Chapter One

Northcliffe Hall
August 15, 1815

Tysen sherbrooke gazed out the wide windows onto the east lawn of Northcliffe, his brow furrowed thoughtfully. "As a matter of fact," he said, "I did know that I was in line for the title, Douglas, but I was so far down on the list of rightful heirs that I never imagined it could actually happen. Indeed, I haven't even thought of it for a good decade. The last grandson, Ian, he's really dead?"

    "Yes, just six months before the old man died. It seems he fell off a cliff into the North Sea. The solicitor seems to think Ian's death is what shoved Old Tyronne into the grave. Of course, he was eighty-seven, so he probably didn't need much of a push. That means that you, Tysen, are now Baron Barthwick. It's an old barony, dating back to the early fifteenth century, when men of importance were barons. Earls were later additions, upstars for a very long time."

    "I remember Kildrummy Castle, of course," Tysen said. "It's right on the coast, below Stonehaven, overlooking the North Sea. It's a beautiful place, Douglas, not immensely tall with no windows like the old medieval Scottish castles, but newer, built in the late seventeenth century, I believe. I remember being told that the original castle was destroyed in one of their interminable clan fights. The new one, it's got gables and chimney stacks—a good dozen of them—and four round angle-turrets. The lower floor of the castle is closed off by the building itself and attached to a curtain wall that encloses a very large inner courtyard." Tysen paused a moment, seeing everything from a younger