Page 1 of A Rogue to Reform

Chapter One

Glasgow, Scotland

March, 1823

The evenings were the perfect time to entertain. Candlelight did its best to hide the peeling wallpaper, threadbare carpets, and fading curtains. In the daylight, however, it was glaringly obvious that the Macleod country estate was in dire need of reparations. Every place Evan Macleod’s gaze landed made him wince at the stark reminders of his misspent fortune.

“Sir, your guests are inquiring about your whereabouts.” Rosalie, one of two maids who remained in his service, hesitated at the doorway. “What should I tell them?”

He gave her a one-shouldered hug. “I am surprised they noticed my absence at all. By the sound of it, they are entertaining themselves quite well.”

Indeed, a lively pianoforte tune and high-pitched laughter filled the air. His lips curved. “Tell them I will be down shortly.”

Rosalie slid a glance to him, her brows furrowed. “Sir, the roof in the kitchen is leaking again. It must be repaired.”

“What do you suggest I do?” he snapped. “I cannot afford the repairs.”

Rosalie swallowed visibly. “I hope you do not find me impertinent, sir, but something has to be done. Your father would help. If you speak to him about it, sir. He will pay for the repairs.”

“I will get the roof fixed,” he replied in a gentler tone. “Get some rest, the front room can be seen to in the morning. Goodnight, Rosalie.”

There was a slight hesitation as the woman who’d served his family for many years seemed to consider saying something more. Instead, she bowed her head. “Good night, sir.”

When the woman walked away, Evan let out a long breath. His father would undoubtedly cover the costs of all the repairs required to the estate. Not only because the house had been the Macleod family home for generations, but also as a lesson to Evan.

To teach him he had made a horrible mistake twelve years earlier when demanding his portion of the family fortune. In his arrogance, he’d told his father he no longer needed the family accountant to oversee his money and that he could manage it much better himself.

After graduating from university, Evan considered himself worldly and convinced he would multiply the money and live out his life in luxury without having to depend on his father’s tutelage.

In less than three years, most of the money was gone. He’d been a rash and stupid nineteen-year-old who’d squandered the money on lavish parties, excessive purchases of items like carriages, clothes, and purebred horses.

At first, he’d been confused, stalking into investment offices and demanding to know where his revenues were. The bankers had tried to explain that it took time to grow dividends, and that by consistently withdrawing funds, he’d not gained money. He’d become enraged, insisting they’d stolen from him.

Someone probably had embezzled from his accounts upon noticing he didn’t keep ledgers and would often appear inebriated when withdrawing money.

In truth, Evan had no memory of what he’d done most of those days.

Several times, his older brother, Richard, and their father had come to the estate with advice, attempting to help, and each time he’d laughed in their faces, bragging on his investments and how much richer he would be than them.

Evan turned away at the memories and looked up at the portrait of his grandfather, one of many family depictions that remained in the house.

“I have lost almost everything. But I will turn things around. Once I do, I will apologize to my father. I promise.”

He knew it was stupid to not have apologized yet. Shame did strange things to a man.

His father, a kindhearted man, had not held any resentment. Evan was welcome to come home at any time. However, although invited to family celebrations, dinners, and such, he seldom attended.

On the rare occasion he did, Evan had done what he could to ensure he appeared to be with plenty of means. Still too stubborn to admit defeat.

He lifted a sheet of parchment from the table and read over the notes his father hand given him. The neat handwriting outlining exactly what was needed. Evan’s lips curved. Finally, a way to replenish his bank account. A way to recover from the brink of destitution.

“Yes,” he stated into the empty room. “Yes.”

With purposeful steps, he stalked from the upstairs parlor to join his guests.

“Henry, remove the wanton woman from your lap. Everyone, I have an announcement,” Evan called out in a loud voice, entering the large salon. A bright fire in the hearth crackled, the shadows of the flames dancing across the floor of the candlelit room.

The pianoforte music stopped abruptly, and every person in the room except for two turned to look at him.