No, Ethan longed for the Thistle Muir of his childhood. For those rare months when he would shed the restrictions of Uncle Leith’s household and return to his father’s warmth and Malcolm’s teasing and Leah’s care.
In those moments, Ethan had been the center of his family’s attention—Leah, in particular. The wee motherless brother who needed her desperately.
Now, Leah had found purpose and love and so much happiness, and Ethan rejoiced with her in those gifts. He had even written her a poem to that effect. Similarly, Malcolm had his Viola and a rich, full life.
But it still saddened Ethan to hover at the fringes of their lives.
He recognized the thought for the ungrateful one that it was. How could his days be so full and yet so lonely?
A world, full and green, atop a hollow sphere.
Mmm, there might be a poem in that line. He must remember to write the thought down before—
“Ethan!” His uncle slapped the desk with his palm. “Stop your daydreaming and attend to the gravity of my words. Is Kendall deliberately avoiding you? Did something more serious happen in your wee escapade at Gilbert Hou—”
Tap, tap, tap.
A sharp rap on the door stopped his uncle’s inquisition.
“Come!” Uncle Leith barked.
Their butler opened the door, the usually stoic man nearly wringing his hands. “Sir, the Duke of Kendall would like to speak with Mr. Penn-Leith.”
Ethan sucked in a startled breath.
Kendall? Here?
Uncle Leith sat back, mouth agape and salmon-like, for a long five seconds.
“P-pardon?” his uncle stuttered.
“The Duke of Kendall has called. I took the liberty of informing His Grace that Mr. Penn-Leith was at home to visitors and placed the duke in the drawing-room. I hope I did not overstep?”
Uncle Leith’s eyes grew three sizes.
“Not at all.” Ethan rose.
Why, in the name of all that was holy, had Kendall come to call? Given the tenor of their last interaction, his presence was an ill omen.
Uncle Leith, naturally, saw the duke’s arrival differently.
“His Grace has come!” Uncle Leith crowed in triumph. “This can only mean salvation.”
Ethan very much doubted that.
He crossed to the window and peered down at the street.
A black, nondescript carriage stood at the curb.
Ah, Kendall had come incognito, not wishing to advertise his presence here.
Yes. This was decidedly not a polite social call.
A wee tremor started in Ethan’s hands.
He turned back to the butler. “I shall attend His Grace immediately.”
Smiling broadly, his uncle stretched out his hand to Ethan. “You must secure the contract, lad. Promise me that—”
