All My Broken Dreams (Locksley Hall #1)

Chapter Twenty-Five

H e left her asleep, tucked in her own bed. Thinking about what she had said as he climbed the stairs to his flat. It would be nice if it were true and they would remain the same, but the one fact that Deacon had lived with his whole life was that change was going to happen.

He waited until he was inside his room and the door was locked to make the call.

“I am keeping away from her,” he argued with the voice on the other end. “I stayed away for two weeks, roaming the fucking streets of Edinburgh to avoid her. I don’t answer to you, you twerp. Put Alastair on if you don’t like what I have to say.”

A few seconds later:

“She was questioning Harry’s part in the man’s death. I talked her around. I think she’s satisfied now with that version. She’s going home as soon as she signs some papers. She doesn’t know she’s the beneficiary.”

“And that’s all?” Alastair’s prodding didn’t imply his nephew was holding back a deeper reason for his interest in Robbie, but Deacon felt uncomfortable all the same.

“That’s all. If it’s suspicion you’re after avoiding, she’s going to get bloody suspicious if I keep ghosting her,” he said angrily. “This surveillance ends as soon as those papers are signed. I won’t be a party to this. If she wants to run with your crowd, she’s welcome to it; I’ll not stand in her way. But I won’t turn my back on her either. If she asks, I’ll act as her friend.”

“Will you now? What the hell has gotten into you, boy?”

“You heard me. Don’t make me choose between the two of you, uncle.”

He hung up, shaking. That was the first time in over a decade that Deacon had put a superior in his place. Bash a man’s face in, he could handle that without turning a hair, but assert himself with words? Unheard of. God knows what Alastair was making of it. Likely thought him doolally.

Whatever he felt about it, Lord Manderville wouldn’t test the limits of his nephew’s temper. His uncle was a hard man but he respected the boy he’d raised to be as hard as him.

Deacon stepped into a hot shower, thinking of Robbie’s head on his shoulder.

◆◆◆

The chapel at Locksley Hall was one of the original buildings, dating back to 1300. The stonework, stained glass and ornate carved pews made the occasion of Harry Listowel’s funeral an almost stately affair.

Working against this was the absolute dead ass cold. Central heating must be considered a luxury that would take away from the experience of suffering. Robbie had trouble grieving when all she could think about was how fucking cold she was. She giggled through her tears. Harry would love that.

Every pew was full. The priest spoke about Harry’s young life and how well-loved he was, and when the service was over, Robbie believed every word of it. Harry was well-loved. He was accomplished and he had so much promise. So much to live for.

Then why, oh why, did he pitch himself out of a tower window?

She would have to go to the Isle of Arran to see it for herself. She needed to see where he died and where he was found, and learn why he wasn’t found sooner. She needed it for herself and for her mother. Sarah’s criticism still rang in her ears.

“All my broken dreams,” said the priest.

The phrase stuck in her mind. What it meant in context of the sermon he was giving, she didn’t know, she missed that part. But it spoke poignantly to what she was feeling sitting in an ice cold chapel thousands of miles away from home.

Broken dreams were all she had left. Harry dying meant she would never really feel happy again. Part of her was gone and was never coming back.

The Stewart family solicitor leaned over to tap on her shoulder. “I’m sorry to trouble you, but if you have a moment to spare after the service, Miss Listowel, I would like to speak with you about the trust that was to go to your brother.”

“I have an appointment set for tomorrow. Can it wait until then?”

“I do apologize, but it is imperative we get the paperwork sorted before the deceased leaves the country. Since it is only a matter of reviewing the legacy with you and signing a few papers, the sooner it is completed, the better. I won’t keep you long.”

“Yes, of course,” Robbie said, bewildered.

“Wonderful,” the man beamed. “I’ll meet you in the church office after the Processional.”

She couldn’t find Deacon anywhere so it was Casey Manderville and Alastair who joined her for the meeting.

“With the death of your brother, Harry Listowel, the entirety of the Stewart estate and holdings, comprising the house, acreage and distillery is passed down to the next in line, Rowena Listowel.”

“That’s impossible,” she said. Robbie scanned the document in front of her. “I’m not a Stewart.”

“Your mother was, therefore you are a Stewart. Heirs can be sons or daughters in this case. Mr. Bryan Stewart died without issue, leaving the family fortune to be held in trust for his nephew when he reached the age of twenty-five. In the event of that person’s death before producing an heir, the trust passed to his niece.” The solicitor was all business. “Now, if you will sign here and here, the matter can be finalized and the estate handed over to you.”

“But I don’t know anything about running an estate or a distillery!”

Alastair spoke up. “It is my understanding that as Harry’s biological father, I am authorized to manage the trust on Rowena’s behalf until she turns twenty-five. Is that correct?”

The solicitor’s mouth tightened. “No, sir. Bryan Stewart made his wishes clear. Neither you nor Sarah Listowel are permitted access to the estate. Miss Listowel takes possession immediately and is free to hire an agent if she is unable to manage the estate herself. My office will provide her with some names. In the event of marriage, her spouse can be granted signing authority but that is a separate meeting.”

Robbie signed in the places as instructed, conscious that she didn’t know what she was doing. “I don’t have a lot of money. My father left me some. Is this estate going to cost a lot to run?”

The solicitor laughed. “The Stewart estate brings in an estimated million pounds per year! And that is a conservative estimate. You are a very rich young woman.”

“Congratulations,” Casey said with a huge grin. “It couldn’t happen to a nicer person. Harry would be pleased.”

Alastair Manderville didn’t look happy. His black eyes scowled at the documents the solicitor was shoving into his bag. “I should have some rights as the boy’s father. This could be contested.”

“It could,” the solicitor agreed amiably. “It would be a costly procedure that you would certainly lose. Rowena Listowel has Stewart blood in her and you do not. So often it comes down to the blood, doesn’t it?”

He snapped his leather briefcase closed. “Let me know about the land agent and I’ll have it arranged.”

Robbie watched the man leave and in the riot of feelings that she was coping with, Casey Manderville squeezed her shoulder.

“Cheer up. It can’t be all that bad becoming an heiress.”

“This was the last thing I expected. I can’t be responsible for a three-hundred-year-old estate. I’ll drive it into the ground.”

Casey laughed. “No, you won’t. We’ll help you. Come on, you look like you could use a drink. Let’s head over to the pub with the others. They’re putting out sandwiches, sausage rolls and meat pies. I’ll stand you a pint.”

She pulled on her coat. “I should find Deacon. He must be wondering where I am.”

“We’ll meet up with him at the pub. You don’t want to miss this, Robbie. All of Harry’s friends will be there and they want to meet you. Besides, you deserve a little fun after what you’ve been through.”

She wanted fun. Fun sounded good. She wanted something normal and loud, with people her own age who didn’t know her as a recluse. “Sounds amazing,” she said. “Thank you so much, Lord Manderville, for arranging it. I keep forgetting how horrible this time must be for you. You lost a son.”

Her sympathy produced a strange reaction in him. His teeth bared and he almost recoiled from her kindness. For an instant, the mask of civility slipped and she realized Alastair Manderville was polluted with black hate.

The alarm she felt was fleeting. Manderville couldn’t scare her. After losing Harry, she felt like nothing could scare her ever again.

“Thank you, Rowena,” the Black said stiffly. “I won’t be joining you in the festivities. That is reserved for the students of Locksley Hall and Harry’s friends to enjoy. Casey will see you home safely. If there is anything I can do for you, do not hesitate to ask. I am at your disposal.”