Chapter 6

Rob rose at four, dressed quickly, and packed his waders and gaiters into the wicker gear box with his tray of flies. His rods were already downstairs. Normally the prospect of fishing in beautiful new country gave him a sense of great expectation, but his gut clenched every time he thought of having a private discussion with Philip MacDougall.

He left his bedroom to find MacDougall waiting in the darkened solarium. “Ready, lad?”

“Yes, sir.” He took his rod case and followed MacDougall outside. A light one-horse gig waited on the drive, with no servants in sight.

“Climb in, lad,” said MacDougall as he plucked the whip from its stand. “Just the two of us. We can dispense with all the folderol and get right down to it.”

Rob blinked. Was MacDougall speaking about fishing or … other things? The older man remained silent as the gig exited the gates of the estate, traversed the sleeping village, and turned onto a dirt trail into the forest. Rob decided to say nothing, enjoy the drive, and take his cues from his host. Squirrels skittered in the trees overhead, and a red fox dashed across their path. Rob relaxed, and the peace of the dawn washed over him like a healing balm.

“I hope that’s a sigh of contentment,” said MacDougall, giving him a sideways glance.

“Very much so. I forget how much I miss being in the forest until I’m there again.”

MacDougall nodded and turned the gig off the dirt path and down a trail wreathed by clinging vines. He let the mare walk slowly, urging her on with his voice until they arrived at a small clearing. He tied the horse to a tree and left her a bag of oats.

“It’s a wee bit from here,” he said, pointing to a faint trail that led off into the green darkness. Somewhere to their left, a stream rushed pell-mell downhill. But MacDougall led him away from the brook, their footsteps muted on an animal trail thick with leaf loam. Rob frowned, as MacDougall had to stop several times to rest and catch his breath. His face had gone pale.

“Sir? Are you unwell?”

MacDougall gasped and fumbled inside his pocket for a tiny vial. Quickly, he slipped a pill under his tongue and bent over, waiting. His agonized breathing eased a moment later, and he straightened.

“Right as rain now, laddie.”

“Perhaps we should go back.” If MacDougall had a heart attack out here, Rob wouldn’t be able to get help quickly.

MacDougall snorted. “And miss our day to fish? Nay.”

He gestured to Rob to follow down the trail until it widened and a pool of water ringed by moss-covered rocks opened up before them. White violets poked their heads up among the stones, and at the far end of the pool, a surging freshet emerged from a rock wall to tumble merrily into the pool. A fairy glen, tucked away among the rocks.

Breathing hard, MacDougall put his hand on Rob’s arm and pointed to a doe and two tiny fawns drinking at the water’s edge. The doe’s ears flicked, and with one bound the trio disappeared into the ancient oaks surrounding the dappled glen.

“It looks shallow, lad,” MacDougall whispered, “but there’s many a deep place where the trout like to hide.”

Rob nodded and readied his rod. Quiet water worked best to fly-fish, so this was the perfect time to demonstrate the use of the “newfangled” lure to MacDougall. But he didn’t announce his intention, having already surmised that words didn’t mean much to the man. He hooked his fly, threw his rod forward, back, and forward again as the line spun out in an elegant arc and dropped onto the surface of the pool without a ripple. A moment later there was a splash as a fish took the fly with a mighty tug on the line, and before he could say “Jack Robinson,” a fine fat brook trout squirmed on the bank.

MacDougall stared at the fish and then looked up at Rob, a wry grin on his rugged face. “And that would be the dry fly, laddie, I’m thinkin’, no?”

Rob laughed and attached a fly made with the striped under-feathers of a rooster. He cast again, a wide beautiful arc that allowed the line to settle delicately on the water. A moment later a second plump trout joined the first. “Dinner,” said Rob. Unfortunately, it wouldn’t be this easy to persuade MacDougall of his other talents. Or Miss MacDougall.

MacDougall laughed. “Ye’ve sold me, laddie. Show me how it’s done, then.”

A few hours later, after MacDougall had mastered the art of the cast quite well for a beginner, they had a bag full of trout.

The day had grown warm, and they basked in the sun as they sat on the bank and tucked into lunch: roast beef sandwiches with horseradish, lemonade, and apple tarts.

“This is beautiful country, Mr. MacDougall,” said Rob between bites of roast beef.

“Aye. Almost as fair as Scotland.”

“Do you miss it? Scotland?”

MacDougall nodded, his gaze fixed on the blue mountains in the distance. “Aye. In some places it’s verra like it. But I made my choice long ago, and America is my home now. And what about ye? Are ye missin’ your home?”

Rob set his sandwich down. “No, I’m quite enjoying my stay here. For more reasons than one.”

