Of course, he did not have much to offer a woman like Miss Scarlett Perkins.She was used to London, to its gaieties and luxuries, and as his wife, she would be marooned in the country.
But still.It was all he could offer.He wouldn’t be like his father.He wouldn’t shirk the consequences that came from messes of his own making.He would offer what he could.
After this revelation, he gave up all hope of sleep.
The entire house party would be descending in a few hours upon the church for an early service.Malcolm resolved that he would find a way to speak to Scarlett before or after.To knock on her bedchamber felt like far too much of an invasion after all that had passed this night.No, he would find a way at the church.
He dressed in the dim light and resolved that a walk would be good for his spirits.No servants were kept in the hunting lodge under normal circumstances, but there was a kind of makeshift kitchen below stairs.He went down there, to where he kept a loaf of cinnamon bread, one of his few indulgences, and some hard cheese, and had a modest repast before setting out over the fields.
The walk calmed his nerves.He loved seeing the lands that he had cultivated, the vast operation that he oversaw.At Parkhorne, they did nearly everything a farm could do.Right now, they were busily cutting hay, and the laborers would soon begin their day scything and stacking the bales.And then there were the large vegetable gardens, which needed to be tended every day, and the planting there for summer that would need to happen soon.And none of this activity included anything with the livestock.The cows that would soon be milked, the chickens to be fed, and the shearing of sheep.
The operation had once been much smaller, before Beatrice’s marriage.But afterward, she had given the money to expand operations, and Malcolm had done everything he could to build the place up.He had made all that investment back now, many times over.It was his life’s work, and he was proud of it.
Given the shape of the property, Malcolm could walk its three hundred acres in two hours, and he resolved to do that now, surveying and checking on all within his domain.It calmed him.While he couldn’t feel tranquil about seeing Scarlett again, it made that reality almost tolerable.
By the time he looped back to the hunting lodge, he realized that he had reveled too long in his fields.He was going to be late for church.It was a mile to the place, and he still needed to dress.
When he entered the lodge, the maid he encountered on the stairs informed him all the others had gone already.He had suspected as much, but this revelation proved particularly fortuitous when he realized that all of his clothing was still in his—no, now,her—room.It felt like a violation to walk into that room again, but he had no choice.
He walked into the chamber, trying not to look at the bed or any of her things, and crossed to the armoire he used, the other usually lying empty.It would be full now of her things, of course.He pulled out all the clothing he could, roughly bunching it into his arms so that he would not have to return.
Before he left, however, he erred.
He caught sight of the bed, still unmade.A hot bolt of lust went through him at the sight, an ache of need so deep and wide that he almost fell to his knees.Then, he caught her scent, that scrap of heavenly citrus, and went hard.
For a moment, he had a terrible, desperate desire to climb into the bed and rut the very sheets.To pretend that he was havingher.
Christ.
He staggered out of the room to his strange new quarters.He threw water over his face from the basin and through sheer force of will calmed his body.
He changed as quickly as he could and began the walk.
Soon, he saw the little stone structure looming in the distance.
Malcolm hastened toward the back entrance, where he could slip into a pew nearly undetected.Before he could round the corner, however, he was confronted by a strange sight.
Miss Maven Larchman, her flame-red hair exposed to the elements, gesticulating wildly at his brother, Philip.
The two old friends were clearly arguing.And as Malcolm drew closer, he could actually hear what they were hissing at one another.
“You cannot be serious, Philip!You cannot intend to marry a woman that you don’t care for!Just for money!”
“Who says I don’t care for her?I may very well come to do so.”
“Who is theherin that sentence?Because as I understand it, you have multiple quarries.”
“What is it to you, Maven?”
“I’m your best friend!”the girl proclaimed.“Icareabout you.”
“If you cared about me,” Philip shouted.“Then you would be concerned that I have no fortune, no prospects, and no future.”
“That’s not true!You are at Cambridge!”
“Cambridge doesn’t win a man’s bread—not to mention that I have no profession.”
“So you plan to sell yourself to the highest bidder?”
