He would do . . . nothing.
He would wait until the storm of her tears had passed and then pat her on the head and tell her to cease thinking upon such distressing things.
In short, Simon would encourage her to bury her feelings, just as he had about dancing.
She did not want that.
She clasped Simon’s hands and let him spin her around.
As the world whirled by in a kaleidoscope of swirling silks and sunset sky, Eilidh realized a simple bald truth—
She did not want a life with Simon.
The knowledge sank deep, the revelation immediate.
Most surprisingly, a warm wave ofrelieffollowed. As if admitting she did not wish to marry Simon had released a dam of tension within her.
He was a good man. A remarkably good man. As a lady, she knew the importance of marrying a kind gentleman. He fit the mold of the man her mother had wished for Eilidh’s husband.
But that very goodness did not necessarily make him the ideal man for her. She could appreciate his wholesome nature and still not wish to marry him.
Security isnae the same thing as love.
Kieran had been right.
Damn him.
What else had she misunderstood? Was Kieran correct in everything?
“Eilidh?” Simon asked, his brows drawn down.
Eilidh looked up at him, finally realizing that she had stopped dancing mid-reel. The townsfolk continued to spin and laugh, eddying around herself and Simon.
“Are you well?” he continued.
She stared up into his earnest eyes, the sunset raking his face from left to right in a glow of orange light.
She had to tell him. It had to be now.
She could not, in good conscience, deceive him any longer in this.
“I cannot marry you, Simon.”
He flinched back. “Pardon?”
“I cannot marry you,” she repeated. “I am so sorry, but that is the truth of the matter.”
“This . . . this is all so sudden, Eilidh.” He stared at the dancers still swirling around them.
Shaking his head, he gently took her arm and steered the two of them to the side of the makeshift grassy dance floor. Once there, Eilidh continued walking, leading them past the row of dowagers watching the dancing, finally stopping beside a large flowering rhododendron bush that gave them a modicum of privacy.
“What has happened?” Simon asked, clasping his hands behind his back and looking at her in consternation.
Eilidh bit her lip. “Nothing has happened, Simon. I merely have been thinking about my own future, and—” She sucked in a deep breath. “—I fear you and I will not suit.”
“But . . . I thought we were happy together. Are you . . .” Simon frowned deeper and deeper. “Are you sure there is no emotional connection between yourself and Master MacTavish? There seems to be an undercurrent of . . .”
She nearly snorted.
