“Well. . .” She clasped her hands once more. “I have wished ever since my arrival to learn more of Scotland, and you have lived here all your life. We share an interest in horses. We work on the same estate. Those topics would likely suffice for a time.”
That sounded painful. “I don’t talk.”
“But we have talked quite a bit today,” she said.
He shook his head at such an argument in favor of more conversation. “Idle talk’d only keep me from m’ work.”
“I could help. I do know how to curry and brush a horse.”
That was near about the most ridiculous thing he’d heard: a governess with white kid gloves and silk dresses and fine manners doing the work of a stable boy. “We’ve hands enough to see to those tasks.”
“I wasn’t petitioning for employment.” Her clasped fingers fidgeted and tugged at one another. Though she didn’t look away, she grew noticeably uncomfortable. “I was hoping to. . . make a friend.”
A friend? Of him? And her an Englishwoman? She might have deemed him worthy of her notice and conversation, but he had spent enough time interacting with the English and, worse still, the upper classes, to know that such a thing was not a good idea. He’d rather not endure more of the condescension he’d received all his life.
“I’m not in need of friends, Miss Pemberton,” he said.
Heat touched her face and her gaze dropped away. “A good afternoon to you, Mr. Buchanan.”
Humility never seemed to sit lightly on the shoulders of those born to privilege. Miss Pemberton, however, wore it more like sackcloth than a sack of rocks, as if accepting the dismissal ofothers was unavoidable, as if she almost deserved punishment rather than this moment of discomfort, which would be shed as quickly as possible.
Duncan knew he’d done the right thing. A friendship between them was not a wise idea. He’d seen far more of the world than she likely had and knew more of the pitfalls of her suggestion.
Why, then, did the necessary rejection of her offer sit with such weight on his chest? Why did he feel like he’d made a mistake?
Chapter Three
I’m not in need of friends.The look in his eyes when he’d said that. . . Sophia’s face burned at the memory. Until that moment she’d honestly believed that Duncan Buchanan thought of her as being on even footing with him. But a man did not respond to an offer of friendship from an equal with such easy dismissal.
She poked her fork at the venison on her plate. Jenny had the onerous task of putting the children to bed, nearly the only unpleasant task relating to their care that Sophia was not charged with. Sophia always set her tray aside and waited to eat until she was alone in her room. She’d thought early on in her time at Haddington House that she would take her meals below stairs with the housekeeper and Mrs. Haddington’s lady’s maid. But she hadn’t been welcome there.
So her meals were spent alone. Very, very alone.
She pushed her tray a bit away and crossed to her bedchamber window. If she knelt on the window seat and pressed the sideof her face against the pane, she could just make out the edge of Loch Lomond. Her bedchamber did not boast the most breathtaking view the house had to offer, but she still loved it. The lake was difficult to see, but the rest of the prospect was lovely. Trees. Hills. In the mornings, a marvelous array of birds.
“I may not have any friends or anyone to talk to, but I am living in a beautiful place.” She chose to find some comfort in that.
Turning her head in the other direction, she could see the paddock. It was from this vantage point she’d first come to know Duncan Buchanan. She’d watched him care for the horses with expertise and compassion. She’d seen for herself the authoritative but respectful way he interacted with his stable hands. He was generally quiet, tending toward the solemn, but from her window, she’d witnessed rare moments when he’d laughed out loud, happiness lighting the features of his face.
If he had any idea she watched him when he worked, he’d have done far more than reject her friendship. He’d have sent for the squire and seen her tossed into jail. Loneliness had made her desperate. And pathetic.
Someone knocked at her bedchamber door.
“Come in,” she said.
One of the chambermaids poked her head inside. “Beggin’ your pardon. Mrs. Haddington wishes to see you in the library.”
That did not bode well. Mrs. Haddington almost never sent for her and hadn’t once done so to offer a compliment or pass along good news.
When Sophia stepped inside the library, both Mr. and Mrs. Haddington were there. She hadn’t been expecting that. AvoidingMr.Haddington had become a daily goal of hers.
“You sent for me?” Sophia addressed Mrs. Haddington quite specifically.
“I understand you caused a disruption at the stables this afternoon.”
A disruption?“I only went to relay the message that you had not granted me the use of any of your mares and would not be riding.”
Mrs. Haddington smoothed the fabric of her dress. “I might have granted you the privilege of riding if I had been at all hopeful that you would not be a disruption. Clearly I was right to assume you would cause trouble.”
