Unfortunately,knowingany deeper relationship with Miss Brodure was impossible did not stem his infatuation.
He attempted to talk some sense into his muddled brain.
Miss Brodure is a refined, cultured lady.
Ye arenae a refined, cultured gentleman.
She has journeyed tae Scotland in pursuit of your refined, cultured brother.
Ye encouraged this, as ye would like them tae marry and have refined, cultured children.
Your brotherneedsthis woman.
She is not for you.
Cease thinking upon her in this fashion.
But, of course,knowinga thing was quite different from feeling it.
And as everyone in the village wished to discuss Miss Brodure’s arrival, putting the lady from his mind proved difficult.
If one more person started up a conversation with the words, ‘Have ye heard about Miss Brodure?’, Malcolm feared he couldn’t throw a stone large enough to exorcise his aggravation.
All in all, it made a man downrightcrabbit.
Mrs. Clark and Mrs. Buchan—Fettermill’s indefatigable ‘walking heralds’—wasted no time in cornering Malcolm as he walked by the dairy stalls on market day.
“Miss Brodure has us all aflutter,” Mrs. Clark declared, clutching a basket of freshbapsand gooseberry preserves to her hip.
Malcolm nodded a greeting and shifted the wheel of cheese in his hand. Farmer McCray made an excellent Dunlop that Malcolm liked sliced atop hot oatcakes.
“Aye. We are all breathless with anticipation for her tae meet your brother,” Mrs. Buchan agreed stopping beside her friend, the feathers in her bonnet bobbing in time with her nodding head.
“Assuming they havenae already met?” Mrs. Clark added, eyes looking slyly in Malcolm’s direction. “Mrs. McGregor wouldnae say a word when we asked her.”
Malcolm likewise said nothing. Mrs. McGregor’s ability to hold her tongue was one of a thousand reasons why he treasured the woman as his housekeeper.
“They say Dr. Brodure is tae preach a sermon on Sunday,” Mrs. Buchan said, “so we shall at least meet Miss Brodure then.”
Both women frowned slightly at Malcolm’s silence.
But, truthfully, everyone knew that Malcolm Penn-Leith kept his own company. Words were not trifles to be wasted. Perhaps that was why he valued the measured, sparkling thoughts of Miss Brodure’s writing so highly.
“Will your brother be attending the service with yourself, Mr. Penn-Leith?” Mrs. Clark asked far too innocently. “Will he take a fancy to her, do ye ken?”
“We shall see,” Malcolm replied, refusing to say anything further.
But Mrs. Clark’s question remained in his head for hours afterward:
WouldEthan take a fancy to Miss Brodure?
Everything within Malcolm said,Yes. Yes, he would.
And that was . . . excellent.
Ethanneeded to be settled, to find his own measure of happiness and ease the tension that clung to his eyes.
What did it signify that Malcolm felt unnervingly attracted to the woman?
