“He was a brute.”
“I dinna doubt it. And now ’tis the clipeing going round town. You ken how Glaswegians adore colonial gossip.”
He felt unusually protective of Juliet, aware in that moment that he always had been. “Mayhap I should have schooled my ire with Cochrane. Walked away from our fight at the Saracen’s Head.”
Lyrica studied him in bewilderment, then flicked her fan open. “Since when do you take blame for any Cochrane-related offense? You’ve always settled matters with your fists since you were a wee lad.”
“It hardly becomes a grown man. A husband and father.”
“Speaking of children, how are they?”
How would he ken, absent as he was? Yet he felt a growing need to know. “Ask Juliet.”
“Remember what you told me about Ardraigh Hall when the foundation was laid? That you wanted it built big so it could hold half a dozen bairns.”
Such plain speaking resurrected thoughts of Havilah andhis high hopes before everything had come crashing down. But it also kindled his desire that he and Juliet might build a different sort of life.
“If you have plenty,” Lyrica said a bit more lightheartedly, “then we can continue to borrow yours.”
The music ebbed, and she began talking with another guest while he sought Juliet, who was in a high flush after dancing several sets. Catching his eye, she looked toward open double doors as if signaling she wanted to go outside. He fixed his gaze on a footman lighting a globe lamp on the terrace and ushered her out into the cool, damp dark where lanterns flared along walkways, illuminating the first blooms of spring. Together they walked to the farthest edge of the terrace overlooking the formal knot gardens edged in boxwood.
She gave him a tentative smile. “The ballroom is so warm that this is welcome. Thank you.”
He swallowed, more tapsalteerie. He’d been absent long enough that it seemed almost as if they were starting over, trying clumsily to accommodate each other. Would they continue the conversation interrupted in the coach?
He raked his mind for a start, then took a safer approach. “How are the twins?”
“They ask after you. They approached one of your horses the other day thinking you were near.”
His chest tightened. So they associated him with coming and going. Such had never occurred to him before or troubled him much. Till lately. He’d always thought children should be reared by servants if one had them. Juliet obviously protested the notion.
She continued quietly. “They are doing well, taking an interest in everything outdoors, especially the lambs, now that warm weather has come.”
“I’ve arranged for the Shetland ponies I told you aboutto be delivered to the stables next week.” Heat crawled up his stock to his ears. He had the uncomfortable sense he was talking to someone in his hire. A governess or domestic servant. Hardly a wife.
“They’ll be so delighted, as will I. We’ve been discussing ponies, and they’re eager to try riding.”
“I’ll be in Edinburgh, but the head groom kens they’re coming.”
“When do you leave?”
“Daybreak.” When she didn’t reply, he asked, “Have you had time to choose a mount and go riding?”
“Not yet. I’ve been occupied with merging households and looking over accounts. I’m still recovering from the fact that your candle count runs into the thousands.”
His smile was rueful. “Would you return us to rushlights, Mrs. Buchanan?”
“I’m not complaining, mind you, just recovering. On a lighter note, the children get the best of my time, including taking our meals together, all but breakfast.”
“An American custom, mayhap.”
“At Royal Vale, yes. But not in Britain, I take it.”
Uneasy, he reached back into the vault of memory he kept locked. “I rarely saw my parents. The few memories I have of them are ones I’d rather forget.” The admission, never voiced till now, seemed more lesson. “Aside from the day of their burial, I’ve ne’er returned to their graves.”
“I understand,” she said softly. “It was hard to return to my mother’s.”
Was it? He didn’t even know when Charlotte Catesby had died. A husband should. The right husband would take pains to offset its melancholy. God help him. He didn’t know how to be a husband, how to share a life. All he knew were market prices and tons burden and profit and loss.
