Madonna. Her fascination was becoming maudlin.
He sat back, reaching for the pitcher of small ale on the table, that gentle smile still on his face. “Well, as ye can imagine, my older brother and sister love me tae distraction.”
As they finished their lunch, Ethan told Allie of his growing-up years. Of his mother’s untimely death and Leah’s tender care. Of Malcolm’s taciturn, brotherly love and his father’s support and steadfast character.
“My mother’s family, the Leiths, are wealthy gentry from Deeside with ties to the Earl of Aberdeen,” he said, moving the bowl of strawberries aside. “So naturally, when my genteel mother, Isobel Leith, fell in love with a lowly gentleman farmer named John Penn, her family devolved into histrionics. My mother would not be swayed. Eventually, my grandfather relented and accepted the marriage, but only after my father agreed to change his surname to Penn-Leith and to use my mother’s dowry to build a house commensurate with her place in society. And so Thistle Muir came to be.”
“Your family’s home?”
“Aye. It’s not the grandest of houses, but it has always been home and hearth to me. My happiest memories occurred within its walls.”
Allie frowned at his tone. “You make it sound as if the house was lost to you.”
“Perhaps it was, in a way. At the age of ten, my mother’s brother, Mr. George Leith, decided that I needed to be rescued from the horrors of my father’s lowly influence. And so, I was sent to live with my uncle and aunt in Aberdeen, where I was raised and educated as a gentleman.”
“Oh!” Allie’s frown deepened.
Ten years old.
The same age when she was separated from Tristan.
The identical point in time when her own world had fractured.
“Was that difficult?” she asked.
He paused . . . gaze distant. “I suppose, particularly as I look back at those years. But at the time, everyone only talked about how fortunate I was. How blessed that my wealthy uncle had condescended to help his poor relation. How grateful I must be for that condescension. And I took their words to heart.” Ethan sipped at his ale.
“Was your uncle unkind to you?” she had to ask.
He pondered the question for a bit too long. A gust of wind rattled the window panes.
“If you have to think upon it to such an extent,” Allie said into the quiet between them, “then the answer is likelyyes.”
Sighing, he shifted in his chair, mouth pulling to one side. Abruptly, Allie could see the boy he had been—wide-eyed and earnest. Painfully open with his emotions, permitting the world to batter him.
“Nae,” he finally said. “I cannot say that my Uncle Leith has ever been deliberately unkind. He has never raised a hand against me or been needlessly cruel. He is a good man . . .” He trailed off into silence.
“And yet?”
“And yet . . . he is not a warm man. He is a businessman and shipping merchant, and as such, I ken he saw myself as another of his investments. Therefore, I had to prove worthy of his financial capital . . .”
“But you were a small, motherless boy taken too soon from his family. Not an acquisition to be cataloged and valued.”
“Aye. Ye have the right of it. And yet, a part of me will forever be grateful. Without the superior education I received at Uncle Leith’s hand, I would not be able to write poetry as I do. I see that clearly. But I often wonder, if I had remained with my family, would life be as . . .” He trailed off.
“Lonely?” Allie offered, unable to stop her tongue from supplying the missing word.
He pinned her with his open gaze. “Precisely. Uncle Leith’s generosity has blessed my life immeasurably, but I now inhabit an in-between place. I am considered a gentleman, but many within thetonstill see me as a Scottish farmer’s son. While those of my father’s acquaintance consider me to be well above their station due to my upbringing, education, and position within Polite Society. And so I belong everywhere and nowhere all at once.”
So like myself,Allie thought.
The eager syllables piled on her tongue, enthusiastically clamoring for release.
Allie pressed her lips firmly shut.
Quiet settled over the room.
Ethan looked at her, a gentle question in his gaze.
