Chapter 6

6

A letter came from Grandfather Lockhart in Edinburgh. Before she'd even read a word, the deterioration of his penmanship alerted her. Nearly eighty, he wasn't well. But at his great age, death was expected. And he would be the first in a long line of Lockharts to die of natural causes, apart from the Lockhart curse . For that Maryn could be thankful.

Taking a sunny seat by a window, she braced herself and broke the red seal bearing the ducal crest.

Dearest Granddaughter,

It was with great joy that I received your last letter. In my old age your frequent missives are my foremost pleasure. I rarely hear from your sister though I ken the reason. I do not hold her silence against her and I trust you do not either.

Maryn paused. She'd not seen her younger sister Nicola since the day that left them bereft and broken. Instead of begrudging her silence there was only a deep hurt. When Maryn missed her it was the Nicola of before, untouched by tragedy. If bitterness tried to take root over the fact Nicola lived in the next parish yet didn't visit, Maryn reminded herself she never bridged the distance either.

I delayed writing this letter in hopes of feeling better but alas, my physicians have told me to put my affairs in order. I do so now.

Maryn's mind spun. His heart condition?

I only ask that you oversee the display of a hatchment with our coat of arms upon it outside Lockhart Hall after my demise then hang it up on the wall of the Great Hall once mourning is complete. Funeral plans are proceeding as I decline.

How much longer did he have?

At present I am too ill to leave Edinburgh and my attending physicians nor do I want you to travel here. Let our remembrances of each other be of happier days till we reach heaven.

Your ever loving grandfather

A new sort of pain rent her. He was suffering. Without close kin at hand. Though she and Grandfather didn't see each other often just knowing he was there always assuaged her. But if she did lose him—and what was life but a series of losses large and small? —her peace was that God took him and named the very hour of his passing.

She refolded the letter. The next post might well bear the mournful black seal and plunge her into mourning again. On the other hand, she had a vast array of mourning garments in her wardrobe, beginning with the death of her dear grandmother, the duchess.

"I finished mending yer lilac lustring," Rosemary was saying from across the room. "'Tis good as new now."

Maryn pocketed the letter and looked up to see the maid holding a cascade of glossy silk and lace. "Best pack it for I'm to go to Edinburgh."

"Mercy, milady! Edinburgh?" Rosemary's eyes grew round as French buttons. "Ye've not left this cottage in years."

"All that is about to change since Grandfather Lockhart is unwell. I don't suppose you could accompany me. I'll pay twice your wages—"

"Losh! Nae need, truly. 'Tis a grave matter and I'm honored to do it." She began putting away her sewing. "When do we leave? I'll send word to the stables to ready a coach."

"In the morning then. I sense there's no time to waste."

In the spring, Edinburgh's stench and smoke was unleashed from winter's lockdown. Holding handkerchiefs to their noses, Maryn stepped down from the coach onto unfamiliar cobbles, Rosemary in her wake. Queasy from the long ride, she swallowed down the bile that had caught at the back of her throat since their journey began. How odd everything looked. So much color and confusion in the city after her cloistered existence in the countryside.

Her gaze rose to the towering tenement known as Lockhart's Land with its lofty eight stories. Her grandfather lived at the very top away from the foul wynds and closes below but surely all these steps couldn't be good for his heart. Hume's Land was also here somewhere on the High Street though it was the clan's elegant Canongate mansion at the bottom of the hill that she most remembered.

The ten o'clock drum resounded, calling all residents to retire. Their own courtyard in the Lawnmarket was soon locked. Up they climbed, a manservant hefting Maryn's trunk, all of them pausing at intervals to keep from gasping for breath. At last they reached the top, their reward a star-swept night, lights from Lady Stair's, their nearest neighbor, gilding the darkness.

"Och, milady!" Grandfather's longtime housekeeper failed to suppress her shock at their unexpected arrival. "Ye're in the nick o' time."

