“If Winnifred wishes to accompany me, she may.” She wouldn’t. He knew that now. Whatever passion he’d seen in her had been nothing but animal heat, not an indication of any feeling on her part. The extra slices of ham she liked to put on his plate at breakfast no more than friendly regard. “I think her new laboratory will keep her occupied here, however.”
His mother crossed her arms and sighed. “Tis a shame that I raised such a daft son. It must have been all that book learning. Forced the common sense straight oot of your head.”
He swiveled his head to stare down at her. “Pardon?”
“You heard me.” She poked his arm. “I know ye think that you’re being noble blaming yourself for every problem in Scotland, but there are many things that are outside your control. It does no one, least of all your tenants, any good to believe that you are king o’ the world.”
“I know I don’t control everything,” he gritted out. If he did, he would have heard four little words yesterday,I love you, too. “But keeping Kenmore in good condition is my job. Essentially the only job of a marquess. Father would have—”
“He would have done nothing but sit back with a large dram while Tavish took care of the canal.” She blew out her cheeks. “Lord knows I loved the man, but he wasn’t the sort to get his hands dirty with his own people. I’m glad ye remember your father as a wise and powerful laird, but the truth is more tangled than that.”
He turned to face her. “What are you saying?”
“I’m saying that your father was an able enough marquess who never had to prove himself.” She rested a hand on his arm. “It was easy for him to keep things running smoothly because he never faced difficult times. He was a fortunate man, and easy in his fortune. The biggest problem he ever had to face was when the Beattie family wouldn’t stop poaching on our lands. Don’t measure yourself by him; I fear the comparison would show him in a poor light.”
She planted her hands on her hips. “I’ll never repeat this, not to my dying day, but you are a better man than my husband was. I see it with every burden you willingly shoulder, every tenant you climb down into the dirt to help. It’s time ye stopped your whining and started acting like the marquess I know you can be.”
Sin gaped down at her. It was absurd. His normally sensible mother was uttering nonsense. “You can’t mean—”
“I mean every word.” She sniffed and turned her back to watch the men laboring. “You’re old enough to put away your childish fancies aboot your father and see him for the man he was, flaws and all. And stop using his memory as an excuse to run away.”
Sin gripped the back of his neck and squeezed. That nonsense about being better than his father he couldn’t credit, but his mother was right about one thing. Sin had used his fear of not living up to his father’s memory as an excuse to avoid Kenmore.
Shame burned in his gut. He’d never wanted to be a man who avoided his duty, but there it was. That was what he’d become.
“Now, about that wife of yours—”
“No.” Sin raised his hand, palm out. “I’ve let you prattle on about father, but my wife is off limits.”
His mother slowly arched her eyebrow, a look Sin recognized. One he utilized with utmost efficiency to make his opponent feel a quiver of dread.
“Prattle on?” she repeated.
Sin leaned back before catching himself. He would not be intimidated by a five-foot four-inch woman. He would not.
“Just because you may not like what a woman has to say does not mean she is prattling.” She slashed her finger in the air between them. “And if I have something to say about your wife, I shall say it. Understood?”
He sighed and nodded in resignation.
“It’s clear you have feelings for the Sassenach, which is fortunate, since you’re bound to her for life. So why would you abandon her here while you traipse about the world?” She crossed her arms over her chest. “And I willnae get any grandbairns if you two aren’t together.”
A strange pang squeezed his heart. Babes with Winnifred’s solemn eyes and his wild hair. It would be a perfect combination.
Their children would be even more perfect if they were conceived in the love of both parents.
“I want her to be happy.”
His mother nodded. “That’s a fine goal. Why wouldn’t she be happier with ye?”
A roar of laughter emerged from the trench, and Sin’s feet twitched, eager to take him away from this awkward conversation and go join them. “You’ve guessed my feelings, Mother. But Winnifred doesn’t feel the same.”
“Not yet.” She held out her hands. “She’s English; ye have to take that into account.”
“What do you mean?”
“We Scottish are more hot-blooded. Your father only had to look at me the right way and I was his for life.” She sighed, and shook her head. “The English use their minds instead of their hearts. You’ll have to work for it, but that’s no reason to give up. And leaving her here at Kenmore while you traipse about is a special form of surrender.”
He rubbed his jaw. Could his mother be right? Did Winnifred just need more time? They’d been married for hardly any time at all. He did have several decades to conquer her heart. “Winnifred’s a logical, practical sort of woman. Do you really think someone like her could love me?”
