The Heir's Chosen Bride

CASTLE AT DOLPHIN BAY

Amidst a struggle for inheritance and a title, love and family triumph—against all odds!

Twin sisters

Kirsty McMahon is traveling to Australia with her heavily pregnant, widowed twin, Susie, to help her locate the baby’s great-uncle.

A castle in…Australia!

Angus Douglas is no ordinary uncle—he’s a Scottish earl with a faux-medieval castle and millions in the bank. The adventure has only just begun.

A whole lot of romance…

Kirsty and Susie are suddenly embroiled in an inheritance battle and a bid to save the castle from destruction, yet amidst all this, the twins each find the one big thing that has been missing from their lives.

The Doctor’s Proposal (#3896) was the first book in Castle at Dolphin Bay and was published last month.

Dear Reader,

I love ancient castles, handsome lords in kilts of ancient tartan and bagpipes on the battlements. My Scottish friends, however, tell me a feisty heroine is more likely to be hidden by fog or eaten by midges than she is to find the man of her dreams on yon Scottish parapet.

My Australian climate does have some advantages. Fine, I thought. I’m a fiction writer. I’ll transfer my Scottish castle to my favorite place in the world—Australia’s New South Wales coast. With a wave of my magic wand, I’ve therefore brought the romance of medieval Scotland to the turquoise waters of today’s Dolphin Bay. Add a family feud, a fortune to be won, a double set of twins and a couple of very sexy heroes… It’s far too much for one book so I’ve spread the fun over two.

My CASTLE AT DOLPHIN BAY duo, starting with The Doctor’s Proposal, has every element that good romance requires—including Queen Victoria in the bathroom and a murderer out on the bay. So far it’s two books, but if you enjoy them please let me know—via www.marionlennox.com. I may be forced to write another. And another:-)

Happy reading,

Marion Lennox

THE HEIR’S CHOSEN BRIDE

Marion Lennox

Marion Lennox was born on an Australian dairy farm. She moved on—mostly because the cows weren’t interested in her stories! Marion writes for the Medical Romance™ and Harlequin Romance® lines. In her non-writing life, Marion cares (haphazardly) for her husband, kids, dogs, cats, chickens and anyone else who lines up at her dinner table. She fights her rampant garden (she’s losing) and her house dust (she’s lost!). She also travels, which she finds seriously addictive. As a teenager Marion was told she’d never get anywhere reading romance. Now romance is the basis of her stories and her stories allow her to travel. If ever there was one advertisement for following your dream, she’d be it! You can contact Marion at www.marionlennox.com

CONTENTS

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER ONE

Information required on whereabouts of Dougal Douglas (or direct descendant), brother to Lord Angus Douglas, Earl of Loganaich. Contact solicitors Baird and O’Shannasy, Dolphin Bay, Australia, for information to your advantage.

‘MR DOUGLAS, you’re an earl.’

Hamish groaned. He was hours behind schedule. The Harrington Trust Committee was arriving in thirty minutes and his perky secretary-in-training was driving him nuts.

‘Just sort the mail.’

‘But this letter says you’re an earl. You gotta read it.’

‘Like I read e-mails from Nigeria offering to share millions. All I need to do is send my bank account details. Jodie, you know better.’

‘Of course I do,’ she told him indignantly. Honestly, he was being a twit.

But she forgave him. Who wouldn’t? Hamish Douglas was the cutest boss she’d ever worked for. Jodie had been delighted when Marjorie had retired and she’d been given the chance to take her place. At thirty-three, Hamish was tall, dark and drop-dead gorgeous. He had ruffled black curls, which fought back when he tried to control them. He had deep brown twinkly eyes and the most fantastic smile…

When he smiled. Which wasn’t often. Hamish might be one of the most brilliant young futures brokers in Manhattan, but he didn’t seem to enjoy life.

Maybe he’d smile when he realised he really was an earl.

‘This one’s different,’ she told him. ‘Honest, Mr Douglas, you need to look. If you’re who these people think you are then you’ve inherited a significant estate. A significant estate in lawyer speak…I bet that means a fortune.’

‘I’ve inherited nothing. It’s a scam.’

‘What’s a scam? Is Jodie bothering you with nuisance mail?’

Uh-oh. Jodie had been rising, but as soon as the door opened she sat straight back down. Marcia Vinel was Hamish’s fiancée. Trouble. Jodie had overheard Marcia on at least two occasions advising Hamish to get rid of her.

