His Engraver (The Outrageous Oliphants #2)

Prologue

In the spring

Max DeVille resisted the urge to pace, because years of tiptoeing about to avoid his father’s anger taught him that it was better not to draw attention with movement—

No. Not his father’s.

His mother’s husband, if Mr. Prince was to be believed.

He glanced over his shoulder at the large window in the front foyer of Newfincy Castle, still not believing he was actually standing in a castle in Scotland, for God’s sake! A few months ago, he would’ve said that such things were fairy tales.

Who knew that people actually lived in castles?

Your family does, apparently.

Even the Oliphant Inn, where he was staying, was older than his country! This entire land was ancient, with bloodlines stretching back centuries.

Swallowing, Max scrubbed his palms down the thighs of his best suit. Mr. Prince had paid for him to stop in New York City on his journey from Wyoming, and be outfitted with a new wardrobe. As befitting the new manager of my manufacturing plant, he’d said.

Max still felt like a fraud.

“Mr. Deville?”

At the sound of his name, Max whirled about, wishing he hadn’t given up his hat to the butler when he’d arrived, because he would’ve been grateful for something to clutch in front of him. The old man was now gesturing him forward.

A butler. Paid servants, not just unwanted children slaving away for a cruel parent. Laird Oliphant was wealthy indeed.

Max was proud of the way his voice didn’t crack too badly when he stepped forward. “Yes, sir?”

The butler’s lips twitched kindly. “This way, young sir. My name is Kidder, and you can call me that.”

Right. “Kidder?”

“An ancient family name,” the older man intoned formally. “It is serious business, being a Kidder.”

Max took a deep breath, straightened his shoulders, and followed the older man. Best to show that he understood the lesson in relative social ranking. “Thank you.”

For accepting me.

For teaching me.

For not thinking I’m the fraud I feel like I am.

Because if this stately older man ever found out who Max was—not his parentage, not this fancy suit, not even Mr. Prince’s trust, but who he was inside—he’d turn his nose up at the pitiful worm, as Father used to say.

No. Not Father. Not anymore.

Max realized he was breathing too fast, and managed to slow his heart just as Kidder stopped before a huge oak door and knocked. “My Laird? Mr. Deville is here.”

“Well?” came the booming, slightly impatient voice from inside. “What are ye waiting for?”

Max’s eyes had gone wide at the sound. That was him.

Kidder opened the door, and Max stepped into a warm and welcoming study in a sort of daze. There was dark wood paneling, acres of shelves with fancy leather books, comfortable-looking chairs facing a cold hearth, and in the center…

A man, striding toward him, his hands out, a welcoming smile on his face.

Large, dark-haired. Brown eyes which stared at Max each morning from the mirror when he shaved. A nose which had been broken a few times, and a big bushy beard. And the smile…

Max felt his knees weaken, and he clenched his hands into fists, hardly daring to hope. “Mister—” his voice broke, and he swallowed and tried again, trying to remember everything his mentor, Andrew Prince, had taught him about Highland gentry. “Laird Oliphant. It’s nice to meet you.”

The older man had stopped within an arm’s reach of Max, and now studied him, his arms falling to his side. He cocked his head, his gaze sweeping over Max, and hummed slightly.

“Mr. Deville, welcome to the Highlands.” The man’s voice was deep and echoing and warm, feeling familiar to Max in a way he’d never experienced before. “My cousin mailed your references when he told us he’d be sending a new manager for the factory.”

References? Oh, Lord, what did that look like?

Max had no experience running a factory, but Mr. Prince seemed to think he’d do well…

Laird Oliphant was waiting for a response, so he swallowed again.

“Yes, sir. Thank you, sir. I’m—I’m excited to tackle the challenge of helping Oliphant Engraving run smoothly as we move toward the twentieth century. ”

The older man’s eyes narrowed over that remarkable beard, and he nodded once. Then he turned and jerked his head toward the leather chairs by the fireplace. “Sit down, laddie”

Was this to be an interview, then? Max struggled to keep his breathing even as he followed the laird. Struggled to keep everything—even his expectations—even.

