Kieran Kramer - If You Give A Girl A Viscount

“Mr. Beebs has a skeleton staff at the Keep,” she managed to say. “But we’ll need extra maids, cooks, and footmen.”

“Will the men from the village be willing to lead a hunt and pull together a small Highland games?”

“I hope so.” Daisy was actually a bit worried about that. “They don’t get along the way they used to. All the village’s problems used to be resolved during the games and the hunt. Now differences simmer.”

“Is it the same with the women?”

“Yes. They’ve become quite catty, mainly because their husbands are testy with each other. But we’ll need them, as well, to do the cooking for the hunt and the games.”

“What about the ceilidh ?”

“We’ll need everyone to dance. And we must have fiddlers and pipers.”

They were halfway to the Keep now.

The viscount’s nearness was still affecting her.

“Even if only half of the anglers come back to Glen Dewey,” he said, “we could make your four hundred pounds. They were rich. They spent vast sums freely. They were also fascinated by the idea of kilts and clans and all the things that Sir Walter Raleigh writes about. I must admit, I am, too. If I had access to my usual wealth, I’d be the first to jump at the chance to stay at the Keep and play Highland warrior.”

“That’s wonderful to know.” Daisy allowed herself the luxury of imagining him in a kilt for a fleeting second before returning to matters at hand. “But what’s even better is that this will be a boost to Glen Dewey. We need some excitement. And an infusion of money. If Mr. Beebs says yes and the venture goes well, perhaps we can repeat it. The village will take on new life.”

They were at the door of the Keep. She was just about to knock when the massive castle door opened.

It was Mr. Beebs himself, dressed in walking clothes and carrying a pair of opera glasses. He was of medium height and medium build, somewhere in his late thirties, and was distinguished by a high-spirited air and his prematurely snow-white hair, which he wore cut straight across his forehead.

“Oh!” he cried. “I was about to go on a hike.”

Daisy made the introductions.

He apologized right away for employing no butler as no one came to visit. “It’s awfully quiet at the Keep. But it’s a fine family you’re staying with, Lord Lumley, full of lovely ladies.”

Daisy was sorry he didn’t often visit Castle Vandemere because he was really a very nice gentleman.

She smiled back. “Yes, Miss Cassandra is busy today.”

“Is she?” Mr. Beebs squinted at a bird that flew overhead.

“She’s so clever,” said Daisy, hoping he was listening. “She’s … making candles right now.”

Which was a lie.

“She’s awfully clever,” echoed the viscount.

Mr. Beebs cocked his head. “Clever girl.”

A silence came over them, and then Daisy let out a sigh and folded her hands. “We were wondering, Mr. Beebs—”

“Yes?” His curious gray eyes bored into hers.

“We were wondering if—” Daisy bit her lip. How would she put it?

And then she simply laid out everything. Not in any particular order. She noticed Mr. Beebs slowly nodding his head occasionally as if he didn’t quite understand what she was getting at, but eventually, he nodded his head at a faster tempo—much faster—and said, “Right, I see,” over and over.

“Well?” She tried not to hold her breath.

The overseer winced. “I don’t know about that. It’s quite a hefty proposition.”

“But—”

“No, I’m sorry, Miss Montgomery. It won’t work.”

“If we give you a portion of the profits?” Charlie suggested.

Mr. Beebs shook his head. “I don’t need any money.”

Daisy bit her lip. “I’m so sorry to hear this, Mr. Beebs. I—I was looking forward to the men’s dance competition, especially the sword dance. Rumor has it you were once a champion sword dancer yourself, where you grew up, near Aberdeen. Of course, that’s probably a silly story—”

“No.” Mr. Beebs drew in his chin. “I was a champion sword dancer, as a matter of fact. But I haven’t danced in years—”

“What a pity the younger generation won’t have the same opportunity.” Daisy released a wistful sigh and turned to look down the glen at the village. “I’ve never seen a Highland games in Glen Dewey. I suppose I never shall. Neither shall my stepsisters. I know Cassandra, in particular, was looking forward to it.”

When Mr. Beebs cleared his throat, Daisy turned back around with a flare of hope in her heart.

“When would this event take place?” he asked her.

“As soon as we can find people to come.”

“Well, now,” he said gruffly, “perhaps we can work this out, after all.”

Daisy exchanged a secret smile with Charlie.

“I’ve a standing invitation to stay with a bird-watching friend of mine near Edinburgh,” Mr. Beebs explained. “And if I go now, I can combine business with pleasure. Last month I received a letter from one of the magistrates in London who handle the Keep’s affairs. He asked if I’d be in Edinburgh at all this summer—he’s there for several months and would like to discuss estate matters in more detail than letter-writing permits. You see, the Keep’s only recently changed hands, about five years ago.”

“That’s considered recent?” Charlie asked.

“Yes,” said Mr. Beebs, “in terms of longevity of possession. Some of these properties stay in a family for generations.”

“Like Vandemere,” Daisy said.

“Exactly,” Mr. Beebs concurred.

“You appear to have a perfectly lovely reason to vacate the Keep.” Daisy grinned.

Mr. Beebs chuckled. “I suppose it is. So do hold your hunt party here, and enjoy yourselves. I would quite like a bird-watching holiday as it is. I’ll be back in less than two weeks’ time. In fact”—he looked around at the beautiful vista—“I’ll leave right after this walk. There’s a black-throated diver I’d like to find first.” He looked upward at the tops of the trees, then gave a small, elegant bow. “Your servant, Miss Montgomery. Lord Lumley.”

And he began to traipse off.

“Shall we tell Miss Cassandra you said good-bye?” she called after him.

He turned and swallowed rather hard. “I suppose you could.”

He took a few steps.

“So may we work with what servants you have here and bring our own, as well?” Daisy added.

“Indeed.” He inclined his head graciously. “We’ve plenty of room in the stables, too, for at least a dozen horses.”

“Very good,” Daisy said.

How generous of him!

She got a grand idea.

“Mr. Beebs”—she screwed up her nerve—“you’ve been so kind. Perhaps you’ll find it in your heart not to require a feu duty this year? Or any year, really, as my family has been paying it for nearly a hundred years? That way we can use all the money we make from our Highland adventure to fix up Castle Vandemere. Wouldn’t it be nice if when people arrive at the village, they’ll look up Ben Fennon and see both castles looking marvelous?”

“Sorry, Miss Montgomery,” Mr. Beebs said in jolly fashion. “The feu duty is due, as always, on the first of July, and not a day later. I don’t want to have to throw you out.”

“No,” she said weakly.

“There are plenty of people standing in line who’d love to take possession of Castle Vandemere,” he called back to her.

“Are there?” She could barely speak.

“Oh, yes,” he said. “At least three that I know of. Lady Brompton of Nob, Mr. Finch of Trickle Top, and Baron van Bunting, of Lower Cross Junction—none of them as interesting as Vandemere’s current occupants.”