“Och.Aye, that there was the third duke of Montrose, circa 1801, named Connor Montrose. Quite a handsome bit, eh? Looks like he might just step out of that painting, doesn’t he? Must’ve made hearts flutter in his day. Pity was his life was short and saw a tragic end, but I’ll share a bit more on that later in the tour.”
Emma could only stare at the painted portrait, which was larger than life but a remarkable likeness in its way of the Connor she knew, down to the twinkle of mischief in his beautiful eyes. She already knew the ending to his story, but to see him here, in the home he’d loved, still imbuing the place with his warmth…it made her heart ache all over again.
Outside, the stables remained intact, with a few horses belonging to Aileen and her husband, Evan, lazing in the fragrant straw-strewn stalls. Emma rubbed the velvety nose of the chestnut gelding who poked his head out to say hello.
“We still keep some sheep on the property, too, though I myself don’t know the first thing about them, other than they keep our lawns trimmed. We have a shepherd who watches over them. And these two allow us to ride them now and then. Lazy chaps. But we love them. And I’ve got a fancy coop behind the house with chickens who give us fresh eggs every morning for your breakfast. If it’s history you’re wantin,’ if ye look right up there by those cliffs,” Aileen went on, looking out through the barn doors, “close to that large boulder was the infamous site of one of our family’s biggest scandals. Or, if you will, our saddest days.”
“Of course, you mean Connor Montrose, I assume? The duel?”
Surprise widened Aileen’s eyes. “Why, that it is. However did ye know that? It’s really buried quite deep in the archives of our history now. Though ’tis a story I like to tell our guests. Gives the place a wee bit of romanticism, d’ye ken?”
“I might know a bit more than a little of your history.”
“Really? Then you know of the scandal, of course, with the duke’s younger sister, Rowena—my fifth great-grandmother—and how it affected the family.”
“Yes. It was a terrible thing that happened to her. So unfair.”
“It was. And you must know the young duke’s brother, Arthur, became the duke of Montrose shortly after Connor’s untimely death. Then he himself died not too long after that. His death was rumored to be quite painful and drawn out, though some claimed he deserved that end for the greedy ne’er-do-well he was. He nearly sank the estate with his gambling. In the end, it was their poor, near-ruined sister, Rowena, to whom the estate came down, and she carried it down to her children. She lived practically as a hermit for years before marrying. Her marriage to a wealthy commoner turned out to be a love match after all. So that all worked out for her.
“But in a shameful twist of fate,” she continued, “the very woman the Connor Montrose had been set to marry before his death—”
“Violet?” Emma helpfully supplied.
“Why, yes. It was Violet. Violet Gray. She wound up marrying the man who killed him.”
“But not by choice,” she said, petting the neck of the horse in the stall nearest her. The horse blew a fragrant, hay-y breath into her hair.
Aileen looked at her sideways. “Oh, I ken it was verra much by choice, dear. She bore him several children before dying in childbirth. She played some dark part in the death of the duke—Connor Montrose—and the scandal that Rowena was caught in as well.”
“Aileen,” Emma said, pulling a small book from her bag. “I hope you won’t mind, but I’ve brought something I wanted you to have. I think it belongs with the estate and might just clear up any misunderstandings that linger about Connor Montrose and Violet Gray. In this book are excerpts from a diary. Violet Gray’s diary about that time. I’ve tagged the pages for you.”
“Really? But how in the world did you—”
“A friend found it for me in a dusty library. I mean no disrespect by bringing it to you. But I think you’ll find that what you were told happened was quite the opposite. And I think the truth is the truth, no matter when it’s revealed.”
Aileen turned the book over in her hands and flipped open the pages. “Well, I’ll certainly give it a look. I can’t imagine—But who knows? Perhaps we’ll get a better story out of this than the original, d’ye ken?”
“Oh, I ken,” Emma said. “I really, really do.”
*
It took Emmauntil the next morning to work up the nerve to hike up to the old ruin above the Montrose estate. She’d slept little the night before, despite the comfortable surroundings and the fire crackling in the fireplace in her room. Instead, she’d found herself wandering down to the main hall to stare at his portrait, hanging there among the others. For a long time, she’d sat listening to the fire crackle in the fireplace, studying the portrait. It almost did him justice but couldn’t compete with her memory of the real thing. The likeness didn’t quite capture his quiet confidence or the gentleness in his eyes, those times when he’d leaned in to kiss her or tease her or protect her. Or the time he’d rescued Lannie’s son, Nathan, from the tree. Instead, the artist had painted a certain arrogance into his expression that didn’t fit the man she’d come to know. But that would be her secret.
She’d come to Scotland to prove to herself that what she’d experienced was real. And beyond a shadow of a doubt, she knew now it had been. The portrait of Connor, the story Aileen had told her about his past. She couldn’t have known any of it on her own. The book she’d given to Aileen she’d ordered off the internet. It had taken weeks and weeks to arrive. But once she’d held it in her hands, she’d known that Elspeth had been real as well. When she finished here, she intended to visit her in Leyton Grove and thank her. Maybe invite her to lunch. There would be so much to talk about with a woman like her. A woman who knew all about angels.
The air was still chilly, and the hike up the hillside was steeper than she remembered, though probably it was her imperfect leg that made it feel so. She hiked up the incline slowly, through the calf-high heather that was still weeks from blooming again but a purplish blush breathed across the tops of the plants, shimmering in waves in the cool breeze. Now and then, she’d turn to look at the ocean in the distance and catch her breath. This ocean looked so different from her own. Wilder. Unfathomable. Like this place. Like him.
Finally, she reached the summit and the ruin Connor had brought her to last summer. The ancient stones were nearly another year older, still covered with moss on the north side where the sun rarely shone. Slowly, she climbed to where he’d brought her that day, the parapet that overlooked the entire moor.
Pushing aside the overgrown vines and weeds clinging to a wall, she saw what she’d come to see. She brushed away the vegetation around the carved letters there:VG+CM. “Violet Gray and Connor Montrose,” she whispered.
Emma smiled. Of course it was there. She’d known it would be. Tears gathered behind her eyes, and she willed them back. No use getting emotional. This changed nothing, really. She just felt grateful to have survived what had happened. To have known him, if only for a couple of days. She had nothing to prove to anyone anymore. She knew what she knew and that was all that mattered. Life-changing epiphanies aside, though, it felt completely ironic that just when she’d become ready to allow love in her life, the one man she fell in love with wasn’t even human.
Then something caught her eye. She frowned as she got up from the weed-littered walkway and inhaled sharply. There, at eye level, freshly carved in the stone was another set of initials:CM + EJ.
“Connor Montrose and Emma James.”How in the world—?
Her fingers gently traced the deep cuts in the stone. For real now, there was no stopping the tears that ran down her cheeks. “Oh, Connor—” she shouted to the moors. “Just when I’m ready to accept being without you, you have to go and do something dumb like this.”
