“Oh,” Ethan breathed out. “She is . . .shy.”
Malcolm longed to roll his eyes right out of his head. If remorse hadn’t been constricting his chest, he would have.
“When did ye realize all this about Miss Brodure?” Ethan asked.
“Och, from the very beginning. ’Twas obvious.”
“Why didn’t ye tell me?”
“Because I assumed ye were making an effort tae know Miss Brodure, to understand her quietness. After all, a gentleman should take the time to observe his lady-love. That way, he can meet her as she is, not as he supposes her tae be.”
Silence rested between them for a moment.
“A gentleman must meet his lady-love as she is. . .” Ethan said, slowly. Eyes lit with delight, he reached for his pencil. “Hah! I knew ye would be good for an idea or two.” He bent over his foolscap, scribbling.
Malcolm barely suppressed a growl. “Why must ye always pass off my ideas as your own?”
Ethan chuckled, unrepentant. “Och, they say creativity is simply the art of covering over the source of your inspiration—”
“Are ye sincere with this?” Malcolm placed his hands on his hips. “Why must my ideas and my musings and my soul wind their way into your work? What if I tire of being your inspiration?”
Or if ye ever learn of my deceit, ye decide you’re too angry tae talk tae me anymore,he didn’t add.
Shaking his head, Malcolm pivoted out of the room.
But not fast enough to escape his brother’s voice.
“My ideas, my musings, and my soul. . .” Ethan’s words carried down the stairwell. “That’s bloody brilliant.”
The few timesthat Malcolm had been invited to dine with Lord and Lady Hadley—usually when Sir Rafe and his wife, Lady Sophie, were visiting—he had enjoyed the evening. Good wine, excellent beef, genial bonhomie, and even better conversation were usually on hand at Muirford House.
Tonight, however, was an aberration, at least in regards to the company invited.
The guests were currently gathered in the drawing-room, talking with one another and awaiting late arrivals.
Or rather,attemptingto speak with one another.
The Duke of Kendall loomed over the room, his icy stares chilling the atmosphere by several degrees.
Lady Hadley had been sending her husband rather telling looks for the past fifteen minutes communicating, as only the daughter of a duke could, her annoyance at His Grace’s arrogant behavior. Hadley had subtly rolled his eyes in agreement, causing his wife’s lips to twitch into a smile.
Malcolm longed to loosen his neckcloth, anything to ease the strain.
Worse, Viola had yet to arrive. Hadley said he had received word that Dr. Brodure was indisposed, but Miss Brodure would still attend. Was her father truly unwell? Or was Dr. Brodure’s ‘illness’ the result of the revelations earlier in the day?
Perhaps Viola would decide she was ‘unwell,’ too.
A heaviness settled in Malcolm’s lungs at the thought of not seeing her tonight.
Regardless, every guest who entered the drawing-room had him turning his head, looking for her in vain. Just one glance would tell him all he wanted to know, he reasoned. If her father had been understanding or condemning of her lies of omission. If their parting on the road earlier had overset her.
However, one small piece of good news buoyed his spirits. Malcolm had received word as he and Ethan stepped into the gig for the journey to Muirford House that Isla and her babe had come through the birth. Mother and baby were now resting easily and a relieved Callum had wept with joy.
The news had swept Malcolm with profound relief.Hallelujah!If anyone deserved a miracle, it was Callum and Isla Liston.
But now, faced with dinner at Muirford Park and no Viola yet in attendance, Malcolm was crawling out of his skin. Finally, he began to stroll slowly around the perimeter of the room, anything to stem the agitated wave of thoughts threatening him.
Lady Hadley and Lady Sophie were deep in discussion about Lady Isolde, the Hadley’s eldest daughter, who was currently enrolled in a university for women in the United States.
