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 well.
To accomplish something…not merely something to be proud of. Something satisfying? Fulfilling? He shook off the peculiar thought.
“Ye’ll have another five hundred acres of arable land by the time ye return,” he promised the marquis. “And the irrigation and drainage to manage it all.”