Laird Ewan Oliphant was the head of the clan, and had a lineage that dated back to the medieval ages. Well, Max supposed that everyone had one of those, honestly, but Laird Oliphant could name his ancestors.

Max wasn’t even sure the name of his father.

America was based on the idea that a man’s ancestors didn’t determine his worth, but Max had been raised by Roy DeVille, Senior, who absolutely believed he was better than everyone around him, merely because his ancestors had been wealthy.

Max had lived that firsthand, and it was logical to be awed by the man currently settling across from him.

Mr. Prince had told Max what to expect in the Highlands, but Laird Oliphant was dressed in a thoroughly modern suit, rather than the kilt Max had been dreading.

But that was part of the history and heritage too, and now that Max was living here on Oliphant land, would he be expected to don one of the woolen skirts?

As his ancestors did?

“So, laddie…” The older man’s voice was deep, calm, as he studied Max. “Ye’ve come to set the factory to rights?”

“No, sir.” Don’t make a hash of this, you idiot. Max’s fingers kneaded his thighs. “Mr. Prince told me it’s running smoothly, and I’ve studied everything I can on the factory. I believe it can run well enough without me, but I’m flattered that I can help.”

The laird hummed and nodded approvingly. “Oliphant Engraving has been around longer than you or I, laddie. It’s a part of our heritage, ye understand. Cousin Andrew’s side of the family has always run it, and that didnae change when he moved to America to marry that new wife of his.”

Remembering the fuss his hometown of Everland had made over the arrival of the wealthy industrialist, Max nodded. “He’s very proud of the work the factory does. The engraving itself makes Prince rifles stand out in the market, and the craftsmanship is unmistakable, sir.”

To Max’s surprise, the older man frowned at the compliment, and Max swallowed, wondering what he’d done wrong.

“Cousin Andrew told me you were a fine young man, Mr. DeVille, one who will do the Oliphant name proud.”

“I’m going to try, sir.”

The frown deepened. Perhaps it was the sir? Was Max expected to call the older man my laird, the way the butler did?

“He also told me some other things.” Laird Oliphant’s dark gaze flicked across Max’s features. “Things I wasn’t sure I believed until you arrived here and I got a good look at you.”

Oh.

Slowly, Max sat straighter. “I…” He swallowed, his gaze locked on the older man’s beard. “He told me the same things. Sir.”

“Things about yer mother, and where you were born.”

Max’s pulse was pounding in his ears so loudly, he wondered if the laird could hear it. “He…Mr. Prince spoke at length to my—to the man I always thought was my father. He came to some surprising conclusions.”

“Apparently ye’ve been raised by a Roy DeVille, who moved to Wyoming from Alabama. He has an older son, named after himself, and his wife Margaret has been dead for many years.”

Max’s jaw hurt from how hard he was clenching it. He remembered the years of mockery from his older brother—bright and golden, like their father—about how Max’s birth had killed their mother. There’d been beatings, yes, and shame. He’d spent his life treated like a pariah in his own home.

And now, perhaps, he understood why.

Slowly, he lifted his gaze to Laird Oliphant’s and rasped, “Yes, sir. But Mr. Prince tells me…” His throat was thick with fear and hope, and he swallowed again. “The man I thought to be my father…”

“He isnae, laddie,” the older man whispered, his own voice raspy.

To Max’s surprise, the laird’s dark gaze was a little watery, and his beard moved as he smiled.

Max felt the bands around his chest loosen.

Laird Ewan Oliphant suddenly surged to his feet, and Max had to tip his head back to hold his gaze.

“I met yer mother thirty-two years ago, laddie,” the man announced. “At a party in Mobile. I didnae realize she was married, and she told me she was visiting her sister.”

Slowly, Max rose to his feet. “Her sister was married to a wealthy man in Mobile. Fath—Roy DeVille told me she would run away there after he’d beaten her too hard.”

“She told me the bruise on her wrist was because she’d fallen.

