advise him as to the status of their joint venture. They were both flummoxed as to what to do. “My wife will have my head if I agree to it,” Thomas said.
“My wife will have my balls if I do,” Calum added glumly.
The Duke of Montrose, who had remained uncomfortably silent through the detailed explanation of their ordeal finally spoke. “There might be a way to salvage it yet, aye?” he said. “I know a man who is very adept at solving problems.”
Calum and Thomas eagerly looked up. “A man? What man?” Calum asked.
“Nichol Bain,” the duke said. “He is a man of incomparable skill in matters such as this.” He picked up a quill, dipped it in ink and jotted down his name and location. He slid that across to Calum. “You may no’ care for his methods, but you will be pleased with the results. Send for him straightaway if you want your ironworks, sir.”
Calum sent a messenger to Nichol Bain at Norwood Park in England that very night.
MR. NICHOL BAIN was hoping for a bit more of a challenge in his latest engagement. A problem that would require ingenuity and considerable discretion to resolve. A situation with far-ranging consequences, such as the problem he’d solved for the Duke of Montrose a few years ago, when the duke had been rumored to have murdered his wife at a time he was to be named to the House of Lords. Now that was a problem with twists and turns and a bit of meat on the bone.
He’d even settle for the sort of problem he’d solved for the mild-mannered Dunnan Cockburn, the sole heir of a Scottish linen dynasty who had somehow fallen into a gambling ring and had gotten himself on the wrong side of London moneylenders. Dunnan’s estate was entailed, which meant it was not his to sell as he would like, but held for future generations. It had taken a monumental feat of cunning to find a solicitor who could navigate the complicated history of the entail and carve out a wee bit of Dunnan’s land to sell to pay his last debt, which had been an astronomical sum of three thousand pounds.
And then he’d needed a great deal of finesse to strike a deal with the naïve Dunnan and some rather unsavory characters in London.
But the problem Mr. Garbett and Mr. Cadell presented him was none of those things. He’d been summoned from England to the Garbett mansion near Stirling to resolve a young lover’s quarrel. The problem should have been sorted out by the adults in the room, in Nichol’s opinion. Unfortunately, rational people sometimes acted from passionate feelings rather than reasoned thought. Mr. Garbett and Mr. Cadell didn’t need his help—they needed to step away from the turmoil and their wives, and think.
So, Nichol had taken advantage of their weakness and negotiated a very hefty fee to solve this child’s play for the two iron barons. He considered the work a diversion, a bit of a lark. An exercise that would keep the machinery of his mind well oiled before he moved on to his next engagement that involved a wealthy Welsh merchant and a missing ship.
Nichol first met with Miss Sorcha Garbett, who, in his estimation, was as immature as she was plain. He asked her if she would be so kind to explain how her engagement had ended. Hopefully without tears.
Miss Garbett was quite eager to tell him and railed for a half hour about the unfair treatment of her person by one Miss Maura Darby, who had, for all intents and purposes, been banned from the Garbett house, and who, if Miss Garbett was to be believed, had been persecuting her for years. In the entire half hour, Miss Garbett mentioned her fiancé only in passing. She presented him as a rather unsophisticated gentleman who did not understand the wily ways of a woman. But Miss Darby was another matter entirely.
“Your father’s ward sounds like a dangerous enchantress,” he remarked, more for his own amusement.
“She’s no’ so enchanting,” Miss Garbett sniffed. “She’s no’ as clever as she thinks, and neither is she a true beauty.”
Miss Darby’s looks had not been mentioned at all. “I see,” Nichol said, and oh, did he see. “Might I inquire, Miss Garbett—do you love Mr. Cadell?”
She put a handkerchief to her considerable nose and shrugged delicately.
Bain clasped his hands behind his back and pretended to examine a porcelain figurine. “Does the notion of being mistress of a grand house appeal to you, then?”
She slanted her eyes in his direction.
“I have seen the Cadell house in England, and I can say without reservation that it is grander than Kensington Palace.”
She dropped the handkerchief, and her eyes went wide. “Grander than a palace?”
“Aye.”
She bit her lip and glanced at her lap. “But he loves Maura.”
“No,” Nichol said. This was where he did his best work. He squatted down next to the lass, took her hand in his and said carefully, earnestly, “He does no’ love Miss Darby.”
“How can you be certain?” she asked tearfully.
“Because I’m a man, aye? I know how a man thinks in moments of raw desire.” He watched the twin puffs of red bloom in her cheeks. “He was no’ thinking of the rest of his life, you may trust me. When he thinks of you, he thinks of compatibility and the many happy years before him spent in complete conjugal felicity.”
That might have been too much, he thought lazily.
Miss Garbett sniffed again. “I suppose I could give him one more chance, aye? But I’ll no’ give Maura another chance! Never! Donna even ask it of me.”
“I would never,” he assured her.
“But you will,” she said tearfully. “Because my father esteems her verra much. More than me.”
“He could no’ possibly,” Nichol said soothingly. “You must believe me, Miss Garbett—your father likes the ironworks deal far better than Miss Darby. And he loves you much more than that.”
She straightened in her seat and with a weary sigh, she looked to the window. “Is the Cadell house in England really as big as a palace?”
Problem solved. Nichol rose to his feet. “Bigger. Eighteen chimneys in all.”
“Eighteen,” she murmured.
From there, Nichol walked into the small study to speak to Mr. Adam Cadell. Although he was twenty years, he had not quite yet grown into his gangly arms and legs. He eyed Nichol warily.
“Well, then,” Nichol said, and went to the sideboard to help himself to port. He poured one for the lad, too. “You’ve gotten yourself into a bloody fine predicament, aye?”
The young man looked uncertainly at the port, but took it, and downed it with unnecessary determination. “Yes,” he said hoarsely.
“Do you love Miss Darby, then?”
The lad colored. The knot at his throat dipped with his hard swallow. “Of course not.”
Of course you do. Nichol sipped casually at his port, then asked, “What is the size of Miss Garbett’s dowry, by the bye?”
“Why?” the young man asked, and when Nichol didn’t answer, he fidgeted nervously with the hem of his waistcoat. “Quite large,” he said in a manner that seemed to suggest he thought he’d be asked to forfeit it.
“Large enough to build a house in town?”
“London?”
“Aye, London, if you like. Edinburra. Dublin.” He shrugged.
Mr. Cadell’s brows dipped with confusion. “What has that to do with this wedding?”
“I should think it obvious.”