MacDougall smiled. “I can see my daughter has captivated ye.”

“Yes.” No use hiding it. He was like a stone pulled to earth by gravity as soon as she walked into the room.

“I understand your family is in a bit of a difficulty with the estate.”

“Yes, sir. Most of the grand estates and manors in England are trying to find ways to survive. With the industrial changes and the rise of the railroads, young men and women are flocking to the cities to find work. This is the first time in almost five hundred years that Donalee is no longer self-supporting.”

MacDougall nodded. “And so America has come to the rescue. With its wealthy heiresses and their mamas, all wanting a title in the family. The one thing money can’t buy.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Your parents. Are they happily married?”

Rob fidgeted with the remains of his sandwich. MacDougall was all business now, and Rob couldn’t wiggle off the hook. “No, sir. They live apart.”

“And what do ye think of that?”

“I’m sad for them.”

“Indeed. I’ve been married twice myself. I thought my first wife loved me, but she loved my fortune more.”

Rob squirmed in his seat. This was too close to home. What was MacDougall driving at? “I feel awkward, sir, discussing this with you, as you are plainly aware of my family’s financial difficulties and my need to …” He couldn’t quite bring himself to say it.

“Ye need a substantial dowry from your bride when ye do marry.”

Rob swallowed. That was plainspoken. And blunt. “Yes, sir.”

“I appreciate your honesty. I know all of Anna’s suitors have wanted or needed her dowry. But I’m looking for the man who wants my bonnie Anna for herself.”

Rob nearly lost his perch on the rock. MacDougall had given him the perfect entrée into the discussion.

“Then I may as well be bold and come right out with it, sir.” He put his sandwich down and faced MacDougall. “I’m falling in love with your daughter.”

“Have ye quite recovered from your dunking a few nights ago?”

So MacDougall wasn’t going to give him a straight answer. “Yes, sir, quite recovered.”

“Ye impressed me, Mr. Radclyfe. And that’s a verra hard thing to do, mind.”

“Yes, sir,” said Rob, wondering where the conversation was headed.

“Ye’ve a mind inclined to mechanical things then.” It was a statement, not a question.

“I studied mechanical engineering at university, sir. Thought it would come in handy on the estate.”

“So ye’re not a gentleman of leisure?”

“Far from it.”

MacDougall sat back. “I’ll share a wee secret with ye, Mr. Radclyfe. Anna suffered a severe disappointment a year ago, at the hands of an unscrupulous fortune hunter.”

Rob winced at the description. “Sir, I—”

“Let me finish.” MacDougall lowered his chin and examined Rob intently. “I have no quarrel with your need for money to restore your family’s estate. Ye’ve a responsibility to your father, as his son and heir, to marry well. I would expect no less from my own son, if I had one.” He sipped his lemonade. “Anna has decided she will never marry. She doesn’t think it’s possible in her situation to know for certain a man loves her for herself and not her money.” He smiled wryly. “That’s your challenge, laddie. You’re going to have to prove to Anna you do.”

Rob went for a long walk after he and MacDougall arrived back at the mansion. Miss MacDougall, the countess, and DeVille had gone into the city to see a play and would return late. MacDougall had a business appointment in the village. Rob had the rest of the day to mull over MacDougall’s revelation regarding his daughter.

He had to make something happen soon. Another acrimonious letter from the earl had arrived, demanding to know what was happening and what, if any, progress Rob had made in finding a wealthy bride. He couldn’t very well tell his father he’d found the right girl but she had no intention of marrying. The earl had been pleased that Rob hadn’t put up any fuss about finding an American bride. Indeed, Rob had been happy to do it, thinking it would please his father. But the earl, plainly, wasn’t pleased at the moment.

But MacDougall had clearly given him permission to pursue Anna. Tomorrow he would see him and make it official.

Rob awakened early as usual the next morning, dressed quickly, and came downstairs to find the maids still dusting the first-floor rooms. He straightened his lapels, took a deep breath, and knocked on the library door.

“Come in.”

MacDougall didn’t look surprised to see him but chuckled and waved him to a leather chair near his desk.

“Sit down, Mr. Radclyfe. It’s early for ye, isn’t it?”

“No, sir. At home I’m up before dawn, as a regular thing. The early bird gets the worm, and all that.”

“Good lad. And what can I be doin’ for ye this fine morning?”

“I’m here to ask for your official permission to marry Miss MacDougall.”

MacDougall pursed his lips, leaned back in his chair, and laced his fingers together, never taking his gaze off Rob. “Granted.”

Rob exhaled and his shoulders relaxed. “Thank you, sir.”

