“Aye, but the look on your face says my death might just be worth it.”
“That’s it.” Ethan pushed out of his chair. “We need tae throw stones.”
“Whyever for? I have no truths tae tell.” Or, rather, none that Malcolmwouldtell. Not yet. Not until there was definitively somethingtotell.
“Ye may keep your truths today. I simply need ye to remember that I can out-throw your sorry arse.”
“Like hell, ye can.” Malcolm stood, tossing his napkin on the table. “Ye have yet tae beat me.”
“Haven’t ye heard the fable of the Tortoise and the Hare?”
Malcolm rolled his eyes. “Ye might be the first person on this planet who has compared me to a rabbit.”
“Persistence, Malcolm. Just watch me. I always win out in the end, due to sheer, stubborn persistence.” Ethan slapped the door lintel on his way out.
Malcolm followed him, tongue tight in his throat.
Because Ethan was not wrong.
Hewaspersistent. Hedidalways get what he wanted in the end.
Malcolm had never begrudged Ethan his successes.
But at the moment, Malcolm struggled to summon the enthusiasm required to cheer his brother across the finish line.
“His Grace doesus all such an honor by this visit,” her father said at Viola’s side as they climbed a small knoll to the folly. “He dined with the Queen last week, and now,poof, here he is, gracing us all with his presence.”
“Indeed, Papa.” Viola knotted her hands together.
Her father glanced down at her twisted fingers.
“Come, daughter.” He took one of her cold hands in his. “Kendall is pleased with you. Nothing about this situation should afflict you with such nervousness.”
“I cannot help it, Papa,” she said softly as they walked. “My shy tongue will always tremble in the company of imperious dukes. It is a fact of Nature as irrefutable as gravity or taxes.”
Her father laughed at her weak jest, but it did little to ease the tension twisting in her chest.
The Duke of Kendall’s presence underscored the mountain of expectations currently facing her—Marry Ethan Penn-Leith! Write me a short story!
The repercussions of not summiting the mountain would be dire.
Viola mentally pushed aside that fact, as the more she imagined it, the more agitated her nerves became, and she simply could not withstand more anxiety at the moment.
The folly came into view, a romantic jumble of unroofed, crenelated towers around a circular keep. It gave every appearance of a centuries-old ruin slowly crumbling into the forest floor. Even its position was charming—one side nestled against trees, while the other descended on a steep slope to a dramatic gorge. The far-off murmur of a waterfall hovered in the air.
Servants bustled about, setting up a picnic atop blankets spread on the flagstone floor.
Ethan, Captain Fox Carnegie, and the Duke of Kendall all looked in Viola’s direction as she and her father approached. The weight of their eyes stifled Viola’s urge to stand on tiptoe and search out Malcolm.
As usual, the duke was an aquatint fashion plate come to life—immaculate cravat under a green silk waistcoat and superfine day coat, his trousers pressed to perfection. Even his gray hair lay perfectly pomaded, despite (Viola was quite sure) having been under a hat at some point in the day.
Even at his young age, the man dripped power and condescension the way a spinster exuded desperation—it was the first and only thing one noticed.
Viola couldn’t imagine a scenario that would ever ruffle a man like Kendall. Truthfully, she was rather surprised his hair had dared to gray so early. Or that His Grace had somehow lacked the authority to command it to obey him.
“Dr. Brodure. Miss Brodure,” Kendall greeted them with an exquisitely calibrated bow. Say what you would about the duke—and, heaven knew, Viola could saymuch—his manners were flawless.
Viola curtsied low, stammering a greeting.
