They were remarkable people, and that was the problem. They deserved a man who could meet them as equals, not one who would consume them for his own pleasure.
By afternoon,the ledgers had blurred into meaningless columns. I pushed away from the desk and crossed to the window, drawn by activity on the grounds beyond.
Ophelia and Oliver walked the formal gardens. He moved with more strength than days before. She stayed close, drawn to him as if she couldn’t help it. They orbitedeach other like binary stars, caught in a gravity neither could escape.
They stopped near an old oak tree, and Oliver said something that made her laugh. I tamped down my jealousy, but it repeatedly clawed its way to the surface.
I should have continued my work and let them have this moment. Instead, I reached for my coat.
I told myself it was a host’s duty. They were guests on my land. I should ensure they didn’t wander into the boggy ground near the north pasture or stumble across the gamekeeper’s traps. Responsibility—not desire—carried me down the stairs and out through the kitchen entrance.
The lie lasted until their faces came into view. Oliver’s surprise gave way to genuine pleasure. Ophelia’s guarded smile did nothing to hide her curiosity.
“We were admiring this tree,” Oliver said. “Ophelia thinks it’s older than the castle.”
“She’s right.” I stopped a few paces from them. “It was here when the first Lockhart laid the foundation stones. Family legend says he refused to cut it down. He built around it instead.”
“Stubborn,” Ophelia observed.
“A family trait.”
She smiled again. “I’m beginning to notice.”
“Shall we walk?” I asked.
“That would be lovely,” she responded right after I caught a look pass between them.
I hadn’t intended to lead them anywhere in particular, but my feet knew this land better than my conscious mind. Soon, we were climbing the gentle slope toward the standing stones on the ridge.
“Neolithic,” I said when Oliver asked about them. “No one knows who placed them here or why. My grandfather used to tell me stories about druids and blood sacrifices. I think his intent was to frighten me away from playing here.”
“Did it work?” Ophelia asked.
“The opposite. I spent half my childhood convinced I’d find ancient treasure if I dug deep enough.” I paused at the largest stone and ran my hand across its weathered surface. “I never found anything but earthworms and my mother’s fury at the state of my clothes.”
“I can picture you as a boy, covered in mud and hunting for treasure.” Oliver’s laugh was so warm and unexpected that my guard slipped.
“That was before my father died and I became lord of everything you see.”
“How old were you?” he asked.
“Twenty-three.”
“It’s beautiful, Kiernan,” Ophelia said quietly. “I understand why you love it.”
When I looked at her, an openness she rarely showed was visible. The wind had caught her hair, and she looked dreamy as she took in the view. I wanted this moment to last longer than I had any right to.
“My father used to bring me here when I was young. Before he got sick. We’d sit on that stone there, and he’d point out the boundaries of the estate. He told me that, one day, it would all be mine to protect.”
“Twenty-three was so young. How did you manage?” Oliver asked.
“I learned to pretend.” I faced the path. “We should return. The weather’s getting nasty.”
“Thank you for showing us this,” Oliver said a few minutes later when the castle came into view. “I know you’re busy.”
“Estate business will keep.” The admission surprised me. “It’s been some time since I’ve walked these grounds with anyone.”
I glanced at Ophelia, wondering if she was curious enough to ask who with before. I was disappointed when she didn’t. Not that my answer was all that interesting.The last person I could recall being out here with was a groundskeeper.
