And for that, she owed him everything.
Her conscience twinged at all the ways she hadnotsupported her father.
“I received a letter from Mossley this morning.” Her father shuffled the correspondence on his small desk.
“What does your viscount of a brother have to say?” Viola asked.
Her father pulled out the letter. “He states that although he has no power to assist my appointment to bishop—that requires an aristocrat of Kendall’s clout—Mossley has been laying a foundation that might see me appointed as a Lord Spiritual should Her Majesty approve my suit.”
“That’s marvelous, Papa.” Viola beamed at him. “You will do wonders if granted a seat in the House of Lords.”
And he would. The Lords Spiritual were taken from a select group of bishops, ensuring that religious voices and concerns were heard alongside political ones in Parliament.
Her father would be a diligent defender of the faith were he appointed.
“Thank you, child. In the meanwhile, Mossley bids us to enjoy our holiday, so I say we do precisely that.” Her father tucked his brother’s letter away. “In fact, I believe Dr. and Mrs. Ruxton will call upon us tomorrow.”
“Excellent. We shall enjoy our time here in Scotland, you and I.” Viola stood and pressed a kiss to his weathered forehead. “Just you wait and see.”
Over the ensuingdays, Malcolm reflected that only the arrival of Queen Victoria herself could cause more uproar in Fettermill.
Unfortunately, he found the furor over Miss Brodure’s visit highly irritating.
Why any part of Miss Brodure’s presence should be irritating, he couldn’t say. Had he suffered a blow to the head?
The irrationality of the emotion naturally led to more irritability, then on to frustration . . .
In short, Malcolm was finding Miss Brodure’s appearance in the neighborhood to be something of a trial.
It was simply . . .
He had never experienced attraction like this before. That a mere half hour spent in a lady’s company could invade his thoughts so thoroughly.
Miss Brodure popped into his mind at the oddest moments.
For example, while walking the south pasture with his overseer, Callum Liston, Malcolm noticed that the summer sky was the precise color of her eyes. Would Miss Brodure have a clever name for the new calf that had been born overnight? Would she enjoy the pork roast Mrs. McGregor, his housekeeper, made for dinner as much as he did?
His fascination with Miss Brodure was as unexpected as it was unwelcome. His one and only experience with similar attraction had led to his marriage with Aileen. But, of course, the thought of Malcolm marrying someone of Miss Brodure’s class and elegance and education . . .
He blushed with mortification just mentally positing the idea, it was simplythatludicrous.
Besides, Malcolm never intended to remarry. Not because he felt guilty or believed Aileen would be angry with him were he to bind himself to another woman. He recognized that his wife would be grieved if she knew he planned to spend the rest of his days alone.
But the thought of another wife felt . . . impossible.
Malcolm recalled how Ethan loved to tell the story of hiking the Rhône Glacier in Switzerland while on his Grand Tour. His brother related the tale with hands waving, his voice deepening into German-accented English as he repeated the words of his alpine guide: ‘You must valk in my feet, ya. Zee ice, it is not your friend.’ As Ethan explained it, a crevasse could open at any time, tumbling the unlucky traveler into its vast sky-blue depths, never to be seen again.
Aileen’s death had been an unseen crevasse in Malcolm’s life—an unexpected calamity that had abruptly opened at his feet and sent him plummeting into a fathomless chasm.
Initially, the shattering plunge—the grief, the pain—had been all Malcolm could feel or see. But over time, he became familiar with the new landscape at the bottom of the abyss. The idiosyncrasies of grief, its ebb and flow like the cavernous walls around him.
More to the point, Malcolm didn’t have the strength, will, or desire to climb out of his chasm now.
Not even for a woman as remarkable and lovely as Miss Viola Brodure.
Not even if she matched his station in life.
Not even if she wasn’t destined for his brother.
