She shook the idea away.
Enough.
Ethan Penn-Leith was here.
The Highland Poet himself. In her front parlor.
Focus on the handsome man in front of you, Viola.
They spoke of inanities after that.
Or rather, Ethan and Leah discussed Dr. Brodure’s sermon the day before, the departure of Lord Hadley for his estate in Sussex, and the prospect of picnicking in a folly near the Rocks of Solitude west of Edzell.
Mary arrived with a tray, and Viola poured tea, nodding at the appropriate times. But her words became more reticent, not less, the longer she listened.
This needed to cease.
She liked Ethan Penn-Leith. Truly she did.
She admired the philosophical clarity of his poetry. Surely she would adapt to the charisma of his personality given time.
And so as she had the day before, Viola placed a firm hand on her nerves and opened her mouth.
“I have l-long appreciated the ingenious turn of your mind, Mr. Penn-Leith. As an author myself, I find it fascinating to discuss writing endeavors with a f-fellow writer. What is your process for composing a new poem?”
“An excellent question, Miss Brodure.” Ethan stretched his feet out before him.
Leah sipped her tea and smiled, obviously enjoying the tableau before her.
“Before beginning any new poem,” Ethan continued, “I must find a suitable subject.”
The appreciative gleam in his eyes suggested thatViolawas his subject of the moment.
Ah.He was flirting with her in earnest now.
That fact should cause her heart to skip and dance. The man was exuberance and enthusiasm personified.
Who didn’t adore an exuberant enthusiast?
Something must be wrong with her.
“After securing a subject, then what do you do?” Viola gave Ethan what she hoped was an encouraging smile.
His returning grin turned self-deprecating. “And then I think and walk and study the world around me. It is all about allowing time for images tae accumulate and coalesce into cohesive ideas.”
“Ye also make endless lists of rhyming words,” Leah added.
“That, too. Though my poetry does not rely heavily upon rhyme as much as rhythm and meter.”
That was true. “And depth of thought,” Viola added.
“I thank ye for the compliment, Miss Brodure. It all takes time, much pondering, and endless revision. Things I am sure ye must do in spades.”
Viola gave a rueful laugh. “Indeed. Revisions often feel never-ending. When I am in the midst of a book, I frequently despair that it will ever come out right.”
“I understand that pain all too well.” Ethan set down his teacup and leaned forward, eyes intent. “In fact, allow me tae recount an anecdote that happened while sailing from Montrose tae Arbroath last September that I think exemplifies my process . . .”
He spoke on and on, hands waving, his handsome face flitting from excitement to surprise to awe.
