All three sisters perked up and looked out their widow.
A gate pulled open as their carriage approached Lismore Hall and closed behind them. As the carriage continued, the trees parted to reveal a breathtaking home.
It was like something out of a picture book.
A four-story tower, along with a cap house and several turrets, sprung up behind a twelve-foot-high wall that surrounded the exterior of the building. The walls were divided by pilasters into sections, and each compartment had a niche above, containing statues of saints—or so Hope guessed as the carriage drove by. Those on the east wall had semi-circular pediments carved with scrolls, each ordained with the national symbol of the thistle.
Though the morning had been clean and bright, a thick mist hung over the grounds as they drew closer to the estate. Lismore seemed as if it were floating on a cloud.
A beaming Belle stood on a wide set of stone stairs, flanked by a slim young woman with frizzy blonde hair andfreckles. She appeared serious for such a young lady, and Hope was curious about who she was.
A footman opened the door and helped Hope out, followed by her sisters. They came up the steps to meet Belle.
“My girls! My girls!” she hugged each of them as they reached her. It felt rather silly to be shown such affection, but then Belle always hugged them. “How was your voyage?”
“Long,” Grace said as she embraced the elderly woman. “But worth it to be out of London.”
“I can imagine,” she said, peering at each of them. She had heard of the disastrous scandal. “London becomes dreadful when gossip starts.”
Hope doubted Aunt Belle knew anything about living through London gossip. Grandmother always said her sister had been in Scotland for decades. She had married a wealthy man named George Smith, who had died shortly after their marriage. Apparently, she had been so devastated she had retired permanently after his death, apparently content to live in seclusion despite being rumored to have been left a vast fortune. She had once mentioned owning several homes throughout the United Kingdom, a set of apartments in Paris, and a vineyard in Italy, but Hope hadn’t been sure if she was telling the truth.
“Let me introduce you to my personal secretary, Miss Rose Ryland,” Belle said as she dug her knuckles into Rose’s back, prompting her forward. “Go on, Rose.”
“Yes, Lady Belle,” the woman said, her voice low. She glanced at Hope and her sisters. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
“The pleasure is ours,” Hope said. She and her sisters curtsied. “I did not realize Lady Belle needed a secretary.”
“Well, I don’t think she does,” Rose said apprehensively, giving her employer a pointed expression. “But she insists otherwise.”
“I am a very rich woman, Rose, and rich women always need secretaries,” Belle said, waving her free hand as if her statement was enough explanation.
“It’s very forward-thinking of you to keep a woman as a secretary,” Grace said before her cheeks became bright pink. “That’s no offense to you, Miss Ryland.”
“Oh, no, I quite agree. And it’s Rose, please,” she said with a smile. “But your aunt found out I had a head for numbers and insisted on hiring me to look after her finances after Mr. Gregory left her services.”
“Yes, that was a shame, losing Mr. Gregory to a father-in-law who insisted he go work for his accounting firm.” Belle sighed. “But I am blessed to have Rose now. Besides, what could a man do that Rose here could not?” she asked. “I’ve never conformed to the idea that men are better than women. I've only witnessed the opposite in all my years on this earth.”
Hope smiled uneasily. She began to understand her grandmother’s distrust of Belle. She was a reformist.
“It’s beautiful here,” Hope said.
“It is, isn’t it?” Belle smirked. “I’m glad you like it, as it will be yours one day.”
Hope gawked at her, as did her sisters.
“I beg your pardon?”
“Well, of course it will be. I’ve no direct descendants. You three are the last of my bloodline. Why shouldn’t it go to you? The other properties will be distributed accordingly, but Lismore Hall will be yours, Hope.”
Stunned by the revelation, Hope barely registered her sister tactfully changing the subject by talking about the garden.
“The blooms of these roses are massive,” Faith said, admiring the garden. “It’s completely walled in.”
“Yes, it is,” Belle said, walking back inside. “Lovely garden. Mr. Fitzpatrick is a master gardener. If you’d like, I’m sure he’d be more than happy to show you around.”
“That would be nice, thank you,” Faith said following her into the house.
The hall's interior was rather impressive, and though it was a stronghold, Hope had never been in a place that had exuded such warmth and comfort. The tall stone walls were covered with tapestries and paintings depicting Scottish clansmen and women dressed in red and green plaids, set against open landscapes.
