Graham had heard this story before.
“Oh?” he said, feigning interest.
“Your father insisted we have cake and champagne while we waited for word that you had been delivered.”
An irrational bitterness settled in his gut. James should have been upstairs with Graham’s mother, but instead he was in this very dining hall, gambling away Graham’s future. His father had lost Lismore in an ill-fated hand of cards while his wife died in childbirth. The shame had drove his father mad with guilt and he drank himself to an early death not a year later. Little wonder, then, that Graham had grown up feeling a lack of pride in his own name.
“Well, he did enjoy a drink or two, from what I’ve been told.”
Belle gave him a piteous look just as Andrews returned.
“My lady, there has been no change to the Dundee cake recipe.”
Lady Belle waved her hand absently at the butler as if she had half forgotten that she had even had him inquire about it.
“Tell me,” she said, her bracelets jiggling together as she carved into another pastry with her fork. “How is my friendMcTavish? You know, your uncle has not been to see me for some time.”
“He’s very well,” Graham said, shifting in his seat. “Although he is cross with you.”
“With me? Why so?”
“He said you ignored an invitation of his last month.”
Lady Belle rolled her eyes.
“I was unwell,” she said, putting her fork down. “I thought I sent my regards. Do apologize on my behalf. I hate to think that he’s upset with me.”
“Uncle has never managed to stay mad at you long.”
Graham was very familiar with his uncle’s temperament since the man had raised him, alongside a brood of his cousins. It had been a happy childhood. Though he knew he wasn’t a McTavish, Graham had been grateful for the acceptance he’d found in his mother’s kin. But the shame of his father’s sins had weight heavily on Graham, even in his youth. He had made a promise that one day a MacKinnon would regain ownership of Lismore Hall, no matter what it took. But no amount of begging, threats, payment, or promises Graham had tried over the years could get the older woman to budge when it came to selling the property back to him. She had the deed and a clause written in the king’s own will that she controlled Lismore Hall, and she would not relinquish it.
Graham leaned over the table. “Ready for my offer?” he asked.
“Yes,” she said, smiling. “Yes, go ahead.”
“Very well,” he said, taking a deep breath.
Even though Graham knew the answer, a flutter of nerves always settled in his stomach before he started. “Lady Belle, it has been thirty years since you took the deed to Lismore Hall. This is my family’s home. My ancestors built it. The rock we’re standing on was placed here by their very hands. My owngreat-grandfather,” he said, pointing to the portrait he had been staring at moments ago, “hangs from these walls.”
Lady Belle nodded, smiling sweetly at him as though she were an understanding grandmother.
“Yes, I know, dear.”
“Now I’ve grown fond of you, Lady Belle. I have, truly. I’ve no wish to take anything from you that you do not freely consent to give. But I’m more than willing to offer a fair price. Do you think you can ever find it in your heart to sell my home, a home I have never been permitted to fully know, back to me?”
There was a slight pause before she spoke.
“You know, MacKinnon, it’s getting harder to say no to you,” she said softly, a strange twinkle in her eye. “I think I should very much like to give this home of yours back to you.”
He knocked over his teacup but quickly caught it. What had she just said?
“Excuse me?” he asked roughly, sure that he had misheard her.
Was she jesting with him? Or making him out to be some fool? She never said things like that. She always declined and they would resume their pleasant conversation.
“But I should like something in return.”
Graham’s ears began to buzz as if his bees were swarming around him. As he stumbled to his feet, a swell of hope and yearning exploded in his chest. He felt dizzy as emotion welled up within him.
