That trait surfaced again.
Miss Brodure was trulyshy.
Why had no one else in the village noticed this?
But asking the question, Malcolm knew the answer. Most were so overwhelmed to be in her presence—to actually speak with the lauded Miss Brodure—they neglected to see the woman ducking her head behind her words.
An aching sort of tenderness swelled in Malcolm’s chest. Shyness, a reticence to speak, was something he understood well. There had been a time when his younger self had struggled to even form sentences when talking to a stranger, particularly a woman. His mouth would feel stuffed with cotton and buzzing would fill his ears.
But even then, Aileen had been at his side. Vibrant and outgoing, his wife had been his mouthpiece, before and after they wed. She had chitchatted with visitors and asked questions that his tongue was too knotted to form. Her easy friendliness was one of a thousand things he missed about her.
His old nervousness rarely surfaced now. Maturity had helped.
But the reticence to speak still remained. Malcolm wasn’t like Ethan—delighting in being the center of his own world. He had no desire to dazzle with charm and make small talk for hours with patrons and admirers.
Malcolm had never bemoaned the lack of those skills in himself. He had never wanted them.
Until now.
Until her.
Would that he could summon light words to set Viola Brodure at ease.
“Beowoof appreciates your attention.” Crouching beside her, Malcolm ran a hand over Beowoof’s back. “And I appreciate that he doesnae appear tae irritate your senses.”
Miss Brodure—Viola, in his heart—gave him a glance. Despite her momentary retreat, her breathing appeared calm, her color even.
“I never imagined that there would be a dog I could touch so readily. You said it was something in his breeding that prevents him from shedding?”
She didn’t stammer around him, Malcolm noticed. No hesitancy or breathiness, as he had seen in the kirkyard.
“Aye. His story is a bit unusual, tae be honest. Beowoof was actually a gift for Ethan from Her Grace, the Duchess of Buccleuch.”
This admission startled a laugh from Viola. “Ethan? And . . . a duchess?”
She stood and sat on the swing, gently rocking back and forth, eyes so expectant and bright and interested that Malcolmwantedto tell her more.
If Viola looked at his wee brother like this, no wonder Ethan did most of the talking when visiting her.
Malcolm rose to his feet and leaned a shoulder against the trunk of the birch, crossing his arms over his chest.
“Oh, aye. The duchess is quite enamored of our Ethan, she is. She wrote three or some odd years back, intent on gifting him one of the duke’s prized Labrador Retrievers.”
“A Labra . . . what?”
“A Labrador Retriever. ’Tis a new breed of dog His Grace has been developing for the past decade or so. We Scots are always casting about for dogs tae withstand the marshy hunting grounds of the Highlands. To that end, the duke brought over some water retrievers from Newfoundland and bred them with his favorite hunting dogs here tae create an entirely new breed.”
“And Beowoof is one of those dogs?”
“Nae, actually, he’s not.” Malcolm smiled. “Ethan doesnae like dogs all that much—”
“He doesn’t like dogs?” Viola paused her swinging to bend down and place her hands over Beowoof’s ears, as if to prevent him from hearing the words. “How can anyone not like dogs? What’s not to love about a dog?” She slid her hands down to Beowoof’s jowls and touched her nose to his, her voice going husky and low. “How can anyone not love you, you adorable thing?”
Beowoof wagged his tail in joy, clearly thinking that Viola herself was the most adorable thing.
Malcolm could not agree more.
He swallowed, floundering over what to say next. Surely this fine lady did not relish talking about dog breeds.
