Graeme closed the distance between them and stood over his brother, no longer caring if he caused fear. Hell, right now he was ready to pound his brother. “I know you did it. I know you shot Vanessa.”
Dougal’s eyes widened. He opened his mouth to say something, then swallowed. “I was trying to protect you. You’ll see that someday.”
“Get the hell away from me. And I don’t want to see you again until you’ve gotten over this nonsense. Then we’ll talk. Is that understood?” He jammed a finger into the boy’s chest. “And don’t even so much as glance at Vanessa. We’ll be out of your house this afternoon.”
“Vanessa, come and visit with me for a moment,” Moira said.
Vanessa stepped into her mother-in-law’s bedchamber at the invitation. She didn’t know Moira all that well, but she knew the woman had stayed by her side and tended her wound when she’d been shot, and that Moira loved her family.
There was a small sitting area next to the window. Vanessa took the empty seat next to Moira.
“I wanted to see how you were doing,” Moira said.
Vanessa touched her side. The wound was nearly healed now, mostly an uncomfortable memory. “I feel fine. Thank you for taking such good care of me.”
“Oh no, dear, I didn’t mean your injury. I meant here, in Scotland, with Graeme.” Moira smiled warmly.
Vanessa folded her hands in her lap, unsure of how to answer. Was Moira asking if Vanessa loved her son, if he made her happy? She wasn’t certain how to answer the question. “Scotland is beautiful. The land is so untamed.”
“Savage beauty. That’s what Old Mazie has always said,” Moira offered.
Vanessa inclined her head. “Yes. I haven’t gotten as far into my research as I’d intended. Graeme and I have been”—she searched for the right word, unsure of how much Graeme shared with his mother about his job for Solomon’s—“preoccupied with work on his studies.”
“I wanted to give you something.” Moira stood and went to her dressing table, then returned with a small bag. “Hold out your hand,” she instructed.
Vanessa did as she bade, and Moira emptied the bag into Vanessa’s palm. A single ring fell out.
“It was my wedding ring,” Moira said.
The gold band was accented with a large round amethyst encircled with small diamonds. “It’s lovely,” Vanessa said.
“I want you to have it.”
Vanessa shook her head and held her hand out to her mother-in-law. “I couldn’t.”
“Yes.” Moira closed Vanessa’s fingers over the ring. “Graeme’s father gave that to me nearly forty years ago. It’s been a very long time since I’ve worn it. But it belongs in the Rothmore estate, and now you are the duchess.”
Vanessa’s hand still enclosed the ring.
“Shall we see if it fits?” Moira asked. She withdrew the ring, then slid it onto Vanessa’s left hand. “Perfect.”
The metal was cold against Vanessa’s skin, the ring delicate and beautiful. She looked up at Moira. “Thank you. I really don’t know what to say.”
“You don’t have to say anything. But if I might offer some advice, from experience.” Moira didn’t wait for approval before she continued. “Don’t be a fool like I was for so long.” She sighed. “Graeme’s father and I had a tumultuous marriage. We were both passionate and stubborn, not to mention prideful, and”—she shook her head woefully— “we gave up on one another. And when that happened, I gave up on love.” She held up a finger and smiled. “That isn’t to say I ever stopped loving his stubborn hide. No one in the world could infuriate me the way he could.”
Vanessa listened intently to Moira’s words. She wasn’t certain how she felt about any of it yet, but she knew sharing it wasn’t easy for her mother-in-law.
“That man has been dead for several years now,” Moira continued, “but I’ve been so fearful of getting hurt that I haven’t let another man get close to me.”
Vanessa sensed there was more, something Moira hadn’t yet said. “Until?” Vanessa prodded.
Moira gave her a wide grin. “Perceptive. I like that. Until I met George Randolph. He came calling this morning after our lovely dinner last night.” Moira chewed at her lip, and the movement made her look younger, much like a lovesick girl. “He’s charming. Perhaps not as refined as my last husband, but not as overbearing and loud either.”
She covered Vanessa’s hand with her own. “I don’t know if this will go anywhere, but I’m not running. I’m going to allow that man to court me, though heaven knows why he would want a lass such as myself. I’m going to enjoy every moment of it.”
Vanessa knew that this entire conversation had been planned. Not simply to give her the wedding ring, although that had been so considerate, but to tell the story she’d shared. Moira was obviously trying to tell Vanessa something—to not be afraid of love. Vanessa wasn’t afraid of it; she simply didn’t believe it existed. At least not for a long term.
Hadn’t Moira said so herself when speaking of Graeme’s father? Their passion had burned bright and hot for a short time, and then they’d lived separately. Though Moira had said she’d loved him still, she’d simply been too stubborn to reconcile with him.