‘She’s a temp from the typing pool. Surely you can do better.’

‘But I like her,’ Hamish had replied, much to Jodie’s delight. ‘She’s smart, intuitive and organised—and she makes me laugh.’

‘Your secretary’s not here to make you laugh,’ Marcia had retorted.

No, Jodie thought, shoving the offending letter into the tray marked PENDING. Life’s too serious to laugh. Life’s about making money.

‘What’s the letter?’ Marcia said, with a sideways glance at Jodie to say she didn’t appreciate Jodie knowing anything about Hamish that she herself didn’t. ‘Is it a scam?’

Jodie knew when to turn into a good secretary. She tugged on her headset, paid attention to her keyboard and didn’t answer. ‘What’s the letter?’ Marcia said again, this time directly to Hamish.

‘It’s some sort of con,’ Hamish said wearily. ‘And Jodie’s not bothering me any more than anyone else is. Hell, Marcia, I have work to do.’

‘I came to tell you the Harrington delegation’s been delayed,’ Marcia told him. ‘Their flight’s two hours late from London. Relax.’

He did, but not much. That meant rescheduling and…

‘I’ll rearrange your appointments.’ Jodie emerged from her headset and he cast her a look of gratitude. ‘Only I do think you should read the letter.’ She mightn’t like Marcia, she decided, but at least Marcia would make Hamish look at it.

He went back to frowning. ‘Jodie, get real. Letters saying I’m an earl and I’ve inherited a fortune are the stuff of a kid’s fantasy.’

‘But it doesn’t say send bank account details. It says contact a solicitor. That sounds fusty rather than scammy. Real.’

‘Let me see,’ Marcia decreed, and put out an imperious hand. Marcia was a corporate lawyer working for the same company as Hamish. She was the brains, he was the money, some people said—but Hamish had earned his money with his wits, and there was a fair bit of cross-over.

The two were a team. Jodie handed it over.

There was silence while Marcia read. The letter was on the official notepaper of an Australian legal firm. It looked real, Jodie thought defiantly. She wasn’t wasting her boss’s time.

And Marcia didn’t think so either. She finished reading and set the letter down with an odd look on her face.

‘Hamish, do you have an uncle called Angus Douglas? In Australia?’

‘No.’ He frowned. ‘Or…I don’t think so.’

‘Surely you know your uncles,’ Jodie said, and got a frown from Marcia for her pains. She subsided but she didn’t replace her headset.

‘My father migrated from Scotland when he was little more than a kid,’ Hamish told Marcia. ‘There was some sort of family row—I don’t know what. He never told my mother anything about his family and he died when I was three.’

‘You never enquired?’ Marcia demanded, astounded, as if such disinterest was inexcusable.

‘About what?’

‘About his background. Whether he was wealthy?’

‘He certainly wasn’t wealthy. He migrated just after the war when every man and his dog was on the move from Europe. He married my mother and they had nothing.’ He hesitated. ‘All I know…’

‘All you know is what?’ said Marcia, still staring at the letter.

‘While I was at college my roommate was doing a history major. I went through some shipping lists he was using, just to see if I could find him. I did. Apparently my father left Glasgow in 1947 on the Maybelline. There was no other Douglas on the passenger list so I assumed he was alone.’

‘Maybe he had a brother who migrated as well,’ Marcia said thoughtfully. ‘Maybe his brother went to Australia instead. Honey, this letter says someone called Angus Douglas, Earl of Loganaich, died six weeks ago in Australia and they’re looking for relations of Dougal Douglas. Your father was Dougal, wasn’t he?’

Hamish’s face stilled.

‘What?’ Marcia said, and Jodie watched her face change. She knew that look. She’d seen it when Marcia was closing on a corporate deal. The look said she could smell money.

‘There probably aren’t that many Dougal Douglases,’ Hamish said slowly. ‘But…my father’s address on the shipping manifest was Loganaich. I’d never heard of the place. I looked it up, and it’s tiny. I thought some day I might go find it, but…’

‘But you got busy,’ Marcia said, approving. He certainly had. Hamish had been one of the youngest graduates ever to gain a first-class commerce-law degree from Harvard. After that had come his appointment with one of the most prestigious broking firms in New York, and he’d whizzed up the corporate ladder with the speed of light. At thirty-three, Hamish was a full partner and a millionaire a couple times over. There’d been no time in his fast-moving history for a leisurely stroll around Scotland. ‘Hamish, this means you really might have inherited.’