“Don’t be thankin’ me until she agrees. Ye’ve got a wee bit o’ work ahead of ye, to persuade the lassie you love her.”

MacDougall opened a drawer and extracted a sheaf of papers. “Here’s the marriage contract you’ll be signing, if she’ll have ye. Take all the time ye need. I’ll be back in a bit.”

Rob moved to a chair closer to the small fire burning cheerily in the grate. Most of the legal verbiage of the marriage contract seemed to be straightforward. Anna’s dowry would be deposited into the Bank of England the day after the marriage.

Then the last paragraph caught his eye. “The bride, Anna MacDougall, shall stay in the United States after the wedding, until the time of her father’s death, and after that, as long as she desires. The decision to live in England with her husband shall be made by the bride alone. Any coercion by the groom, or the groom’s family, shall result in the annulment of the contract and the immediate return of the bride’s dowry. The money inherited from her father’s estate shall be wholly hers and under her control.”

Rob gasped. Surely this must be a joke. He threw the papers down as Philip MacDougall returned to the study. The older man gave Rob a sharp glance. “I see ye’ve reached the last page of the contract.”

“I have indeed.” Rob shook his head. “You can’t be serious, Mr. MacDougall. This would make a stuffed bird laugh.”

MacDougall smiled. “But I am. Completely serious.”

“This is impossible. I must return to England with my bride.”

“Her dowry can go. But you and Anna must remain.”

“My father will not agree to this.”

MacDougall shrugged. “Then there is nothing more to discuss.”

Rob rubbed a hand through his hair, trying to think. What had he gotten himself into? He sank into a chair and caught movement outside the library window. Miss MacDougall cavorted outside with a wolfhound puppy, teasing him with a streamer on a stick. She hadn’t yet put her hair up for the day, and the curly mass of waves and ringlets streamed to her waist, turned to fire and gold by the morning sun.

MacDougall followed his gaze. “As you know, she doesn’t particularly care to be married. So if ye canna agree to the stipulations in the contract, it might be best to return to New York.”

Rob snorted, his gaze still fixed on Anna. “And find another heiress to wed.”

MacDougall nodded. “Aye. Unless ye’re up to the challenge.”

Rob pressed his lips together, trying to remain calm. “My father will never agree to this.”

“Then I’m sorry. For I believe ye’re the man for her, laddie.”

Rob turned away from the window then. “Why?”

MacDougall gave him a shrewd look. “She needs a gentle hand tempered by strength. One that won’t crush her spirit. And kindness.”

Rob sighed. “I don’t want anyone else.”

“I know.” MacDougall smiled. “An open book, ye are. But I’m glad of it.”

Then his smile disappeared, and he sank onto the sofa, gasping and clutching his chest.

Rob rushed to his side. “What can I do?”

MacDougall fumbled inside his frock coat. “Pills … in here,” he gasped as he clutched his chest and groaned. Rob quickly found the small brown bottle labeled “Nitroglycerin.” He uncorked the bottle and shook out a tiny yellow tablet. “Here, sir.”

MacDougall groaned again. “Un–under … tongue,” he gasped. Quickly Rob took hold of his chin and wormed the pill under MacDougall’s tongue. Then he ran to the bellpull and jerked it hard. Returning to MacDougall, Rob loosened the man’s cravat and unbuttoned the top of his shirt, praying desperately under his breath. MacDougall had broken out in a clammy sweat, and his lips were blue. Rob grabbed the pill bottle and crammed another tablet under MacDougall’s tongue.

Mortimer appeared then and blanched when he saw MacDougall’s state.

“Send for the village physician immediately,” said Rob.

But MacDougall gripped his arm. “No … wait.” He swallowed. “It’s easing.” His body uncurled and his breathing normalized. His face lost its ghastly pallor. Rob whipped out his handkerchief and mopped MacDougall’s forehead.

Mortimer addressed Rob. “What would you have me do, sir?”

MacDougall gave an infinitesimal shake of his head at Rob.

Rob shook his head. “Nothing, Mortimer. Not a word to the other servants. Close the doors.”

“Yes, sir.”

The butler withdrew. MacDougall smiled faintly. “Ye read my mind.”

“No need to upset Miss MacDougall?”

MacDougall nodded.

“Does she know?”

“I’ve tried to prepare her. But no child wants to consider the prospect of their parent’s death. They think it’s morbid to speak of it, ye ken. But sometimes there’s things that need to be said.”

MacDougall put his feet up on the couch and stretched out, crossing his arms on his chest and closing his eyes. “She took it verra hard when her mother died suddenly. My death will cause her great pain.” He opened one eye and stared hard at Rob. “That’s why she’s going to be needin’ ye, lad.”