Lion of Caledonia(104)
“You’re kidding.” Shock rang in his friend’s voice. “Did she put her real name on the return?”
“She’s not that stupid. Sent anonymously. But I have my ring in my hand.” Pacing in front of his desk, he kept his impatience on a short leash. “I just got it now and the postal code says Ashford. Where is Ashford?”
“Kent. Don’t ye know your English geography?” His friend hummed. “Wait a minute. That’s interesting.”
“Geography was your job when we traveled.” He stopped, his gut quivering. “What’s interesting?”
“There was a news story a wee bit ago, one a friend of mine was working on for the Guardian.” His voice grew muffled, as if he were moving away. Then his voice came back, sharp and keen, exactly as he sounded when he’d found the tidbit he needed to pull a story together for both of them. “If I remember correctly it was about an estate and its inheritance. Didn’t pay much attention to it, because old goats die every day.”
“Old goats.” Every muscle in his body went taut.
“In this case, an old goat in Kent.” The ping of a computer starting echoed into the phone. “Give me a second here to look it up.”
“Look what up?” Stifling an urge to howl his irritation, he slapped the gem on his desk.
“The obit. And the accompanying story.” His friend ignored the edge of fevered agitation in Cam’s voice. “Here it is.”
“Tell me.”
“Sir Lloyd Fellowes. Knight of the Most Noble Order of the Garter. Peer of the realm. Loyal subject and friend of the Queen. Baron of Fellowes Hall.”
“Fellowes Hall.” Cam glared at the computer sitting on the desk, in front of where his mouse once sat. He damned himself for never learning how to use the thing. “Where is that?”
“Wait.” Tre muttered under his breath. “The old goat died about a month ago, and left pretty much everything to one granddaughter.”
“Granddaughter.” Jenny?
“The story states there was a family controversy brewing about the whole thing.” The click and clatter of keystrokes broke through. “Yeah. One older male cousin thought he’d get the prize and was angry when he didn’t.”
“What the hell does this have to do with my finding Jenny?”
“Fellowes Hall is the largest estate in Kent and sits near Calehill Road.”
“So what?” The turbulent mix of emotions inside him threatened to burst. “What the hell does all this mean?”
“Ye never were one for being patient, were ye?” Tre didn’t seem to be troubled by his blasted questions. “Think, dobber. Whoever has shielded Jennet Douglas from our intent hunting has to be smart and very rich.”
He grunted. It was true. Usually, he and his friend could hunt down anything. Not this time.
“Fellowes was not only a peer, he built an empire in…” Tre trailed off. “Here it is. An empire in financial services and trucking.”
“So?”
“He’d be the kind of man who’d have a whole staff of solicitors.”
“Okay. Fine.” He paced to the window and glared at the loch. “Again, I say, so what?”
“Hold on.” Tre’s voice rose in excitement. “There are photos. At the funeral.”
Cam’s heart froze.
“There ye are, Jen.” His friend’s voice went soft. “Standing right by the coffin looking like the lovely, conniving lady ye are.”
“She’s my Jenny?” His heart thumped into life in a galloping, frenzied beat.
“She’s Jennet Douglas Fellowes,” Tre announced. “And she’s now a millionaire.”
Chapter 23
“Ms. Fellowes.” Her housekeeper, Mrs. Evans, huffed as she toddled around the latest pile of dirt that had been delivered just this morning.
“Ms. Douglas,” Jen corrected her with a firm note.
During the last week, she’d made some decisions. Once this garden was completed to her satisfaction and after some needed repairs were done to the roof, she was going to open Fellowes Hall to the public. The house in Bath and the Mayfair townhouse were on sale, the proceeds to go to the Royal Horticultural Society. She also was going to permanently change her last name back to what it should have been all along.
Edward and the rest of the family were complaining loudly about the sales and the public opening of the hall. But Mr. Briggs had taken care of them. There really wasn’t anything they could do. Jennet Douglas owned the estate and Jennet Douglas was following her heart.
“Yes, sorry.” Mrs. Evans batted her hands together, her flustered frown growing deeper. “There’s a man.”