Epilogue
LACHLAN
For a moment as I contemplated my companions, I smirked at the thought of what the tabloids would do to get their hands on a shot of my stage office right now.
I would have used my real office, but it was too small.
Instead I’d shut the door of this one, with one of the footmen, Gerard, standing guard outside in case a guest came knocking.
It was a rare occasion when I had all of my board members in one place.
Wesley, Luther, and the newly appointed board member Marci Robbins sat in casual relaxation in my suite of chesterfield chairs around my coffee table.
If it had been up to me, I would’ve spent the entire week in bed with Robyn after she agreed to marry me. But the day after, unfortunately, was this scheduled meeting with the board.
Not just to discuss the five spaces that had opened up on the membership list but to look over candidates I wanted to interview to help me manage the estate.
Now that me and Robyn planned to marry, travel, then settle down, I needed to start training someone to take over whenever I wanted to be with my family.
Still reeling with contentment, I was afraid to say I’d missed half of what the board members had said in the last fifteen minutes.
I hadn’t known a person could reel with contentment.
It had always sounded like such a tepid adjective before now.
But, in fact, I discovered contentment was far more powerful than mere happiness.
Happiness could still be tinged with anxiety and insecurity because, in my experience, it often came hand in hand with fear—fear of losing it.
Being with someone like Robyn made it impossible to let fear of the future dictate my future.
“I think Murphy is a wild card.” Marci’s exquisite, upper-crust English accent cut through my reverie. “We would be better with Davina Dunhaven. Her reputation is stellar.”
“All of your candidates are women.” Wesley smirked at Marci, deliberately trying to ruffle her feathers. “Your feminism is showing, Robbins.”
“Oh, heaven forbid.” She widened her eyes in mock horror. Then she nudged Luther. “What do you think?”
“I agree about Murphy.” Luther nodded. “But I think Taron Mathers is a better option.”
“Because he’s Cockney like you?”
He flashed her a bright white grin. “No, love, because he’s Lachlan ten years ago.”
It was true. Taron Mathers was a young, up-and-coming action star, but he’d proven he had bigger acting chops than just his ability to throw a believable punch. “He’s better than me.” I leaned forward and moved Taron’s photo forward. “He has my vote. He’ll bring a youthful credibility to the club.”
They’d just agreed on their first new member when a knock sounded on my office door. “Come in.”
I straightened when Mac strode in, expression unusually tense. He didn’t acknowledge my guests, which wasn’t like him. “Sir, may we speak in private?”
I always chafed when Mac called me sir, but now it felt worse since we were actually going to be family.
Last night, Robyn called her father while I called my siblings to tell them we were engaged.
Mac was happy for us, stopping by the house this morning to congratulate us.
And while we joked about Mac becoming my father-in-law, it was actually bloody weird.
Though not weird enough to stop me from marrying his daughter.
At Mac’s strange tension, I excused myself and strode out of the room with Mac to find a private corner in the main reception. “What’s going on?”
Mac heaved an exhale. “I’ve just called Robyn up from Eredine’s studio.”
She’d gone there to join Eredine’s class that morning.
Ery had grown distant with everyone since Lucy’s betrayal and refused to talk about it.
I was frustrated and beyond concerned at this point, but Robyn insisted on patiently worming her way into Eredine’s trust. Arrochar, being closest to Ery, had agreed that it was the only way to play it.
She needed time, and all we could do was show her we weren’t going anywhere while she processed what had happened.
“What’s going on?”
“Security was called out to the gates. By Regan Penhaligon.”
Jesus Christ.
I scrubbed a hand over my face. “She’s here?”
“Jock’s escorting her cab up to the castle as we speak.”
I strode toward the main entrance, and out of my peripheral, I noted Wakefield hurrying across the room to get to the door before I could. I nodded at the man as Wakefield pulled one of the doors open to let me and Mac pass.
The gravel kicked beneath my feet as I saw the vehicles approaching up the long drive.
Movement caught my attention, and I turned to see Robyn jogging up the path from the direction of the studio. Mac and I hurried to meet her.
“My sister?” she asked Mac without preamble as I pulled my fiancée into my side.
Mac nodded. “Got visual ID. Definitely Regan.”
Robyn exhaled a deep breath, eyes glued to the cab as it followed a Range Rover.
“You okay?” I asked, pressing a kiss to her temple.
She nodded, patting my chest in reassurance. “Relieved, worried, anxious, furious, concerned, ragey, curious … plus a million other complicated feelings I can’t get into right now.”
“Why do you think she’s here?” Mac asked.
The cab rolled to a stop.
“I guess we’re about to find out,” Robyn murmured.
The back door of the cab flew open abruptly; a foot encased in a spiked, bright blue stiletto appeared first. The body that followed belonged to a beautiful redhead dressed in a bright blue dress with a conservative neckline and a very unconservative hemline.
Her copper-red hair hung around her shoulders in stylized waves.
She stared at the three of us for a second and then one hand flew to her hip. She cocked it and grinned, revealing two appealing dimples.
There was something wild in Regan’s smile.
Knowing what I knew, I braced myself.
I had the sudden sense of foreboding that Ardnoch’s peace and tranquility was about to be disturbed.
“Hey, sis.” Regan winked at Robyn. “Did you miss me?”