All My Broken Dreams (Locksley Hall #1)

Chapter Twenty-Two

R eginald gave out a low whistle. “What the actual fuck?”

“Miss Listowel is about to learn that her brother is dead and she is next in line to inherit a vast estate.”

“What about Sarah Stewart? Won’t she fight for possession?”

Alastair shook his head. “Bryan Stewart made it clear that his sister was not to receive a nickel. She was cut out of the will in favor of the next generation. Her son first and then her daughter but the claim cannot go backwards.”

Phillip’s brow creased. “Sir, we regret what happened but we are not responsible for Harry’s death.”

“Rowena Listowel is going to be on the next flight home as soon as she hears the news,” Reginald said. “It’s unfortunate, but if you told us what you had planned, we would have kept a closer eye on Harry at Arran.”

Alastair’s great fist pounded on the table. “I should not have had to tell you anything! He was my son. For that reason alone, he should have received close attention. I mean to get that estate–it is my right–it is what I am owed and I will not be thwarted a third time!”

In a calmer tone, he turned to Deacon. “Tell me about the girl.”

Deacon flushed, recalling the night he’d spent with her in bed. “Robbie is not leaving. Here is why.”

He reached into his pocket and pulled out the mug he had taken from Harry’s flat on his way out this morning. There was a quote on the side that he didn’t understand but the others might.

“It’s from To Kill a Mockingbird ,” Millicent said. “Scout says it in reference to her brother, Jem. ‘Thus began our longest journey.’ It could be a message.”

“That’s how she took it. She believes Harry left it for her to find.”

“It’s the kind of shitty thing he would do,” said Reginald. “Listowel was never going to give us a chance to make amends. He was going to the police to turn us in. Taking him to Arran Isle was for his protection as much as it was for ours.”

“He killed himself so I don’t see how he was protected.”

Casey lifted the mug from Deacon’s hands. “I’ll hold onto this. We can’t have any loose ends. Cousin, I’m concerned you’re taking your role of shadowing Robbie Listowel a little too seriously. You’ve been spending a lot of time with her.”

“At Alastair’s request,” he said roughly. “What’s it to you?”

“You haven’t ever felt tempted to spill our secrets, have you? You could be forgiven for wanting to impress her by bragging about your connections. She is not unattractive, though she is far out of your class. It must be galling,watching her every move, knowing she wouldn’t give you the time of day if you met socially.”

She would give him more than the time of day, thought Deacon. “I don’t give a fuck about her, Casey. The sooner she learns of Harry’s death, the sooner she’ll be gone and no longer my responsibility.” He turned to Alastair. “When do you want me to tell her?”

“I don’t.” Alastair propped his elbows on the table. “I have plans for Miss Listowel. Don’t say or do anything to warn her or alarm her. Casey is right about one thing. Do not get attached to her, Deacon. She is not for you. Do you understand?”

His flesh crawled with heat and he lashed out. “I’ve said my peace on the subject. I don’t need to hear it twice. I’m not in any danger of mistaking Robbie Listowel for anything but a nuisance. If you have a use for her, uncle, you’ll not hear an objection from me. Just leave me out of it. I want no part of whatever scheme you have in mind.”

Rage made him awkward. He moved clumsily to the door, his hands balling to fists at his sides.

“Where are you going? This meeting is not over!”

“I have work to do,” he snarled and stalked out.

She was an heiress now. Soon she would be one of them and when she passed him in the street, she would blush and pretend not to know him. The time he had with her was coming to an end, as he knew it would eventually. He just didn’t think it would be this soon or that it would end like this.

Whatever Alastair had planned for Robbie, it would have something to do with seizing ownership of the Stewart estate.

Maybe he was an idiot. Maybe his affection for his uncle clouded his judgment but Deacon couldn’t see how Robbie could be cheated out of what was rightfully hers. She wasn’t dependent on Alastair for the roof over her head and there were Stewart family solicitors to reckon with in any scheme he might have.