” The older man shook his head. “I remember how delicate she was, and I remember how eagerly she responded to me, as if she was desperate for some kindness. At the time, laddie, ye have to ken I was young and full of myself—I thought it was me she was responding to.”

It was more likely she was just looking for an escape from the cruel life her husband forced her to live.

But Max nodded, a bit jerkily, his heart pounding. “I’m glad you could give her some happiness, sir, however short your time together.”

The laird’s expression melted into a smile, and he stepped toward Max. “I think, kenning what we ken, perhaps ye stop with all this sir nonsense.”

Hope was slowly overcoming the fear, and Max found himself leaning toward the older man.

Toward his father.

“I—I want you to know that I didn’t come to the Highlands expecting anything from you or your family.”

Laird Oliphant’s arms rose again, as if welcoming Max. “You dinnae have to, laddie. We’re yer family too.”

Exhaling, Max stepped into his father’s embrace and felt the tension, the uncertainty, draining away.

Roy DeVille had never hugged him, never touched him with anything other than pain in mind. Here was a man who’d only just met Max, and was willing to offer him comfort and acceptance merely because they shared blood.

Hesitantly, Max raised his hand to rest against the older man’s back. He could feel Laird Oliphant’s breaths, and felt his own struggling to match them.

Father.

He had a father, a real father, one who’d accepted him and hugged him.

When the older man pulled back, Max dropped his hold awkwardly, not sure what was expected of him. But Laird Oliphant gripped his shoulders and smiled up into his eyes.

“Ye’re a fine young man, laddie, and yer mother would be proud of ye, if she could see ye.”

Oh dammit, his throat was closing up again. Max nodded jerkily, acknowledging the compliment. “Thank you,” he rasped.

The older man’s grin grew as his hold tightened. “And I’m proud to call ye mine, son.”

Hell, here came the tears.

His father pulled him back into a hug, and this time, Max hugged him right back.

“Lady Dumpkins is throwing a house party in a few weeks. The first big event will be her annual Midsummer Masquerade Ball,” the laird announced as he squeezed. “All the locals attend. Ye’ll be officially introduced there.”

A ball? A masquerade ball?

Max remembered the annual Fourth of July shindig back in Everland, and wondered how different this would be.

His father was beaming when they separated, and Max felt as if that hug were still wrapping him in acceptance and support…he found himself grinning in return.

“With my name and yer siblings’ support, ye’ll find it easier to fit in at the factory.”

“Siblings?” Why hadn’t he considered that? “I have—ye have children? Of course ye do.”

“Aye, a randy auld goat like meself?” the man chuckled, holding his thick stomach.

“Four fine bairns from two marriages, and ye’re no’ the first bastard I’ve acknowledged and employed either.

” He nodded proudly. “My heir, Leonidas—I call him Lyon—rarely leaves the ancestral estate, but we might convince him to show up to the ball to show his support. Ye’ll like my other lads—Phineas and Lysander.

And yer sister Athena is a bit too much like her auldest brother, but if Lyon shows up, she might as well.

And there’ll be the Duke of Cashard attending, of course, and plenty of the local gentry.

We’ll introduce ye around, and before ye ken it, ye’ll be at home among the Oliphant clan. ”

Max’s heart was thumping wildly again.

A duke? He’d be expected to make nice with a duke and the local gentry? He, who’d spent his whole life being told he wasn’t good enough, was going to have to pretend to be good enough in front of a duke?

But beneath the trepidation, there was another thought: brothers. I have brothers.

Perhaps they wouldn’t accept him as readily as his father had, but Max had brothers.

Surely one or two of them would be men he’d like to know? Men who might like to know him.

He was going to a ball.

He was going to have a family.

A home.

Max took a deep breath and straightened, until he towered over his father, who beamed up at him.

“I’ll try to make you proud, sir.”

“All things considered, ye might want to consider calling me Da, the way yer brothers and sister do.”

It was everything Max hadn’t realized he’d wanted. He nodded, blinking away his tears.

“Thank you, Da.”

His father grinned again and reached for him. “Welcome to the family, Maxwell.”