For her part, Viola wanted to press a hand to her forehead.
Please say no more,she plead within herself.
But Ethan continued on, oblivious. “I have often pondered how living without love, true love, is like a death.” He paused. “That actual death isn’t how we die most.”
Viola gasped—a startled shock of sound. Ringing filled her ears.
What had Ethan just said?!
An idea blasted its way to the forefront of her brain. Her heart sped up, and her breathing constricted further.
Surelythat wasn’t the case.
And yet . . .
Her eyes flew to Malcolm’s. She could practically hear him saying those same words in his gravelly brogue on the path beside the folly, tree branches arching like comforting arms above them.
Literal death isnae how we die most.
Malcolm met her gaze—mouth pinched, expression drawn—and in that moment . . . sheknew.
He served as his brother’s Muse.
Malcolm was the source of Ethan’s profundity.
How could she have missed this?
Understanding snicked into place.
Why she was so drawn to Malcolm instead of Ethan.
Why Ethan struck her as so much surface. Why she struggled to connect with him.
Clearly, Ethan had talent. Viola strongly doubted that Malcolm was the author of his brother’s poetry. And surely not all of Ethan’s ideas originated with his older brother.
But some of his ideas—their philosophical depth—
Over and over, Malcolm proved himself to be so much more than she had fathomed. So much more than he himself believed.
And, perhaps more importantly . . . why, in all their conversations and confidences, had he never given the slightest hint of this?
Just one more piece of himself that Malcolm Penn-Leith kept hidden.
How well did she know him, in the end?
Dimly, she realized Ethan was still speaking. “. . . celebrate having this lovely lady in our midst, I should like to propose a toast. To Miss Brodure. To her vision. To her modest morality.”
“How delightful!” Mrs. Ruxton enthused, loud enough for the entire room to hear. “Truly the bonniest of couples.”
The dinner guests laughed. Lord Hadley’s voice called in agreement.
“Indeed.” Kendall sent Viola another sardonic look, looking too much like a lion intent on toying with the gazelle of Ethan’s enthusiasm.
It was all too much.
Ethan’s words.
Malcolm’s silence.
