Her father smiled. “We have what’s known as a barony of theancient régime, since the dawn of time, it seems. All the titles were stripped from the aristocratic class during the French revolution.Vive l’égalité, and all that. When they were restored in 1851—”
“1852, my love,” interrupted Felicity.
“In 1852, my father asked my older brother to accept the barony in his stead, since he and your grandmother were moving away from the land to Paris.”
“Everything is so much simpler in America,” Greer said.
But Beatrice’s thoughts were racing ahead. Reaching over, she took hold of her fiancé’s hand. “So, as a baron’s daughter, does this mean I’m a titled lady?”
She felt Greer jump under her touch.
“Well, in England, French aristocrats are considered a little less noble than our own, mainly because there are so many of them. You can’t throw a stone without hitting a count or a baron in France.” Her father had a laugh at his own wit.
“Yes,” Beatrice persisted, “but might I be considered a lady in the eyes of the law?”
“Or at the very least, in the eyes of a dead Scottish great-grandfather?” Greer asked.
“I would say the rank of a Scottish baron is similar to that of a French baron,” her father said. “You can now call yourself The Honorable Miss Rare-Foure, although only in writing. On an envelope or your calling card, for instance.”
“In writing,” Greer repeated, staring down at their entwined fingers, and then he looked at her, his gray-blue eyes dancing. “Do you know what this means?”
“Yes,” Beatrice said, “I believe I do. You will be able to claim your inheritance.”
“I’ve been engaged to a titled lady for a week!” Startlingly, he threw his arms around her, right there in front of her parents.
She buried her face in his neck, breathed in his familiar Pears soap smell, and thought about what this development opened up for them.
Charlotte’s whistle of happiness tore through the quietness of the back garden.
“Am I The Honorable Charlotte, as well?”
“Yes, dear girl,” their mother said. “But there is nothing honorable about that infernal sound.”
Releasing Beatrice, Greer stood up. “I must contact the chancery lawyer and write to the trustee at once. I can’t wait for you all to see my home in Scotland ... our home,” he corrected looking down at her.
***
TWO MONTHS LATER, MR. Greer Carson and The Honorable Mrs. Carson stepped out of the carriage that had brought them from the train station. Despite the cold November weather, Carsonbank House was a hive of activity as Greer had already visited, fired the absentee manager, appointed a new one, and hired workers to start repairs.
Greer could see the improvements already. From the outside, the two story-building had been scrubbed to shows its gray and yellow fieldstone. Its missing windows had been replaced, and the rest re-glazed. He knew the mansard roof had been repaired, too, and the crumbling chimneys had been repointed by a master bricklayer. Although there were no gardens to speak of, their new home had a welcoming, even cheerful appearance.
Beatrice was silent as they approached the front. Then she laughed. “What on earth isthat?”
He’d known she would remark upon the house’s odd feature. “That, my honorable wife, is a square tower with castellated parapets.”
“I can see it’s something like that, but why is it stuck on the side of our house? It looks positively medieval.”
He held his breath a moment, then she added, “I love it. I can’t wait to see inside.”
As they approached the front door, with workmen repairing the foundations on either side, Greer hesitated.
“I warn you. It’s not quite as comfortable as our townhouse,” he said, but he couldn’t keep the glee from his voice. “Not yet anyway.”
“Pish,” she said. “A country estate is not meant to be like a townhouse, and I think it’s marvelous. Miss Sylvia will adore it, too. Look, she already does.”
They’d released her from the confines of the carriage, but kept her on the leash, which Beatrice now had around her wrist. Miss Sylvia strolled ahead of them, her new collar set with ostentatious colored glass glinting in the early winter sunlight. They’d seen it in a store window and bought it for fun, as without her gemstone collar, the cat had looked woefully unadorned.
The three of them entered to dark paneling and sparse furnishings, as well as a threadbare rug.