‘This is cool.’ Jodie beamed, forgetting her dislike of Marcia as imagination took flight. ‘The letter says they’re not sure whether they have the right person, but it does fit. It says your father was one of three brothers who left Scotland in 1947. The oldest two went to Australia and your dad came here.’

‘He can read it for himself,’ Marcia snapped and handed it over to Hamish.

‘It’ll be a scam.’

‘Read it,’ Marcia snapped.

And Jodie thought, Whoa, don’t do that, lady. If Hamish was my guy I wouldn’t talk like that.

But Hamish didn’t notice. ‘It’s probably nothing,’ he said at last, but dismissal had made way for uncertainty. ‘But with the Loganaich connection… Maybe we should check.’

‘I’ll make enquiries about this law firm,’ Marcia said. ‘I’ll get onto it straight away.’

‘There’s no need…’

‘There certainly is,’ Jodie breathed. ‘Oh, Mr Douglas, the letter says you’re an earl and you’ve inherited a castle and everything. How ace would that be? A Scottish earl. You might get to wear a kilt.’

‘No one’s seeing my knees,’ Hamish said. He grinned—and then the phone rang and a fax came through that he’d been waiting for and he went back to work.

Castles and titles had to wait.

‘They think they’ve found him.’

Susie Douglas, née McMahon, was sitting on a rug before the fire in the great hall of Loganaich-Castle-the-Second, playing with her baby. Rose Douglas was fourteen months old. She’d been tumbling with her aunt’s dog, Boris, but now baby and dog had settled into a sleepy, snuggly pile, and the women were free to talk.

‘The lawyers have been scouring America,’ Susie told her twin. ‘Now they think they’ve found the new earl. As soon as he comes, I…I think I’ll go home.’

‘But you can’t.’ Kirsty stared at her twin with horror. ‘This is your home.’

‘It’s been great,’ Susie said, staring round the fantastically decorated walls with affection. The two suits of armour guarding the hallway were wonderful all by themselves. She talked to them all the time. Good morning, Eric. Good morning, Ernst. ‘But I can’t live here for ever. It doesn’t belong to me. I agreed to stay until Angus died, and now he has.’ She took a deep breath. ‘I’ve been marking time for too long, Kirsty, love. Eric and Ernst belong to someone else. It’s time I moved on.’

‘You mustn’t.’ Yet there was a part of Kirsty that knew Susie was right. This moment had been inevitable.

Susie had come so far… After the death of her husband, Rory, Susie had fallen apart, suffering from crippling depression as well as the injuries she’d received in the crash that had killed her husband. In desperation Kirsty had brought her to Australia to meet Rory’s uncle. Lord Angus Douglas, Earl of Loganaich. It had been a grand title for a wonderful old man. In the earl they’d found a true friend, and in his outlandish castle Susie had recovered. She’d given birth to her daughter and she’d started to look forward again.

To home?

Susie’s home was in America. Her landscaping business was in America. Now Angus was dead there was nothing keeping her here.

But while Susie had been recovering. Kirsty, her twin, had been falling in love with the local doctor. Kirsty and Jake now had a rambling house on the edge of town, kids, hens, dog—the whole domestic catastrophe. Kirsty’s home was solidly here.

‘I don’t want you to go,’ Kirsty whispered. ‘Angus should have left this place to you.’

‘He couldn’t.’

‘I don’t see why not.’

‘This castle was built with entailed money,’ Susie explained. ‘After the original Scottish castle burned down, the family trust made money available for rebuilding. Angus managed to arrange it so he rebuilt the castle here in Australia, but he still couldn’t leave it away from the true line of the peerage. If I’d had a son it’d be different, but now it goes to a nephew no one knows. It belongs to a Hamish Douglas. An American.’

She said ‘an American’ in a tone of such disgust that Kirsty burst out laughing. ‘You sound as if Americans are some sort of experimental bug,’ she said. ‘Just remember you are one, Susie Douglas.’

‘I hardly feel American any more,’ Susie said, sighing. Rose rolled sleepily off Boris, and Susie scooped her baby daughter up to hug her. ‘I have my own little Australian.’

‘Half American, half Scottish, born in Australia. But she belongs here.’

‘You see, I’m not sure any more,’ Susie said, sighing again. ‘Angus has left me enough to buy a little house and live happily ever after here. But I need to work and there’s not a lot of landscape gardening to be had in Dolphin Bay.’

