He studied her for a moment, then seemed to come to a decision.
“My grandfather built Gleneagle to look exactly like Doncaster Hall,” he said suddenly.
She blinked at him, surprised.
“Exactly?”
He nodded. “Down to the wallpaper,” he said.
That’s why she’d felt so many conflicting emotions from him, including an overarching sadness.
“No wonder you miss Gleneagle,” she said. She tilted her head and regarded him. “What do you regret, Montgomery? In the balloon, you said everyone regrets something. What’s your regret?”
He studied her in silence for a moment but didn’t answer. A moment later, he was gone, turning and leaving the room without speaking another word.
She stared at the open door, wondering if she should follow him. Instead, she opened the connecting door to her suite, closed it silently, and retreated to her chamber.
She wanted to talk to the dead. The moment she’d made the remark, Montgomery knew exactly why. The same reason he found himself imagining Alisdair, James, and Caroline. Sometimes, being with them was easier than missing them so acutely.
He always found himself telling her more than he’d intended. If he’d stayed with her, he’d have wrapped his arms around her, shelved his chin on the top of her head, and told her things he had no business telling anyone. He might even confess to his past.
Or he could love her again, a not-uncommon action around Veronica.
The moment he felt sated, the need built again. Perhaps he should just carry her around with him, kiss her when he wished, and feel the silky softness of her skin against his, her hands sliding over his body. She was learning him, and doing so with such delight and eagerness, that one look from her aroused him.
On the way out the door, Ralston stopped him.
“Your Lordship,” the majordomo said, bowing slightly.
He clamped down on his impatience, turned, and faced the other man. “What is it?”
“The sheep need to be moved, Your Lordship.”
“Then move them,” he said.
“It isn’t as simple as that, Your Lordship, I understand,” Ralston said. “I believe you need to pick a location where they should be moved.”
“What do you think I know about sheep?”
“Your Lordship, you’re the only one to make the decision.”
“Pretend I wasn’t here,” he said. “Who would make the decision in my absence?”
“Mr. Kerr, sir. He has always done so since his first day at Doncaster Hall. But I believe Mr. Kerr has left, sir. On your orders.”
He bit back an oath. “Edmund is a solicitor. What does he know about sheep?”
“Mr. Kerr has always served as the steward of Doncaster Hall, sir,” Ralston said.
“If, for some reason, Edmund was unavailable, who would make the decision then?”
Ralston looked confounded by the question. “Your Lordship, Mr. Kerr has always been available.”
Of course, he would have to have the one solicitor in all of Scotland and no doubt the British Empire, who was so determined to fulfill his duty, he didn’t miss a day.
“There’s also the matter of cleaning the river, Your Lordship.”
He braced his back against the doorframe and folded his arms. After his confrontation with Veronica’s relatives, he was dangerously close to the limit of his tolerance.
