Heirly Ever After by Vernon, Magan (best classic novels .TXT) 📕

I asked as a maid pulled a bar cart in front of a bistro table.

Gavin nodded. “The family’s, yes. Mine and Natalie’s.”

His gaze was set on the woman pouring two crystal rocks glasses full of brown liquid that I hoped was a good scotch aged at least ten years. And with the cut of the Waterford glasses, I was thinking maybe more like thirty years and straight from the highlands.

As soon as the woman was done, she curtsied and then headed back through the doors. It wasn’t until she completely disappeared that Gavin finally turned toward me, his mouth in a firm line and his eyes a sharp glare.

“What are you really doing here?”

His words might have been harsh, but I didn’t even wince, showing the man in front of me that just because he had the big manor, that didn’t make him any more nobility than me.

“I’m here to help my friend Madison, since she needed a wedding date and I just happened to be coming to the area,” I said coolly, grabbing one of the glasses from the cart, swirling the brown liquid so I could take in the subtle hints of toffee. Seemed like we’d have to repeat our cover story a couple of times more before anyone believed us.

“That’s bullshit and we both know that,” he spat.

I looked up from my drink, trying to hide a smile at seeing a crack in the man’s exterior.

“If it’s bullshite, then why did you send my great-grandfather an invitation? You obviously wanted him here.” I raised an eyebrow. “Or did you think no Scottish MacWebley would show up?”

With one hand in his pocket, he let out a breath through his nose before sauntering toward the bar cart. He picked up his drink then took a long sip, looking out over the horizon. “No, you’re right. I didn’t actually believe a MacWebley would come.”

“So why send the invitation? Did I miss the memo on nobility etiquette?”

He took another slow sip of his drink, still staring off into the grass before him.

This was a power move.

Trying to make me squirm while I waited for his answer.

If that’s how he was going to play, then I could, too.

He let out a deep sigh, shaking his head but keeping his eyes out on the lawn.

“When Natalie first got here, she was the one to first discover the truth of our Scottish past while doing her research on the family. Mother and Father like to hide it away, but I’m tired of the lies. Whatever is going on with our families I think should be water under the bridge. It’s been how long since our great, great, great ancestors had a tiff? It should be time we can both move on. Don’t you think?”

Finally, he turned toward me. His cold stare was locked right on me as if he could will the words straight from my mouth.

A tiff?

A fucking tiff was what he wanted to call it?

This whole manor was a damn gift to his family so his great-great-great-grandmother could stay a lady.

If I could just spit that out. Demand it back.

But no. This arrogant son of a bitch would probably just throw me out on my arse.

I had to find proof. Somewhere in this manor.

“You think the two of us can just forget a century of our families hating each other?” I asked bluntly, the only words I could form.

He scoffed. “You make it seem like we’re the Capulets and the Montagues.”

“If the Capulets and Montagues were related,” I muttered into my glass before taking a big gulp of my drink.

At least my cousin was good for one thing and could pick out a decent cask.

He nodded, swirling the liquid in his own glass. “While you’re here, you’re still a guest at Webley. The guest of my future sister-in-law. If you can at least put your hatred aside for me and my family until after the wedding, I’d appreciate it.”

“I don’t…” My words trailed as I tried to think of the right words.

Raking my fingers through my hair, I let out a deep breath before slumping in the chair behind me. I worked out multiple times a week, but all of this with my estranged family was more exhausting than a few hundred burpees.

Gavin took the seat across from me, setting his glass down on the table before he brought his hands to his lap. “I may not have ever talked to you or any of my Scottish relatives, but I understand that years of bad blood between us cannot be solved just by me extending the olive branch of a wedding invitation.”

“Finally, you said something that fucking makes sense.”

He nodded again, his jaw clenching slightly. “I don’t know if there’s another reason you’re here, Jacob, but I can only assume there’s more than what you’re telling me. Is my great-uncle okay?”

I swallowed hard, my fingers tapping on my glass. “No. He’s not.”

“Is that why you’re here instead of him?”

I took a long sip of my drink, staring out at the lawn instead of the man next to me. If there was any time to be honest about something, it was now. “Great-Grandfather hasn’t had a good last few years and has recently been bedridden. We don’t know how much time he has left, but before our last mass, he handed me the invitation and asked if I’d come here for him.”

It hadn’t been as simple as my hurried words let it out to be.

I could still picture the once larger-than-life man lying in his bed, his graying beard scraggly, framing his sunken face. He’d asked everyone else to leave the room, saying he wanted to speak to just me. Then he’d pulled the fancy filigree envelope from under his pillow and told me what it was.

I hadn’t understood at first.

Until our eyes met and he told me, straight out, that he didn’t want to die in vain. That the Webleys needed to know who the rightful heir was. That we shouldn’t suffer