‘There’s me,’ Kirsty said defensively, and Susie smiled.

‘You know that counts for a lot. But not everything. I need a job, Kirsty. Rory’s been dead for almost two years. My injuries from the crash are almost completely resolved. I loved caring for Angus, but without him the castle seems empty. The only thing keeping me occupied is the upkeep on the castle and the garden, and once the new earl arrives…’

‘When is he arriving?’

‘I don’t know,’ Susie told her. ‘But the lawyers say they’ve found him and told him he’s inherited. If you were told you’d inherited a title and a fortune, wouldn’t you hotfoot it over here?’

Kirsty gave a bleak little smile at that. So much sorrow had gone into this fortune, this title…

‘I guess I would,’ she admitted.

‘Once he arrives there’s nothing for me to do,’ Susie told her, twirling the curls of her almost sleeping daughter.

‘Maybe he won’t come,’ Kirsty said, trying not to sound desperate. She wanted her sister to stay so much. ‘Or maybe he’ll want you to stay as caretaker.’

‘And leave it earning nothing? What would you do if you inherited this place?’ Susie asked.

‘Sell it as a hotel,’ Kirsty said bluntly, and though she added a grimace it was no less than the truth. Angus had built this place when his castle back in Scotland had burned to the ground. The old man’s whim had led him to rebuild here, in this magic place where the climate was so much kinder than Scotland’s. But now…the castle seemed straight out of a fairy tale. It was far too big for a family. Angus had known it could be sold as a hotel, and his intention was surely about to be realised.

‘It feels like a home,’ Kirsty added stubbornly, and Susie laughed.

‘Right. Fourteen bedrooms, six bathrooms, a banquet hall, a ballroom and me and Rose. Even if you and Jake and the kids and Boris came to live with us, we’d have three bedrooms apiece. It’s crazy to think of staying.’

‘But you can’t go back,’ Kirsty said again, and her twin’s face grew solemn.

‘I think I must.’

‘At least stay and meet the new earl. Maybe he’ll have some ideas rather than selling. Maybe he could employ you to make the garden better.’

‘We both know that’s a pipe dream.’

‘But you will stay until he gets here. That’s what Angus would have wanted.’

‘I miss Angus so much,’ Susie said softly, and her twin moved across to give her a swift hug.

‘Oh, love. Of course you do.’

‘The new laird might not even grow pumpkins,’ Susie said sadly, and Kirsty had to smile.

‘Unforgivable sin!’

‘We’ve got the biggest this year,’ Susie said, brightening. ‘Did I tell you, the night before Angus died I snuck into Ben Boyce’s yard and measured his. It’s a tiddler in comparison. Angus died knowing he would definitely win this year’s trophy.’

‘There you go,’ Kirsty said stoutly. ‘The new earl just has to collect his pumpkin and take over where Angus left off.’

‘The lawyers say he’s some sort of financier. An American financier valuing a prize pumpkin…you have to be kidding.’

‘I’m not kidding,’ Kirsty said. ‘You’ll see. He’ll come and he’ll fall for the place and want a caretaker and landscape gardener extraordinaire, and pumpkin pie for dinner for the rest of his life.’

‘He won’t.’

‘At least wait and see,’ Kirsty begged. ‘Please, Susie. You must give him a chance.’

‘Holiday?’ Hamish glared at his secretary in stupefaction. ‘You are joking.’

‘I’m not joking. Your holiday starts next week—sir. Oh, by the way, I’m quitting.’

‘You’re not making sense.’ Hamish was late for a meeting. He’d been gathering his notes when his unconventional secretary had burst in to tell him her news.

‘You’re having three weeks’ holiday starting next week,’ Jodie repeated patiently. ‘And I’m quitting.’

He gazed at her as he’d gaze at someone with two heads.

‘You can’t quit,’ he said weakly, and she grinned.

‘Yes, I can. I’m only a temp. I came here two years ago on a two-week agency placing, and no one’s given me a contract.’

‘But people don’t just leave—’

‘Well, why would they when the money’s brilliant?’ Jodie acknowledged. ‘But have you noticed that people do leave this firm? They start taking time off because they can’t cope. They’re constantly tired. They forget things. They stop being efficient and then they’re bumped. So all I’m doing is leaving before I’m bumped. Why do you think Marjorie retired so young? Listening to you and the girlfriend made me think…’

‘Me and Marcia?’

