Chapter One
Belware, Scotland 1866
Seth Montgomery hadnever believed in anything beyond his own confidence and what silver and gold could buy him, until he traveled from America to Scotland to meet his distant family and eventually his betrothed, Lady Rosalind MacRae.
As a young lad, his beloved father had died and left his young wife and the wee boy alone. Thus, desiring the support of her closest relatives, Mrs. Heather Montgomery, along with her precious son and a single maid, sailed the lonely winter seas to New York, where her uncles awaited her and Seth, taking them to New Hampshire where their family’s prosperous farm would become home for the next fifteen years.
But it was not enough to satisfy the restless soul of the lad, for he desired more—and not unlike other sons of Scotland, felt a holy connection, if not God calling him directly, to return to his birthland and reclaim what belonged to him by right. Land. Title. And the woman his father had hand-chosen for him to take as wife.
And as the returning lad—now a full-grown man—strolled along the cobbled streets of his village, he assessed everything that now belonged to him, down to the very stitches that held together the clothes that the townspeople wore.
The baker and smithy, the seamstress, the greengrocer, and others sold their wares within the market square—and it all belonged to him now.
Seth swung his silver-tipped walking stick with flare, as the wealthy and industrious men of Boston did, inclining his head to whatever stranger greeted him with a wave or smile, some even calling out his formal name,The Much Honored Baron of Belware, Seth Montgomery. The title pleased his ears. It did not escape him that some men and women frowned as he passed them by, but would not the devil himself be jealous of a man in his prime that had come into his inheritance?
“My lord,” the rotund barrister, Mr. MacLain, called as he trotted to catch up with him. “It is a beautiful day for a walk, is it not?”
Not an unfeeling person, Seth stopped and waited for his man to join him. “Yes,” he said, “and I am impressed with the bounty of Belware. You have managed my family’s accounts with honor, Mr. MacLain.”
The man sputtered, as if he were not expecting such praise. “I can hardly take any credit, sir. For the people who live here are a hearty lot, pay their taxes, and respect old traditions.”
“I have reviewed the accounts, Mr. MacLain. I am certain the baker has no hand in the investments you have made on my family’s behalf over the last decade.”
“Indeed,” the older man agreed reluctantly. “Have you given thought as to which home you prefer to live in?”
There were four houses to choose from. One within the village proper, the main estate located six miles from town, a sprawling manor house located on the largest farm in the area, and a cottage with extensive gardens. In the two weeks since Seth had been in Scotland, he’d visited them all. He favored the manor house, for it reminded him most of his home in New Hampshire. But the main estate was where his father had resided, and there was something undeniably attractive about it and also something very sad.
“I am unsure,” he said.
“There is no hurry, sir, but may I advise that the sooner you choose, the quicker we can direct the staff to prepare for you and the future baroness?”
Seth gazed at the older man, for his words warmed a once cold spot in his heart.His future baroness. His wife. His future.“I am partial to the manor house.”
The barrister smiled. “A wonderful choice. There is much character in the place. Though…”
“Though?” Seth repeated. A shadow seemed to have crossed his man’s face. “Is there something wrong with the manor house I should know about?”
“Of course not,” Mr. MacLain said, still sounding unsure of himself. “It is just… a mere inconvenience, really.”
“And what would that be, sir?”
The barrister gazed eastward, then looked back at Seth. “The old bridge.”
Seth had crossed it twice only the other day. “Is it in disrepair?”
“Nay,” the barrister said quickly.
“I found it a rather beautiful structure, ancient even. Each gray stone cut to perfection and fitted together in a way our modern architects cannot explain—like the pyramids.”
“Built in 1560, I believe,” the barrister said. “Over three hundred years old. And with something so aged, there are legends that come with it.”
“Legends?” The idea intrigued Seth very much.
“Summer’s End,” the man offered.
Seth’s family celebrated Summer’s End every fall—this would only please him. “I am not unfamiliar with the tradition.”
“Aye,” the barrister said as he rubbed his chin. “But there must be great differences between the celebrations in America, and what we do here in Scotland, especially in Belware.”
