“Well,” Dr. Ruxton began, hands braced on his knees, “this is certainly not how we all expected Miss Brodure and Mr. Penn-Leith to begin their life together, but they are hardly the first couple to anticipate the blissful state of marriage. I shall be the first to offer my congratulations.”
Oh, good heavens!
Viola pressed shaking fingers to her fiery cheeks. Was it possible for one’s skin to burst into flames spontaneously? Because, at the moment, she was rather thoroughly testing the scientific possibility.
“But nothing untoward has occurred b-between myself and Mr. Ethan Penn-Leith,” she stammered out. “I merely dropped by to leave a note, assuming Mr. Penn-Leith to be away. He invited me in for a mere five minutes to lend me a book. That is the extent of our nefarious behavior. Where on earth did this dreadful rumor begin?”
Dr. Ruxton frowned, Viola’s very real distress perhaps communicating the truth of her words.
“That is not quite the tale I heard,” the vicar said.
Never in hislife had Malcolm wished for the ability to write a poem.
But facing the cool dawn after Hadley’s dinner party, knowing he needed to win back Viola, Malcolm longed for words. He might provide Ethan with the occasional philosophical insight, but his brother had the gift of taking raw material and turning it into art.
And yet, Malcolm needed to help Viola understand the blinding terror and joy he felt at the thought of aligning his life with hers.
As soon as the sun climbed to a socially acceptable height in the sky, he would present himself on the Brodure’s doorstep and beg to speak with her.
Malcolm had just finished breakfast when Lord Hadley and Sir Rafe rode up the lane.
They entered the parlor, shedding coats and shaking Malcolm’s hand.
The men wore matching grim expressions.
“Is Ethan about?” Hadley asked. “We bring news that will impact him.”
“He’s still abed, having a bit of a lie in. I’ll send the maid to rouse him.” Malcolm stepped into the entry hall and asked Fiona to fetch Ethan before returning to the parlor and closing the door. “What the hell has happened?”
“I’ll get right to the point.” Hadley expelled a long breath of air. “Mrs. Buchan and Mrs. Clark saw Miss Brodure enter Thistle Muir with Ethan, both last week and this week on your servants’ day off. Your brother has utterly compromised the lady.”
The bottom fell out of Malcolm’s world.
As if, once more, he had stumbled atop a crevasse, the ground beneath him melting away, sending him plummeting into the unforgiving depths.
“Pardon?!” he managed to croak out. “Ethan?!”
Malcolm knew bloody well it hadn’t been Ethan the first week. As for yesterday, that had been Viola merely attempting to leave her letter.
“Aye,” Hadley nodded. “Last week, the ladies claim to have seen Miss Brodure and Ethan engaging in what they called—”
“The tenderest of embraces,” Sir Rafe supplied. “Said with fervent relish, mind you.”
“Too true.” Hadley looked back at Malcolm. “As Mrs. Clark tells it, your brother and Miss Brodure enjoyed a lover-like embrace in front of Thistle Muir before Ethan lifted Miss Brodure into his arms and carried her into the house.”
“I believe her precise words were, ‘The scene was so romantic I nearly swooned,’” Sir Rafe added.
“Aye. Both ladies described the event at length, commenting particularly on Miss Brodure’s shocking lack of a bonnet, which apparently signaled the thrillingly illicit nature of the encounter.” Hadley turned to Sir Rafe. “Did ye know bonnets, or the absence of them, could be so damning?”
Sir Rafe shrugged. “If fans can have a language, why can’t bonnets protect morality?”
Malcolm began pacing before the cold hearth.
Of all the bloody, damn unfortunate—
Hadley wasn’t done. “Thrilled by the previous week’s revelations, our intrepid gossip mongers returned this week tae see if they had stumbled upon a pattern. And once more, they witnessed Miss Brodure arrive right as Ethan returned home from Aberdeen, as if their meeting were pre-planned.” Hadley nodded toward the closed parlor door. “The ladies came running this morning at dawn tae tell me the whole. They said as the preeminent landowner in Fettermill, I needed to know. As ifIhave any desire tae be tangled in this mess.”
“They were rather gleefully excited,” Sir Rafe pointed out. “I cannot imagine anyone within a twenty-mile radius not knowing the news by luncheon.”
