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that a couple ofthings could offer recompense or comfort for what she had lost. Theonly purpose they would serve would be to serve as a constantreminder of what was, and Mikah knew that she couldn’t live thatway. She couldn’t live the next fifty years longing for what mighthave been.

“Mikes, what the …” Kris reached out to her,freezing uncertainly as he read the inscription. “That’s just …I’ll leave you alone for a little while.”

He exited quietly, and Mikah knew he wasexpecting her to bawl like a baby over the tomb, but Mikah just satback on her haunches, resting a hand against the cold marble, andremembered.

Remembered it all.

Tomorrow she would leave DĂąn Cuilean andleave the past where it belonged.

Still, it was some time before Mikah hadcollected herself enough to emerge from the tomb. Blinking againstthe brighter light, she found Kris and Smith leaning against nearbyheadstones, waiting for her.

“Are you all right, lass?” Smith asked, andKris’s eyes echoed the question. “I’m sorry to interrupt ye and yeryoung lad here, but ye were out here so long, I was starting toworry.”

“I’m fine. I was just looking at this … tombfor the Third Marquis.” Mikah gestured back to the small structure.“It’s beautiful. Who erected it for them? I don’t believe they hadany direct heirs.”

“You’re right,” he said, scratching his head.Mikah thought that it was more because of the nature of her querythan because he didn’t know the answer. “The marchioness’s father,the Duke of Beaumont, had that done. Fine piece ofworkmanship.”

“The duke?” Mikah frowned at Kris, who justshrugged. “But I thought he was mad.”

“Ye know yer history, lass,” he said with anod. “Yer right, there were rumors that the duke had gone mad afterthe death of his wife. There are mentions of it in the estatemanager’s diary and in some written by his family as well, butafter his daughter’s death, other than some forgetfulness that mosthistorians now chalk up to Alzheimer’s, the duke seemed to be achanged man. He returned to London and took back the reins of hisdukedom.”

“Good for him,” Mikah said, though she had towonder if Harry Ashburn hadn’t been happier as he was.

“Are ye ready to come in then?” Smith asked,and Kris readily agreed, his cheeks already looking chapped by thecold winds. “The missus will have tea ready.”

“I would love some,” Mikah said while Krismade a face.

“Are ye sure yer all right? Ye look a wee bitsad.”

“Well, it was a very sad story, wasn’tit?”

They followed Smith back to the castle handin hand. “Are you all right?” Kris asked softly, urging Mikah’shead to his shoulder.

“I will be,” she said. “Can we go now?”

“First thing in the morning,” he promised.“I’ll need to call and see if I can change our flight.”

Chapter Forty-One

“Good evening, my lord.” Smith stopped nextto the table of one of his guests in the restaurant that evening tomake the greeting. He knew the earl well, though he had been farfriendlier with the earl’s father. Of course, it was hard not toknow one’s neighbors, even when they were fifty-five kilometersaway. In an area as sparsely populated as this, they might as wellhave been right next door. “I was pleased to see you could make itto the auction.”

He had, of course, mailed a catalog to eachof the surrounding households, more as a courtesy than aninvitation. He hadn’t truly expected a showing from the Earl ofBallantrae’s household, much less the earl himself.

“We will all be sorry to see you go,” theearl said politely, “but Mother and I both wish you luck.”

“Aye, it had to be done, ye ken? But thepreservation people will take care of what’s left.” Smith studiedthe earl with a keen eye. He was tall and dark, the image of hisfather in his prime. If he remembered years past correctly, theearl was in his middle thirties now. He had come to Cuilean oftenover the years, happily playing in the halls while his mother hadtaken tea with Smith’s wife.

As an adult, Ballantrae had shown himself afine example of a Scottish laird. Responsible, patriotic,aristocratic. Never had Reggie Smith seen that veneer slip as ithad that day, and innkeeper found he couldn’t keep the curiosity atbay. “Did ye win everything you were hoping to? A few memories ofyour childhood?”

“Something like that,” Ballantrae respondedsmoothly, taking a sip of his wine.

Smith raised a brow at that. The earl had bidon a curious collection of items throughout the course of the day,some halfheartedly, others zealously. None of them the playthingsof a child. “The music box?”

“As you said, a childhood memory.”

“The jewelry you won?”

“A gift for my mother,” he answered. “Youknow she always enjoyed those displays.”

Smith frowned. There was more to it, he wascertain. Ballantrae had won some jewelry, true, but the auctioncoordinator had told him that the earl had also asked after anotherpiece of jewelry, a ring, that hadn’t been in the brochure. He haddetailed a ring of diamond and sapphire that the earl had beencertain should have been among the items at Cuilean. Smith hadnever seen any such ring in all his years in the castle. Aye, therewas something there. “May I sit, my lord?”

“Yes, of course,” Ballantrae respondedpolitely, shifting to the side, and as he did so, a cane fell tothe floor.

Smith picked it up as he sat and handed itback. “I had heard ye were injured. Yer mother was in tears whenshe came to visit the missus.”

“Mother is a worrier,” came theprevarication. Clearly the earl had no desire to speak of it. “Whatcan I help you with, Smith?”

“It’s the portrait, my lord.”

“The portrait?”

“Aye, the portrait of the Third Marchionessye purchased today,” Smith clarified. “How did ye come to know ofit?”

“I believe it hung in one of thebedchambers,” Ballantrae answered.

Smith sat back in his chair and pondered thisover his templed fingers. “I can’t imagine when. I was surprised tofind the old family portraits up in the attic.”

“My father must have told me about it then,”the earl said irritably. “Is there some problem with me purchasingthe portrait, Smith?”

“Nay, not at all,” Smith denied quickly.

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