Isla’s eyes went wide as saucers.
It was . . .
Words escaped her. She would have to consult Dr. Johnson for more.
Her own brothers were a bit older than herself, so she had no true recollection of them as younger men. Certainly not as rag-mannered lads.
But watching Mr. Balfour eat . . . the long slide of his Adam’s apple as he chewed, the muscles bunching in his jaw . . .
Well.
It was rather educational.
Mr. Balfour did not miss her stunned expression.
“It’s goo’ cake,” he said with his mouth full.
It was such . . .boybehavior.
Isla giggled, the sound dropping out of her like water flowing over the Falls of Fennimore.
He continued to chew—unrepentant, those plush lips of his curling at the corners.
His nonchalance only made Isla laugh harder. She pressed a palm to her mouth to staunch the sound, but the pressure made her snort. Loudly. Like a sow with its piglets.
With anyone else, the noise would have been mortifying, but his presence was a light thing, welcome and accepting.
Isla collapsed into giggles. Hilarity shook her shoulders and filled her blood with bubbles so light she could imagine her heart soaring away on a merry wind.
He swallowed and then joined her in laughing, his baritone voice rumbling.
“Ye be Lady Isla, am I right?” He popped a smaller piece of cake into his mouth.
She liked how he said her name—AYE-la—dragging out the initialAsound. Why there was a silent S inIsla, no one had ever adequately explained to her.
She nodded. “And you’re Mr. Tavish Balfour?”
“There’s an honorable before that, I’ll have you know—TheHonorableMr. Tavish Balfour.” He winked.
Isla laughed again.
Oh! This simply would not do. She had never considered herself to be the sort to giggle and blush over a handsome boy.
And yet . . . here she was.
She was learning all sorts of illuminating things about herself today.
“Ye be alright for a Kinsey,” Mr. Balfour said.
“Pardon?” Isla nibbled at her own slice.Dainty bites, as Miss Farnsworth would admonish.
“We all think ye be a bit too proper, you Kinseys. Ye keep to yourselves there at Dunmore. Avoid mixing with us clan folk and the townspeople.”
Isla had never thought of her family quite like that. She just assumed that . . .
Well, what had she assumed?
It was true that her brothers never attended the localceilidhsor assembly balls that the maids whispered about. Surely, her family was invited.