But alas, divested of her wraps, Maryn hastened down the hall too late despite their hurtling across the Lowlands. A physician by the bedside was just closing Grandfather's eyes. In that moment he seemed younger. Less lined. Maryn sensed he was at peace. Still, she wept, the late hour and her exhaustion making their final farewell a blur.

"My deepest apologies, Your Grace," the doctor said, withdrawing from the chamber.

Your Grace. Her new title was not lost on her. What had Grandfather done? No time to question. For the moment all she knew was a widening, gaping lonesomeness. Alone with him, Maryn took his thin, dry hand and clasped it like she'd done since she was wee. Only she was no longer wee. She was nearing thirty. And in one irrevocable moment she'd become, to her astonishment, a duchess.

That night she slept fitfully, more aware of her future than she'd ever been. The next morn while Grandfather was being prepared for burial, Maryn ventured on to the High Street in search of mourning gloves. She could have sent a servant but chose to do the deed herself. The city was a stranger to her so she went about in a sedan chair carried by two strapping Highlanders, the best of bodyguards. Her own infirmity seemed to make them more protective of her, that and the fact she was wearing black.

"What do you buy, madam?" the glover asked as she entered.

"Gloves to distribute as funeral gifts," she said without elaboration.

One hundred kid leather gloves later, she couldn't help but admire the lovely caps and hair ornaments outside a millinery and a wealth of fabric gracing the draper's bow windows. A perfumer tempted with beautiful scent bottles but it was the Pot and Pineapple that lured her inside. Boxes of sweetmeats and candied orange peel for the Edinburgh servants along with a cookbook for Rosemary lifted her spirits, after which she returned to Lockhart's Land.

Sunlight banished the early morning mist and steadied her enough to make funeral arrangements and prepare for the reading of the will. The executor of the estate was none other than Lord Stair, their attorney neighbor.

"I've been charged with the proper and lawful handling of the late duke's estate along with several barristers and solicitors of renowned legal expertise … which sounds quite cold and administrative given your grandfather was a close personal friend."

"For which I'm very grateful," Maryn told him from the mahogany confines of Grandfather's study.

"The duke asked for a quiet, simple burial. No ceremony or lying-in state. His body is to be interred in your family's vault at Ladykirk. Berwick nobles, family members, associates, and household servants are invited to attend the funeral once the death announcement is made and a date decided." He cleared his throat. "I shall notify your kin directly once you've given me their names and whereabouts."

"My sister Nicola, Lady Marchmont, at Redbraes Castle in the shire of Berwick."

"Any others, Your Grace?"

Maryn bit her lip. "A few distant relations beyond the Lowlands who are little more than strangers to me."

"Very well. I shall send word to Redbraes then. Will you be returning to Lockhart Hall to inform the servants?"

She'd not considered this amid the suddenness of it all. But duties must be observed. The servants who'd served them so faithfully shouldn't be informed by anyone other than family. "I shall do so on the morrow."

"Once that is done, please send word to me about the reading of the will. I can come to Lockhart Hall, of course, at your bidding."

"Preferable, thank you." Her gaze swept the mostly unfamiliar chamber. "I'll need to decide what's to be done with this tenement. I suppose rather than displace tenants I should leave it be for now."

"Wise, Your Grace. This structure has been in your family for generations and is quite convenient when you're in the city."

Maryn made a mental list of all that needed to be done as he continued on.

"I'll take care of settling taxes and any outstanding debts here in Edinburgh and elsewhere. Your grandfather's estate is quite complex and will take considerable time for you to comprehend though there is no question that you hold the Duchy of Fordyce. Given your twin brother's death, your Scottish title has been granted with remainder to pass to you rather than falling into abeyance."

Herschel. Her beloved brother's absence cut especially deep at such a time. He should be standing here, hale and hearty, not her. She felt akin to an imposter, a usurper. Herschel William Henry Lockhart would have made a splendid duke.

Lord Stair concluded, "If your line is to die out, the title might become extinct or pass to a relative."

If. She was definitely in danger of that with no suitors in sight. Maryn thanked him, wanting nothing more than a quiet corner and a simple bowl of brose and a crust of bread, as if it could clear her muddled head.