But freedom without connection was its own sort of cage—a lonely, hollow liberty.
What if Allie had confused freedom with belonging?
Surely, she had felt belonging with her twin long ago.
But since that time, had she experienced a place that felt safe? Had she found a home? And not just any home, but one full of people she loved, who loved her in return?
In short—had she experienced true belonging?
Unbidden, the idea swelled and expanded in Ethan’s mind, images tumbling free.
He and Allie living in a rambling country house filled with laughter and the pattering feet of the dark-haired children he had envisioned—children they would spoil and scold and adore with fierce intensity.
A refuge of security and devotion where they could build a big, beautiful, messy life together.
A place where Allie would have the freedom of supporting hands, waiting embraces, and words of encouragement.
A freedom only love could supply.
As Allie laughed and planted a kiss on Kirsty’s curly head, Ethan wished for that future with all the force of his soul.
19
The weeks that followed their kiss-masked-as-fishing excursion were the most vibrant of Allie’s life.
Every day, Ethan would traipse over from Thistle Muir to call upon her at Muirford House. Or he would join herself and Isolde for a drive in Hadley’s barouche or go horse riding with them. Sometimes, when Isolde had callers or a prior commitment with Lady Hadley, Allie would slip out through the rear gardens and meet Ethan for a countryside ramble.
And every moment they managed to contrive themselves alone, Allie would find herself kissed senseless.
It was a mad sort of bliss.
Ethan Penn-Leith turned her into a walking, talking cliché of calf love. If she hadn’t been so euphoric, Allie would have found it nauseating.
The only dark clouds in her joy were the letters she received from Fabrizio and Kendall.
How her former comrade learned she was still in Scotland, she didn’t know. Likely one of Kendall’s servants had seized the opportunity to earn a few coins.
Regardless, Fabrizio’s clipped Italian had sung one note only—Allie needed to assist him or else.
Your brother has attempted to silence my voice through his manipulative antics with Mr. Penn-Leith. However, I have proof that you are the thief in Mr. Penn-Leith’s poem. Dispatch us funds, or I will ensure that you are never received in Polite Society again. You may send me word through the innkeep at The Black Crow near Covent Garden.
Allie had tossed the letter aside in exasperation.
Proof? What proof could Fabrizio possibly have aside from his word?
It wasn’t as if there had been a photographer along that highway, instructing them to put down their weapons and sit still for five minutes in order to capture a daguerreotype.
The problem, of course, was that Allie couldn’t just ignore Fabrizio’s demands. Not with Lord Charswood’s offer on the table and her contract with Kendall still in force. Not with her reputation at stake.
When she presented the matter to Ethan, he suggested she wait a week before penning a reply.
“Let our Italian friend fret and then send him a brief missive casting doubt on his claims,” he advised. “As ye have said, Fabrizio cannot have any true proof. He is merely bluffing.”
Allie agreed. Fabrizio was a knownchiaccerone—a big talker. Surely this latest message was just another ploy to get Allie to capitulate.
“Besides,” Ethan winked, “ye could just decide tae be with myself, and then it won’t matter what Fabrizio says or does.”
“Ethan,” Allie sighed, “you must remember our pact. We are seizing happiness at the moment. Let us not darken it with thoughts of the future.”
