And so that was why he had sent word to Mr.Dermott that he wanted to look at the place this morning.He knew Mr.Dermott must be less than pleased to get such an inquiry the morning after a ball, but he also knew that the man was looking to offload the house.He had once lived there himself, but after his father died a few years ago, he and his family had moved into the main manor on the adjoining property.He had a numerous family—and the word circulating in Parkhorne was that he needed the income from selling Cresswell to help with the future expenses of daughters and younger sons.
Malcolm had the money necessary to buy the place.He had always been paid for his work at Parkhorne, even in the lean years, but ever since Beatrice’s marriage and the improvements to the place, he had been paid more handsomely.And he had had few expenses and few desires to satiate.He went nowhere.He only worked.
Therefore, he could afford to buy Cresswell.Just barely.
It would leave him rather cash-poor, but he knew it would be worth it.It would be worth it to propose to Miss Scarlett Perkins with a real establishment to offer her.He couldn’t move to London, but he could do this.
Besides, he told himself, if Tilly and George were soon to be married, then perhaps living in Somerset would not be such a trial for her.She would have her sister.
“It’s perfect, Malcolm,” Beatrice said as they surveyed the place before their departure.
Bea irritated him like no other person alive, but, as usual, in the end, she was the one he went to when he needed counsel.When he needed someone to tell him that a risk was worth taking.
She would always be his headstrong, half-wild elder sister.In his way, he would always look up to her.
“It’s too much money.”He glowered.“It is foolish.”
“Malcolm,” she said softly.They were back on their horses and were about to return to Parkhorne.He had told Mr.Dermott’s agent that he would buy the place already.“If you think I wouldn’t help you—”
“You shouldn’t have to do that, Bea.”
“But I would.I want you to know it.You’re not alone.You don’t always remember that, but you’re not.”
He was too moved to speak.He knew it was true.It was why he had brought Bea with him, why he trusted her.She meant what she said.She would not allow him to go to the dogs or see his things sent to auction or his future family—if he were lucky enough to have such a family—thrown out of their house.His sister had always had a way of bending the world to her whim, and it made him feel better to have her in his corner.
“Thank you,” he finally managed.
“Of course, Malcolm.It might have been a long while ago now, but I have not forgotten how you came to live and work at Parkhorne for almost nothing after Father died.Yougave up a better living at Mr.Lambet’s—I have never forgotten that.Everyone knew what a talent you had for farming.Mr.Lambet would have never given you one of his farms at such a young age if he hadn’t known it.You did that when I was just the ruined eldest daughter of an estate that was on the brink of bankruptcy.Without you, I would have never been able to pull it back.”
It was true what she said.Mr.Lambet had paid him well, and his grandfather had called him a fool for taking the post at Parkhorne instead.Especially when it had been for far less money.As his grandfather had said,The manor has never treated any of us as they should.He had known what lay behind those words—how his grandfather had never recovered from the heartbreak of watching his beautiful only child smashed up by the squire of Parkhorne Hall.
But Malcolm had trusted Beatrice.From the first time she approached him, he had known, deep down, that she was his sister.Not just in fact.But in truth.They were family.
“And with Leith,” she continued, and he could hear the emotion in her voice now.“You were the one who saw that he wanted to marry me.Before I did.Before I would allow myself to even think about such a thing.I didn’t think I was worthy of such a thing.But you did.”
He smiled at the memory.Beatrice had stormed back from London, where she had gone to somehow get the money to save the estate from a threat to the family.The besotted marquess had trailed back to Parkhorne with her.The man had clearly been in awe of her, in thrall to her, and yet—classic Bea—she had been oblivious to the effect she had on the man.
“Well, I can hardly take credit for the marriage,” he said, chuckling.“But I did see it on the horizon.”
“I’m serious, Malcolm.That you thought it was possible—that I could be regarded in the light of a wife, when you knew just as well as I did about my history.It meant more than I could say.Even when I was fighting you and lying to you and—”
“And trying to protect me.That’s what you’ve always tried to do, Bea.”
He sighed.“I am going to buy the place.”
He heard his sister smile.“I know.As I said, it’s perfect.”
“Knowing you support it”—he found himself unable to speak again and then mastered himself—“it helps.”
“Miss Perkins will love it, Malcolm.”
“She has not accepted me.”
“Please,” Beatrice said.“That woman is dying of love for you.She only needs you to ask.”
Malcolm had told Beatrice of his plans regarding Scarlett.It was easy enough when his sister had already accused him so many times of loving Miss Perkins.But he had not gotten into the details of their history.
Bea did not know that he had already asked—twice—and been refused.
