“So, it seems the rest of the afternoon is ours.”
Aware of the implication buried in her statement, Maxwell smiled inwardly. “It is indeed, my love, and I’m quite happyto spend the rest of it sitting here with you, unless you have something else in mind.”
“You know I do, Max.” Pushing herself upright, she regarded him, eyes once again glinting with tears. “After all that has happened, I need more than your words. I want your touch. I need to feel your love. I need us to be together completely.”
Maxwell leaned forward, cupped her cheek, and stroked his thumb lightly along the line of her cheekbone. Then, without another word, he stood and held out his hand, which she took, rising to her feet. In continued silence, he led her upstairs and into his bedroom. And, sometime later, no doubt remained. Only love and trust.
*
Maxwell’s fears thatFlora would return to Northcott Manor came to an end a few weeks later when he received a letter from Alexander Blair, his Glasgow-based solicitor. He read the letter several times, absorbing the information while allowing the initial shock to lessen. A while later, when he felt ready, he went in search of Finlay and Louisa, asking them to join him in his study.
“Sit, please,” he said, gesturing to the settee. He remained standing, his back to the hearth, the letter clasped in his right hand.
“What’s this about, Max?” Finlay took his seat, his gaze flicking briefly to the letter. “Is there a problem?”
Louisa sat beside him, her questioning expression echoing Finlay’s concerns.
“It’s probably easier if you read it for yourselves,” Maxwell said, handing the letter to Finlay. “And then, share your thoughts by all means.”
Silence fell as their heads bent over the paper. Maxwell glanced toward the window, which displayed clear blue skies, and an empty lawn glittering with an early December frost. A peaceful scene. Unlike the one in his head, which showed a chessboard-tiled hallway and Flora McNally’s lifeless body at the bottom of a flight of stairs. An accident, they’d ascertained, likely due to being intoxicated. No foul play suspected. Death had been instant; a broken neck. Maxwell wondered how long she had lain there before being discovered. The letter didn’t say. Not too long, he hoped.
A soft gasp from Louisa implied her shock and drew his attention back to the matter in hand. She was looking at him, eyes wide, lips slightly parted.
Finlay spoke. “Sad news, brother, but I hope you don’t feel in any way responsible. You gave the lass every chance.”
“I agree.” Louisa handed the letter back to him. “But I don’t understand why Mr. Blair is asking how you want to handle the estate. I thought you’d given the house to her.”
“I did, but there were a couple of temporary conditions attached, both of which she was made aware of when she signed the papers.” He set the letter on his desk. “One, she couldn’t sell the house for three years, and two, if she died, the house came back to me. The first condition was to prevent her from doing something foolish or being coerced into it by a third party. The second was always meant to be negotiable. Had I died first, or if she married, that condition would have been expunged immediately.”
“She had no relatives?” Louisa asked.
“No.”
Finlay cleared his throat. “I suppose this means you’ll be going to Glasgow.”
Maxwell shrugged. “I don’t have to. Alex sent me all the relevant documents. All I need to do is sign and send them back.He’ll take care of the rest. As the letter states, the burial has already taken place. Despite all this, however, I still intend to find out who, at the Glasgow location, told Flora where I lived.”
“What will you do with the house?” Louisa asked.
“Well, I don’t want to keep it. I’ll sell it and perhaps donate the proceeds to charity.”
Louisa nodded. “That’s a fine idea.”
“Maybe you could help me decide where the money should go,” he said. “St. Giles House is an obvious choice, I suppose, but there’ll be enough to make donations elsewhere.”
“Of course,” she said. “You said she’d been buried already. Does she have a stone? For the grave, I mean.”
Maxwell had already considered that but hadn’t been sure how to mention it to Louisa. Deep down, he wanted to provide one, yet as much as it felt right, it also felt wrong. “No, not as far as I know.”
“Then perhaps some of the money from the estate can pay for one.”
He gave a solemn smile. “Yes, perhaps.”
“Obviously, I’d like St. Giles House to be considered for a donation,” Louisa continued. “But I think, given Flora’s circumstances, it might be appropriate to donate the majority to a charity for women. Preferably one in Glasgow, since that is where she’s from.”
“I’ll ask Alex Blair to provide some suggestions,” Maxwell said, deciding, at that moment, there was no limit to how much he could love his wife.
Epilogue