She would have a seat at the table at the next meeting of Fuil Bratach and Deacon would be relegated to the kitchen to await orders.

There was one bright spot–the hope that he could be useful to her one day. He would wait upon Robbie with pleasure.

So he was going to bury these feelings, he told himself. Bury them deep. So deep that there was no chance they would surface when he was around her. He’d pull a double blind. Fake disinterest with Robbie when in reality, he’d be faking his disinterest with Fuil Bratach.

He pulled on his work coveralls over his clothes and got the mop and bucket from the janitor’s closet, mechanically filling it with hot soapy water at the sink.

It was Monday. Monday, the floor in the main entranceway got a wash and wax. Students streamed past him as he worked, jumping out of the way of the wet and dirty mop with barely a glance at the young man who was not one of them.

Deacon found her sitting in Harry’s flat with the lights off. He only knew she was there by the dull glow against the curtain when he returned home from the Hall. She had turned on the gas fire and was sitting on the floor in front of it, staring into the flames.

“I knocked but there was no answer. I brought you some groceries and a takeaway from the cafe. You must be hungry.”

She looked up when he entered like she’d seen a ghost. “How did you get in?”

“You left the door unlocked. I saw the light from the fire.” He unpacked the groceries and put their dinner on the hotplate to warm up. “I see you got home okay this morning. What happened? Did you have a panic attack?”

Deacon snapped on a lamp on a side table and reached down a couple of bowls from the cupboard. He was grubby from a long day of manual labor and needed a shower, but he wouldn’t leave her alone in this state.

“Someone is watching me,” she whispered. “They’ve been in this room. Harry’s mug is missing. I put the fire on because I was cold but I couldn’t risk putting on the lights. There’s nothing to eat here. I boiled some water for tea.”

“For God’s sake, Robbie. You have to take care of yourself. I can’t be worrying about you on top of everything else.”

She peered at her, puzzled. “On top of what else?”

“Nothing,” he said irritably. “Did you see who was watching you?”

“No, I only sensed it, and then the mug was gone. I think I’m being followed. What did that man want this morning? The Black.”

Deacon stirred the container of beef stew with a fork to warm it through. “He wanted to know how you were coping with the news about him being Harry’s dad. He asked what your plans were; if you were going to leave Scotland. And he told me to stay away from you.”

“He told you what?”

“He said you were not for me. Warned me not to get attached.”

Robbie turned back to the fire. Deacon carried their bowls of stew and a couple of rolls to the fire and sat down on the floor with her.

“Dig in.”

“You smell like floor wax,” she said, taking her bowl.

“Sorry. I should go upstairs and change.”

“No, I like it.”

They ate in silence, watching the fire.

After a moment, Robbie asked: “Why does he want you to stay away from me? What’s it to him who you spend time with?”

“I’m his nephew. He’s looking out for me.”

“And he thinks I’m bad for you?”

“He thinks you’re going to reject me as soon as someone from your own class comes along and I’m going to get hurt. You’re Harry Listowel’s sister. Big things are going to open up for you. I’m the janitor. I mop floors and unclog toilets.”

She leaned back against the sofa, balancing the bowl in her lap.

“I thought it was because we were related in some way. I’m Harry’s sister and your uncle is Harry’s father. Doesn’t that make us cousins?”

Deacon reddened. “It might but not through blood.” He shoveled a forkful of stew into his mouth.

“Well, it’s hypocritical of him to warn you off when my uncle did the same thing to him and my mother. Look how that turned out. You’re not going to listen to him, I hope. I don’t care what you do for a living. You’re the only person I trust here.”

Deacon’s phone buzzed. He reached for it, reading the message.

“It’s him. He wants me to extend you an invitation to join him and his son for dinner at Dugald Croft tomorrow night.” He met her eyes. “What should I tell him?”

Robbie’s hair glowed gold in the firelight.

“Tell him I accept.”