“If ye make it too grand, he’ll suspect ye’ve lost your senses or that he’s being managed. So it wants to be ordinary enough that he can accept it, but thoughtful enough that he knows what it means.”
“Yes. Exactly that,” Charity looked at him with relief.
Malcolm looked pleased with himself for a second. “Then, daenae call it a thank-you at all, at least not at first. Tell him ye need to discuss something practical, get him outside, feed him, and let him relax before ye say anything that matters.”
Charity blinked. “Feed him?”
“Aye,” Malcolm said. “A picnic will do more than another serious talk in that study.”
Charity stared at him for a second, then a small smile appeared before she could stop it.
“A picnic?”
Malcolm nodded, now fully committed to the idea.
“Keep it simple.”
Charity was already thinking through it.
“This is either very good advice or very bad advice,” Charity said, and she sounded almost hopeful.
“It’s excellent advice,” Malcolm said with confidence. “I’m giving it, after all.”
Charity gave him a look, but she was smiling now. “Thank you. And please do not tell him I asked.”
“I’ve no intention of telling him,” Malcolm nodded once, and this time there was no teasing in his voice. “Aye. Go on, then. Before ye lose your nerve.”
Charity left him in the corridor and headed toward the kitchens with a quickening sense of purpose.
She still felt uneasy about the letter. She still felt guilty that Duncan had to bear the weight of a problem that had begun with her family. She still did not know what would happen once they were married, or how they would manage all the things neither of them said plainly.
But she knew this much.
He had told her the truth.
And she wanted, in some small and human way, to thank him. She would arrange the picnic.
CHAPTER 18
The day of the picnic had arrived.
Matilda had started talking before they even finished laying out the blankets, and she did not stop once, not when the food was unpacked, not when Augusta told her to sit still, and not when Duncan, to Charity’s surprise, actually answered half her questions instead of simply grunting and walking away. Augusta, too, was in a far better mood than she wanted to admit.
But most of all, Duncan had agreed to come.
He looked less severe outside the house, and just wanted this moment for himself to relax.
By the time they had eaten, Matilda had dragged Augusta toward the water’s edge and started a game that seemed to involve throwing pebbles, changing rules every few minutes.
“You changed the rule again,” Augusta said, rolling up her sleeves while standing just out of reach of a splash Matilda had absolutely meant to send at her. “A minute ago, you said we were counting who could make the biggest circle, and now you are saying points are for distance, which is not the same game at all.”
“I changed it because your circles were better, and now I want to win this way,” Matilda said with complete honesty, crouching to pick another stone. “That is fair if I say it out loud before I throw.”
“That is not how fairness works,” Augusta said, though she was trying not to laugh.
“It should be,” Matilda said, and then threw the pebble badly enough that it landed almost at her own shoes.
Duncan, who had been standing a little apart with Charity, let out a low sound that might have been amusement.
