“There’s not a laborer to be found. They’re all working on Dalkeith Palace,” the mysterious Scotsman added.
“None of quality,” the Englishman explained.
I took another bite of toast, chewing thoughtfully. “None at all? Or none worth having?”
“None worth having. Which, for all intents and purposes, is the same thing,” Xander mumbled.
“Well, no. A poor mason is still a mason—which, I suspect, is better than none in this circumstance.”
“And of course, there are some repairs that can be done without skilled craftsmen.”
“What can you mean?”
“Well, I did a bit of carpentry—at Thornton Hall.”
“Thornton Hall?”
“The family estate. The dower house was in a similar state to this place. We had laborers, but for the betterment of Hugh’s marriage, it was in everyone’s best interest to have my mother moved as soon as possible. I learned a few things.”
“I—you—you know things?” Xander demanded, adorably befuddled expression on his handsome face.
“Bit of carpentry mostly. Tiny bit of masonry. The basics, of course, but more than none.”
“You can fix this?” he gestured toward the entirety of the house.
“No, I very much cannot. But I can do a few things, and also, I very much cannot make it any worse.”
“But…”
I rose, grabbing his shoulders. “Xander, what is the worst possible outcome? You have to pay someone to fix what I’ve done? You already have to pay someone to fix it. And it sounds as though it will be months before you can do so. Winter will be here by then—do you not wish for a door, a real one, before then?”
“And you do not mind?”
Mind an excuse to stay indefinitely by his side? There was no better outcome I could name. “No, I do not mind,” I whispered, shaking my head.
“Well, it’s decided then, lads,” the Scotsman interjected, reminding me of his presence. I dropped Xander’s shoulders as if I’d been burned. My stomach jolted uncomfortably as I glanced from person to person. None looked particularly scandalized and I took a deep breath, stepping back.
My blood hummed in that icy, jittery way that happens when you’ve done something wrong and are about to be caught. But not a one of them looked as though anything unusual had happened. And I suppose it hadn’t. Men grasped other men’s shoulders. It wasn’t a lover’s caress—at least not for most men. It felt like one for me though.
I swallowed my panic. “Yes, Mr…”
“Lock—just Lock. Don’t ask him to explain, it won’t make a lick of sense. He drove the carriage and just keeps returning every morning. I haven’t thought to question it because, frankly, he’s more helpful than the rest combined.” Xander explained.
“It makes perfect sense, ye just didnae pay attention. And I dinnae have anything more amusing to do.”
Xander just shook his head before nodding to the Englishman. “Godfrey, my valet. Do not let him near your boots. You’ll never hear the end of it if they’re ever dirtied again.”
The man in question sniffed performatively before casting a surreptitious glance at the state of my boots. They probably did need a good shine, but his seemed to be an overreaction.
Xander was fitted with a string at the best of times. And the state of this house… it was not the best of times. Frankly, I adored that about him. He cared so much, all the time, about everything. I could rarely muster the energy to care about much of anything. But I cared about this. I wanted, itched, desperately, to be the person who could calm him, who could soothe his stress, fix his problems. That his natural state was one of fretting made the challenge greater and more worth doing. I wasn’t delusional, I knew I couldn’t solve all of life’s problems. But this—this I could try to do.
“So what is the first concern? The door?”
Each and every single person replied in tandem, “The sheep.”
Twenty-Six
KILMARNOCK ABBEY, EDINBURGH - JULY 16, 1816
