Aedan shrugged. Their steps crushed out a rhythm on the garden path and a cool breeze, hinting of autumn, ruffled his hair. Time was moving too fast.
“The place is marvelous, but it is practically a museum,” Dougal admitted. “Will you sell pieces to gain funds for the house?”
“Some. Most of the whigmaleeries will stay. Swords, targes, knickknacks hundreds of years old, should stay. The rest could go to pay for tartan and paint and such.”
“The ladies of Balmossie are in a fever for decorating.” Dougal laughed.
“That part confounds me,” Aedan said. “But I love this place. Whatever it takes to keep it, I will do.”
“What about the antiquarian and her pronouncement on the old stones?”
He shrugged. “We shall see what comes of it. The museum could lay claim to that part of the estate, and I have a road going through there.”
“The antiquarian is not so antique after all,” Dougal commented. “Rather bonny. I wonder why Neaves sent her in his stead.”
“I am glad he did. I have no wish to see him. I suspect he sent the young lady here to determine if the find is worth his precious time. There is a clause in Father’s will that favors the museum. Neaves drools at the mere thought that this house could revert to the care of the National Museum. If the house is not restored like some tartaned-up Highland tableau, they win the lot. And the clock is ticking on that.”
“Comply or lose damn near all. Good God.”
“Exactly.”
“What if the fetching little antiquarian finds something of real significance?”
“Then the new treasure trove law will dictate. The museum could take all.”
Aedan glanced up at the house. The sight of its massive, familiar, beloved silhouette wrenched through him, heart and gut. He did, indeed, love this old place.
“If there is something very old in that hill, then heaven help you,” Dougal said.
Aedan nodded. He stood on a pretty garden path that pressed into the earth of his ancestors. From here, he could see an angle of the ancient foundation of the house. That side was surrounded in a thick hedge of wild roses, still sprinkled with late summer blooms.
Briars had always protected this place. Aedan would protect it too, no matter the price. He could not risk losing Dundrennan.
Chapter Six
At the creakof the door and the rustle of skirts, Aedan peered over his newspaper to see Christina Blackburn enter the sunny, oak-paneled breakfast room. He took a moment to admire her graceful figure as she crossed the room. She wore a dark-gray gown, her auburn hair winged back in a low knot. With spectacles on her nose and her cheeks high pink, she looked demure, scholarly, and yet delectable.
Desire rushed through him in a wave. He was finding it difficult to remain detached around the museum antiquarian. He almost wished Edgar Neaves had come in her place.
“Good morning, Mrs. Blackburn.” He rose to pull out a chair at the table.
“Sir Aedan,” she murmured. She sat, and he caught a waft of lavender and vanilla. “What a lovely room,” she remarked.
He nodded, glancing at the rose chintz draperies, the flowery seat coverings, and the green tartan carpet. “We have been redoing the place,” he said, sitting to take up his newspaper again.
“It is cheerful and relaxing. I am sorry we missed you at supper last evening.”
“Ah. I had a good deal of work, and had to drive out to the building site. So I took a late supper in my office.”
“Lady Strathlin and Mr. Stewart had gone to visit friends, so John and I had a light supper together, and then I enjoyed some time in the library.”
“So you found your way.” His lips twitched.
“I did, though John was tired and went to bed. What was this room like before you made changes?” She was looking around.
He frowned, thinking. “Dark drapes, leather chairs, worn and shabby but I thought it was comfortable enough. But my father wanted changes made, and the ladies of Balmossie insist that the queen likes flowery things. At least Cousin Amy does.”
“Very pretty. The floral pattern complements the view of the gardens from here.”
