The Earl's Convenient Wife. Marion Lennox

thoughts went back to his grandfather, an astute old man whose trust in his wife had been absolute. He’d run the Duncairn financial empire with an iron fist. Deeply disappointed in his two sons—Alasdair’s and Alan’s respective fathers—the old man had left control of the entire estate in the hands of Eileen.

      ‘By the time you die I hope our sons have learned financial sense,’ he’d told her. ‘You can decide who is best to take over.’

      But neither of his sons had shown the least interest in the estate, apart from persuading Eileen to give them more money. They’d predeceased their mother, one in a skiing accident, one from a heart attack, probably caused by spending his life in Michelin-starred restaurants.

      No matter. That was history. Eileen had come from a long line of thrifty Scots, and in Alasdair she’d found a family member who shared her business acumen and more.

      As they’d turned the company into the massive empire it now was, Alasdair had tried to talk his grandmother into making it a public entity, making it safe if anything had happened to either of them. She’d refused. ‘I trust you,’ she’d told him but she’d maintained total ownership.

      And now this...

      ‘Surely it’s illegal,’ he said, feeling bone weary.

      ‘What could be illegal?’

      ‘Coercing us into marriage.’

      ‘There’s no coercion. The way your grandmother worded it...

      ‘You helped her word it.’

      ‘Mr Duncan McGrath, the firm’s most senior lawyer, helped her draft it, to make sure there were no legal loopholes.’ The lawyer was suddenly stern. ‘She was very clear what she wanted. The will states that the entire financial empire plus any other assets she owns are to be liquidated and left in equal parts to a large number of canine charities. As an aside, she states that the only way the intentions of the will can be set aside is if you and Mrs McBride marry.’

      ‘That woman is not a McBride.’

      ‘She’s Mrs McBride,’ the lawyer repeated sternly. ‘You know that she is. Your grandmother loved her and treated her as family, and your grandmother wanted to cement that relationship. The bequest to the canine charities can only be set aside if, within a month of her death, you and Mrs Jeanie McBride are legally married. To each other.’

      ‘We both know that’s crazy. Even...Mrs McBride...didn’t consider it for a moment.’ He ran his fingers through his hair, the feeling of exhaustion intensifying. ‘It’s blackmail.’

      ‘It’s not blackmail. The will is set up so that in the—admittedly unlikely—event that you marry, your grandmother provides for you as a family.’

      ‘And if we’re not?’

      ‘Then she’s done what any lonely old woman in her situation might do. She’s left her fortune to dogs’ homes.’

      ‘So if we contest...’

      ‘I’ve taken advice, sir. I was...astounded at the terms of the will myself, so I took the liberty to sound out a number of my colleagues. Legal advice is unanimous that the will stands.’

      More silence. Alasdair reached for his whisky and discovered what he’d done. The table was covered with broken glass. He needed to call someone to clean it up.

      Mrs McBride? Jeanie.

      His cousin’s wife had operated this place as a bed and breakfast for the past three years. As cook, housekeeper and hostess, she’d done a decent job, he’d had to concede. ‘You should see how it is now,’ his grandmother had told him, beaming. ‘Jeanie’s the best thing that’s happened to this family.’

      That wasn’t true. Even though he conceded she’d looked after this place well, it was by her first actions he’d judged her. As Alan’s wife. She’d run wild with his cousin and she’d been beside him when he’d died. Together she and Alan had broken Eileen’s heart, but Eileen had never been prepared to cut her loose.

      Marrying Alan had branded her, he conceded, but that brand was justified. Any fool could have seen the crazy lifestyle his cousin had been living was ruinous. The money she and Alan had thrown round... That was why she was still looking after the castle, in the hope of inheriting something more. He was sure of it. For an impoverished island lass, the McBride fortune must seem seductive, to say the least.

      Seduction... By money?

      If she’d married for money once before...

      His mind was suddenly off on a crazy tangent that made him feel ill.

      Marriage... But what was the alternative?

      ‘So what if we did marry?’ he demanded at last, goaded into saying it.

      ‘Then everything reverts to how it’s been,’ the lawyer told him. He was watching him cautiously now, as if he half expected Alasdair to lob whisky at him. ‘If you and Mrs McBride marry and stay married for a period of no less than one year, you’ll legally own the Duncairn empire with all it entails, with the exception of the castle itself. Mrs McBride will own that.’

      ‘Just this castle?’

      ‘And the small parcel of land on the same title. Yes. They’re the terms of the will.’

      ‘Does she have a clue how much this place costs to maintain? What she gets with the bed and breakfast guests couldn’t begin to touch it. And without the surrounding land...’

      ‘I’d imagine Mrs McBride could sell,’ the lawyer said, placing his papers back in his briefcase. ‘Maybe to you, if you wish to continue the Duncairn lineage. But right now, that’s immaterial. If you don’t marry her, the castle will be part of the whole estate to be sold as one. Mrs McBride needs to consider her future with care, but maintenance of the castle is immaterial unless you marry.’

      And there was the only glimmer of light in this whole impossible situation. If he didn’t inherit, neither would she. It’d be great to be finally shot of her.

      He didn’t need this inheritance. He didn’t. If he walked away from this mess, he could get a job tomorrow. There were any number of corporations that’d take his expertise.

      But to walk away from Duncairn? His ancestral home...

      And the company. So many people... He thought of the firm most likely to buy if he no longer had control and he felt ill. They’d merge. All his senior management... All his junior staff... Scotland was struggling after the global financial crisis anyway. How could they get new jobs?

      They couldn’t, and there was nothing he could do about it.

      Unless...unless...

      ‘She has been married before,’ he said slowly, thinking aloud. He didn’t like the woman one bit. He didn’t trust her, but if he was careful... Initial revulsion was starting to give way to sense. ‘She married my cousin so I’m assuming money’s important to her. I guess—if it got me out of this mess, I might be prepared to marry. In name only,’ he added hastily. ‘As a business deal.’

      Marriage... The idea made him feel ill. But Lords of Duncairn had married for convenience before, he reminded himself. They’d married heiresses to build the family fortunes. They’d done what had to be done to keep the estate safe.

      And the lawyer was permitting himself a dry smile, as if his client was now talking like a sensible man. ‘I’ve considered that option,’ he told him. ‘It would meet the requirements of the bequest—as long as you lived together.’

      ‘Pardon?’

      ‘Lady Eileen was very sure of what she wanted. She has...all eventualities covered.’

      He exhaled and took a while to breathe again. Eventualities... ‘Explain.’

      ‘You and Mrs McBride would need to live in the same residence