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get Muireann
    through the funeral, then he would confront her with the dire state
    of affairs at Barnakilla. The last thing he needed was for her to go
    running back to her old life at Fintry.
     
     
Of course, it would be easy enough for Muireann to give him power of
    attorney to sell the estate, but God only knew who would buy it.
    Selfish though it was, Lochlainn couldn't bear the idea of being
    replaced, of having to leave his home once a new landlord took over.
     
     
Muireann was young, true, but she didn't seem to be as addlepated as
    most girls her age. For example, she had argued quite logically
    about wishing to avoid her parents' suffocating concern. She had
    spirit, he had to give her that. The fact that she wished to deal
    with the funeral alone was proof of it.
     
     
Of course, she could also be drive by stiff-backed pride. That was a
    character trait he had noticed amongst the upper classes, the
    ability to maintain a brave front in the face of adversity. Yet he
    might be able to use this tendency to his own advantage. He was
    certain if he convinced her to come to Barnakilla with him, she
    wouldn't balk.
     
     
She would have to make some hard decisions, but she would see
    through whatever she started, he was sure of that. And he would have
    the power to guide her, advise her in her decision-making, so that
    he could look after the interests of everyone on the estate,
    including his own.
     
     
One other obvious point in Muireann's favor was her wealth, and
    experience of life on a grand estate. He had seen the richness of
    her dresses, the small case of jewels in her black valise. There was
    no doubt in his mind that Augustine had not just married her for
    love, but for the injection of much-needed capital she could
    provide.
     
     
No doubt her dowry was substantial. Had Augustine put it in his bank
    account already? Or had it been in the form of a banker's draft? Or,
    due to the haste with which they had married, had the money not yet
    been paid out by Muireann's father?
     
     
Lochlainn would have to look in Augustine's small strongbox when he
    got back to the hotel. He had ordered all of his late employer's
    things to be put in a storage room so as not to upset Muireann. He
    had looked through her things and found nothing too flamboyant,
    thankfully. She seemed a level-headed woman, despite the fact that
    she had married Augustine.
     
     
 He almost wished she did own more jewels. He consoled himself
    with the thought that if Augustine's past taste in extravagant
    jewelry was anything to go by, he might at least have enough money
    to pay for the funeral and the hotel and livery bills if he sold
    everything and was able to get a good price. He only prayed she
    wasn't too familiar with her husband's things yet. If she did ask
    about them, he could always lie and say he had sent them on to
    Barnakilla.
     
     
He stopped in the doctor's surgery first, and was informed that the
    body was ready to be coffined at any time. The elderly man
    recommended a discreet undertaker a few streets away, and Lochlainn
    went there to make inquiries.
     
     
Not knowing where the money to pay for it would come from, he
    selected the cheapest coffin, and arranged for a minimum of flowers:
    one wreath from Muireann, one from the estate workers, and one from
    Augustine's cousin Christopher. He was currently residing abroad,
    after having run off with Lochlainn's former fiancée Tara,
    the estate manager recollected, the bile rising in his throat.
     
     
Lastly, there would be one from Muireann's family, to at least make
    the thing look above board in case anyone poked a nose in where it
    didn't belong. They had to make the funeral look as decent as
    possible, if only to avoid scandal for Muireann's sake, as well as
    that of any unborn child she might be carrying.
     
     
Lochlainn thought resentfully of Augustine as he trudged though the
    snow to St. Francis' Church. He couldn't help himself. Augustine had
    been