A Man’s Inheritance

 

Ashton Bentley, the Earl of Strachan, lifted and stared at his wine glass in an effort to curtail his mounting frustration. Between his grandmother’s perpetual frown and the growls from the black pug ensconced on her lap, the meal had been torturous.

“Ashton,” Lady Leighton said, “is it really so difficult for you to endure my company for a mere hour?”

Ashton regarded her across the candle-lit dinner table. “Not at all, Grandmother.”

He set his glass down.

The pug growled.

“Come now, Angel, behave.” Lady Leighton scratched the dog’s chin.

Two years ago, when he’d last seen her, she hadn’t had the dog. The animal was at least four years old. Had its previous owner abused it? Whatever its history, the animal certainly wasn’t an angel. What had possessed his grandmother to bestow the name on such an ill-tempered creature?

Lady Leighton dabbed the corners of her mouth with her fine linen napkin as she locked gazes with him. The fire on the hearth crackled. The innkeeper, in his zeal to please the Earl of Strachan and his elderly grandmother, had placed enough wood on the fire to bake them.

She released a sigh. “As you clearly have no desire to share anything about your life, I suppose we should get down to business.”

He offered a placating smile. “As I said earlier, there is little to tell. I feel certain you are aware that I have been working at Stanhope Hall.”

“That is always a safe assumption with you, Ashton.”

He reached for his wine glass. Angel growled. “Easy there, lad.” Ashton sipped his wine. He returned his attention to his grandmother. “You say that as if it’s a bad thing.”

“On the contrary, you know full well I've always admired your determination and work ethic.”

“You simply wish me to focus my attention elsewhere.”

An uncharacteristic light of sadness shone in her eyes. “I only wish you wouldn't ignore Kinnettles. How is the harvest going at Stanhope?”

“Better than last year.” Which was not a lie. But for the fourth year in a row, he would go into debt feeding the tenants—which was why he’d agreed to meet his grandmother tonight. He set down his wineglass.

Angel lifted a lip and flicked back his ears.

“I wish I could visit,” his grandmother said.

He eyed the dog. “You are welcome to visit anytime you like.”

Lady Leighton graced him with a cool smile. “I know you wouldn't turn us away if I showed up on your threshold, but you do not relish such a visit.” He opened his mouth to rebut—to lie—but she waved him to silence. “It is neither here nor there. I grow too old for long journeys.”

“Rubbish,” he said. “I know men half your age who don't have the stamina and determination you do.”

She grunted a laugh. “Be that as it may, the body doesn't cooperate like it used to. Which brings me to the reason for this meeting.”

He tensed. Here is where he would pay the price for not visiting her these two years past. He’d known letters wouldn’t be enough, but had told himself he simply couldn’t afford the time away from Stanhope.

“Are you aware that Duncan's wife is pregnant?” she asked.

Ashton felt as if he'd taken a fist to the gut. His cousin's wife pregnant? Dread wound through him. His grandmother didn’t lapse into idle gossip. He could easily guess why she mentioned the pregnancy.

“I suppose felicitations are in order,” he said.

“As you know, Kinnettles has been passed down to the women in our family for seven generations. You may not care for Duncan, but even you must admit that Linda is a good woman.”

Ashton remained rigid. “What she sees in Duncan, I will never know.”

“That aside, I know she would care for Kinnettles.”

The death knell tolled for his inheritance. He said nothing. What was there to say?

“Have you asked Anne to marry you?”

Ashton blinked in surprise.

“I am acquainted with her mother, as you are aware,” she said into his silence.

“Then you know that I have asked for her hand,” he said.

“I will be honest, Ashton.”

His brows shot up before he could stop the action.

Her eyes narrowed. “In this, I would prefer to keep my own counsel. As I said, I am old. I don't have the luxury of time I once did.” She paused. “I am more partial to Linda than Anne.”

He wasn’t surprised.

“I will return here in three days,” she said. “Despite my partiality to Linda, if you are married by the time I return, I will give further consideration to naming you my heir.”

Ashton stared. This was unexpected—and too good to be true. When he’d turned eighteen, and Duncan twenty-one, she had informed them that one of them would inherit Kinnettles and her fortune. Ashton hadn’t cared. Duncan had. When Ashton turned twenty-seven, he began to realize that Stanhope Hall, his father’s ancestral home, was in financial trouble. After five years, he realized that his father had neglected the property and land too long. In favor of Kinnettles, no doubt, he thought with disgust. Without a large infusion of money, he and his tenants would labor for years before Stanhope’s fortunes reversed—if he didn’t lose the estate first.

The last two years, he’d known he should have attended to his grandmother. But the same determination she claimed to admire in him was the same determination that drove him to ignore good sense. That, and a liberal dose of pride.

“Don’t be an impoverished, proud fool,” she said. 

He shook his head. His grandmother read him too easily.

“If you have asked her to marry, then nothing stops you from saying the vows.”

In three days’ time?

She pushed back her chair. He rose. Angel growled as Ashton strode around the table to assist her rise.

“Come now, my pet,” his grandmother soothed as she set the pug on the floor. “Let’s learn our manners, shall we?”

The wee beastie barked and bared his teeth from the safety of his grandmother’s skirts as Ashton offered her his arm. “Shall I escort you to your room?” he asked.

She scowled. “I can reach my bedchambers without assistance.”

He stepped back. She might be able to read his mood, but, after all these years, he miscalculated her moods more often than not.

She crossed the room. Angel trotted behind. The little dog growled until he escaped Ashton’s reach, then pranced to the door. His grandmother paused with her hand on the knob. “I was just your age when Aisla married your father.”

He tensed.

“She was so very beautiful. Gregory was so handsome, and he worshiped her.”

Ashton’s heartbeat raced.

“He was only four years my junior. Douglas was so pleased. But, in truth, had she not wanted to marry him, he wouldn’t have forced her. She was only seventeen. Did you know that I was seventeen when I married Douglas? I never regretted a day with him.” She went silent but didn’t leave. “She was a wild one. I feared… I hoped she would find the happiness Douglas and I had.” She sighed. “Perhaps one day you will understand…and forgive.”

“Forgive?” he blurted.

She twisted the knob and looked over her shoulder. As usual, her expression baffled him. “I convinced your mother to marry him.”

Without another word, she left him staring at the open doorway.