—with Blair assuring the crofter he’d be back as soon as he’d
