As much as Malcolm enjoyed his evening strolls with Viola, he did not relish keeping his feelings for her from Ethan.
Naturally, Malcolm had told Ethan about that first meeting with Miss Brodure along the lane.
The conversation with his brother had been decidedly anticlimactic.
“I encountered Miss Brodure as I was walking back from the south fields last night,” Malcolm had said over breakfast.
“Did ye?” Ethan had said, reading theEdinburgh Chronicleand scarcely glancing up from his black pudding and eggs. “Isn’t she the loveliest creature? I am so glad she has come to Fettermill.”
Malcolm had agreed and that had been that.
But as time passed and Malcolm continued to meet Viola along the lane, he felt like he needed to say more. Particularly as his brother spoke of the lady almost incessantly.
“Miss Brodure is simply charming,” Ethan said one Tuesday morning over breakfast. “I marvel every time I am in her company.”
Malcolm grunted, reaching for another slice of black pudding.
His brother looked happier than he had in months, the tension around his eyes easing, his smile appearing more readily.
It made the guilt sitting on Malcolm’s own shoulders feel all the heavier. He didn’t want to disturb Ethan’s newfound contentment.
Because even though Viola accepted Ethan’s attentions, she did nothing to seek them out. She certainly did not race to meet him along a lane, a welcome smile on her lips.
Furthermore, she did not confide in Ethan. Whenever Malcolm asked Ethan questions about Viola—What happened to her mother? Has Miss Brodure always wanted to be a writer?—Ethan could answer none of them.
But when Malcolm had waited for Viola along the lane, she had come. As if as desperate to see him as he was to see her. And then there had been that moment sitting beside her on the swing, when time had slowed like spreading treacle and Malcolm had, for a brief second of insanity, contemplated kissing her.
Ye cannae be that enamored of her, ye eejit,a voice at the back of his mind rumbled.Because ye know where that will lead. Are ye truly considering climbing toward the light? Tae attempt a romantic relationship again and risk hurting your brother in the process?
That was the question now, was it not? Because with every passing day, Malcolm edged a wee bit closer to decidingaye—aye, he did wish tae climb out of the dark and into the blinding light, even knowing the risks to both himself and Ethan.
Not that he had made such a decision . . . yet.
“Did ye know the London broadsheets are saying we’ll make a match of it?” Ethan said, delight in his voice. “A university mate of mine sent up a clipping fromTheTattleror some such. And now the Duke of Kendall has arrived.”
“His Grace certainly has taken an interest in your courtship of Miss Brodure.” Biting into his bacon, Malcolm stared ahead, unseeing. “Is he here tae usher ye both to the altar? Stand by with a shotgun while ye say your vows?”
“Ah-ha!” Ethan brightened, either missing or ignoring the sarcasm in Malcolm’s words. “I was wondering what would finally get sound tae come out of your mouth.”
“Ethan,” Malcolm began, sagging back in his chair.
“Leah invited Kendall tae her picnic.” Ethan pointed his fork at Malcolm. “Just think, on Thursday ye will dine with a duke along the River North Esk. You’re going tae have tae talk then.”
“Well, if I must speak,” Malcolm began, “I understand there is a rather diverting story about Fergus and an amorous pursuit . . .”
Ethan froze, a forkful of eggs halfway to his mouth. He set it down with aclank. “Who told ye that? Was it the servants?”
“Far be it from me tae name my sources.”
Ethan’s eyes narrowed. “I want names.”
“Not a chance in hell,” Malcolm grinned, just a shade shy of wicked. “I protect my informants.”
“Malcolm,” his name a warning.
“Dinnaefashyourself. I promise tae make ye seem a hero to His Grace.”
“Leah will eviscerate you if ye make a scene at her party.”
