“He hails from the Slains Hays just north of Cruden Bay, Leah dear,” Aunt Leith said. “He will be an excellent match. Your late mother would be pleased.”
Mr. Hay came. He was kindly enough but twice Leah’s age and had breath that stank of turnips. Moreover, he did not have warm eyes or a soft voice or tell her earnest stories about his father. Instead, he looked her over as if she were a heifer on offer during the Forfar summer market.
Aunt Leith was furious when Leah refused Mr. Hay’s offer of marriage six weeks later.
But after the glory of Fox Carnegie, Leah simply could not accept him. She could not abandon the dream of marrying a gentleman who viewed her as if she mattered. She could not leave her father and brothers so alone. She could not ally her life with . . . turnip breath.
No. It felt impossible.
“Foolish girl!” Aunt Leith snapped. “This is how you repay all my hard efforts to secure your future. You will one day rue this impetuous decision. I wash my hands of you.”
Leah was sent home on the public stagecoach in disgrace, ensuring she had days of time to ponder the repercussions of her decision.
But at Thistle Muir, Malcolm raced out the front door to greet her, launching himself into her arms and clinging like a monkey. Ethan toddled after, hands outstretched and reaching upward. Leah gathered her brothers close, burying her face in Ethan’s brown curls.
Despite Aunt Leith’s words, home did not feel like a disgrace.
Home was a blessed relief, a cool breeze on a warm summer’s day.
Papa returned from the fields at dinnertime and pressed a kiss to her forehead. Leah couldn’t tell if he was concerned or relieved that she had returned to them unattached.
Only Cousin Elspeth tutted and pursed her lips, brows drawn down.
That night, as Leah lay in her small bedroom listening to Elspeth’s loud snores through the wall, she relived the blinding light of Fox’s smile, the soothing timbre of his voice, the kindness she felt emanating from his words.
No.
She did not regret holding on to the hope of someday marrying a gentleman like that.
No matter what her future held, Leah regretted nothing.
1
Fettermill, Scotland
March 1839
Twenty Years Later
Leah had regrets.
So very many regrets.
At the moment, however, she regretted not leaving the Sunday service quickly enough to evade Mrs. Buchan’s biting tongue.
“Have ye heard the news, Miss Penn-Leith?” The older woman nearly vibrated with the excitement of gossip to share. “Ye shall never guess it, I declare!”
“I am sure I could not.” Leah wrapped her gloved fingers around her reticule and suppressed the urge to stand on tiptoe and scan the churchyard for Malcolm’s dark head, to catch his eye and wordlessly beg him to rescue her.
“Well, ye heard it first from me.” Mrs. Buchan leaned in. “They say a wealthy army captain from India bought Laverloch Castle.”
“Indeed?” Leah smiled faintly. “Major McAlpin, may his soul rest in peace, would be pleased to learn that a military man had purchased Laverlo—”
“Och! Are ye telling the news already, Mrs. Buchan?” Mrs. Clark appeared beside them, her chipper voice nearly startling Leah’s heart from her chest.
Leah did glance around for Malcolm then.
It wasn’t that she disliked the ladies.
