Page 34 of Christmas Wore Plaid

“Good day to you, sir.”

Brady nodded his greeting. “Good day to you, madam. My name is Laird Brady MacInnes, Fifth Earl of Aberfeldy. Might I step in for a moment?”

She made room for him to step over the threshold. Were all of those ruddy-faced children hers? He searched their features for something that looked like Colleen, though finding such a clue would be near impossible. Colleen had been dead for years now, and the last Brady had seen of her, it was through the eyes of a youth not paying much attention. Was his memory of her even accurate?

He hardened his jaw. A man could drive himself to the asylum with such relentless questions that would likely never be answered.

“How may I help you?” she said.

Brady found his smile again. Odd. After seeing Emerson and holding her so sweetly, that smile was easier to summon to his face now. A surge of urgency filled him to finish with this business and return to Emerson, before she finalized her sale.

“I’m here on a personal matter. Might I inquire about a child?”

The woman looked relieved. “Which one would you like? I took several in when the orphanage closed. They said it would only be temporary. But they’re stretching our pocketbook. The girls there are sturdy workers and good childminders. This lad is stout, though too young still for farm labor. But I have no doubt he’ll grow and be useful to ye—”

Brady silenced her with a shake of his head, feeling guilt that he couldn’t help them all. We’ll never help them all, but we can help as we can. He smiled. The charity party was just the place to start, the money from boarders would be the way to continue the legacy.

“Nay. I must clarify. I search for a child born to a Colleen Thomson. But your boy is too young. Are there any others here, about five years?”

She nodded. “There, ’round the corner, though he’s a shy one.”

Brady stepped closer and looked at the miserable face lurking in a shadow.

“Do you know anything about his parentage?”

“I was given some paperwork, but I haven’t a brain for letters, mind ye, and gave it to my husband to look after. Shall I fetch him for ye?”

Brady nodded. But after reviewing the papers, it was clear that the boy wasn’t Colleen’s. Trying to stave off the sinking feeling that his quest was good and failed, he departed for Laird and Lady Reginald’s estate in the rolling countryside. He knew them well, and it was Laird Reginald himself who had urged him to ship away his tenants across the Atlantic. Eventually, he rode his horse through the main gates, and circled around the carriage path to the main steps. The Reginalds were his final lead.

He dismounted and greeted the butler who stood in the doorway.

“Good day, Laird MacInnes.”

“Good day,” he replied. “I apologize for calling without prior notice. Might I speak with Laird and Lady Reginald?”

The butler nodded and welcomed him.

Brady passed off his reins to the waiting stable groom. He glanced around. This manor was well-equipped. Well-tended. Well-financed, he thought ruefully, judging by the brass knobs he spied atop the box stalls while his horse was led into the stables. He climbed the steps and entered the foyer through the double doors, passing off his gloves and hat to the butler’s waiting hands. The wood was polished to shining, and a vast landscape was mounted in a gilded frame upon the paneling. A maid took his coat and ushered him into the reception parlor, scurrying away on a curtsy.

Brady took the nip of brandy laid out on the sideboard and meandered to the hearth to wait and glance around at the finery. Imported northward, he hadn’t tasted the likes of such a drink in ages. The drapery was rich and fringed with yellow-gold. Everywhere he looked, he saw what might have been at Aberfeldy, if he’d just made the hard choice to send away his tenants and turn all his land over to grazing.

What could still be, he corrected, the ray of hope Emerson had ignited causing the corner of his stern mouth to lift, if he could convince her to turn away her buyer so he’d have time to court her properly. With the right infusion of money, Emerson’s suggestion to take on holiday boarders was an ambition he wanted to achieve with her. No longer disillusioned about venturing to London or acting in Paris, it was odd how ambitions could change with no regrets. Wealthy visitors would bring in a fine penny. Their discussion had inspired him, and for the first time since his parents’ deaths, he felt like he finally had direction.

He returned his thoughts to Colleen’s child. This was the last option he had to find the lad and so far, he saw no children running about. That sinking feeling dampened the cheer he’d just rediscovered. He’d hate to return home with the worst news: no news at all.

“Ah, young MacInnes. To what do I owe the pleasure of your unexpected visit? I trust your refreshments are to your taste?”

Brady turned at Laird Reginald’s entry and extended his hand.

The two men shook.

“Laird Reginald,” he greeted, then turned to his wife who stood beside him with a fan in hand and sparkling bobs dangling at her ears. He took up her fingers and kissed them. “Lady Reginald. I come on a personal matter.”

“Is all well at Aberfeldy?” the laird asked with a suspicious crinkle to his brow.

Brady gritted his teeth. Being so fallen never lost its bitter taste. No doubt, Reginald thought he came to call because of his financial woes. No doubt, his father had approached the man at one time for a loan.

“As well as can be expected, though the personal matter has to do with one of my tenants. An old widow. Her husband was one of my farmers before he died of old age, and her daughter ran away to find work in Crieff.”