‘You and Marcia. She’s as pleased as could be about your new title—she can’t wait to get married so she’ll be Lady Marcia Douglas—but as for agreeing you don’t have time to go see a castle…’

‘It’s a fake castle,’ he said faintly.

‘A castle is a castle and it sounds cool,’ Jodie declared. ‘Just because it’s not six hundred years old doesn’t mean it’s not a real one. And Marcia’s idea of putting it on the market without seeing it is ridiculous. Anyway, I was talking to Nick, and he said—’

‘Nick?’

‘My partner,’ she said with exaggerated patience. ‘The man I share my life with. He’s a woodworker. He was a social worker with disadvantaged kids, but the work just wore him out. He loved it but it exhausted him. He’s almost as cute as you, and I talk about him all the time. Not that you listen.’

Hamish blinked. He hesitated and glanced at his watch. Then he carefully laid his papers on the desk in front of him. Jodie was a great, if unconventional, secretary, and it’d be more efficient to spend a few minutes now persuading her to stay rather than training someone new—

‘Don’t do this to me,’ Jodie begged. ‘You’re scheduling me into your morning and I don’t intend to be scheduled. I’m working on changing your life here. Not the next half-hour.’

‘Pardon?’

‘You see nothing but work,’ she told him. ‘The typing-pool gossip is that you’ve been blighted in love. That explains Marcia but it’s none of my business. All I know is that you’re blinkered. You’ve been given the most fantastic opportunity and you’re throwing it away.’

Hamish sat down. ‘This is—’

‘Impertinent,’ she told him, and beamed. ‘I know. But someone needs to tell you. Nick’s been given a contract to rebuild the choir stalls at a gorgeous old church up in New England. We’re both going to move. That’s why I need to quit. So then I thought if I was quitting I should try to save you first. Nick agrees. Spending your whole life making money is awful. Owning a castle and not visiting it before you sell it is madness. So I’ve cancelled every one of your appointments for the next three weeks, starting the minute you’ve finished with the Harrington committee. I haven’t just crossed them out of your diary but I’ve contacted everyone and rescheduled. Job’s done. As of next week I’m out of here, and if you have the brains I credit you with, so will you be.’

‘I can’t.’

‘Yes, you can,’ she told him. ‘Your Lordship.’

‘Jodie…’

‘Yes?’ She was beaming, as if she’d just played Santa Claus. ‘I’ve booked flights for you. From JFK to Sydney, and there’s a hire car waiting so you can drive straight down to Dolphin Bay. If you want to take Marcia they’re holding two seats, but I told them you’d probably cancel one.’

‘Marcia won’t come.’

‘No, but you will,’ she told him. ‘You’ve been in this job for nearly ten years, and no one can remember you taking a holiday. Oh, sure, you’ve been away but it’s always been on some financial wheeler dealer arrangement. Dealing with Swiss bankers with a little skiing on the side. A week on a corporate yacht with financiers and oilmen. Not a sniff of time spent lying on the beach doing nothing. Isn’t it about time you had a look at life before you marry Marcia and…?’ She paused and bit back what she’d been about to say. ‘And settle down?’

‘I can’t,’ he said again, but suddenly he wasn’t so sure.

‘I’ve cleared it with all the partners. Everyone knows you’re going and they know why. You’ve inherited a castle. Everyone’s asking for postcards. So you’re going to look pretty dumb sitting round this office for the next three weeks doing nothing. Or telling everyone that I’ve lied about you needing a holiday and you’re not taking one, yah, boo, sucks.’

‘Pardon?’ he said again, and her grin widened.

‘That’s not stockbroker talk,’ she told him. ‘It’s street talk. Real talk. Which I’ve figured you need. If you’re going to go from share-broking to aristocracy maybe you need a small wedge of real life in between.’

‘Look, you dumb worm, if you don’t get out of there you’ll be concrete.’

Susie’s hair was escaping from her elastic band and drifting into her eyes. She flipped it back with the back of her hand, and a trickle of muddy water slid down her face. Excellent.

This was her very favourite occupation. Digging in mud. Susie was making a path from the kitchen door to the conservatory. The gravel path had sunk and she needed to pour concrete before she laid pavers, but first she had to dig. She’d soaked the soil to make it soft, and it was now oozing satisfactorily between her fingers as she rescued worms. Rose was sleeping soundly just through the window. The sun was shining on her face and she was feeling great.