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Brice angled her a soft smile once the castle had come into view and passed from it again. “We’ll be back, darling. Once it’s safe for you, we can come whenever you like.”

She shook her head and studied her hands. “I’ve never been anywhere else, but for two years at school in Edinburgh. I’ll be a terrible embarrassment to you.” She looked up again, her eyes glistening. “What if this was a mistake?”

“It wasn’t.” And he wouldn’t be embarrassed—but he certainly didn’t want her to feel like she was an outcast among his usual set. They would have to get a wardrobe commissioned for her while they were in Yorkshire. Brook would know who to hire for the task.

“How can ye be sure, after . . . ?”

“Last night?” Had he not needed both hands just then to manage the car, he would have reached for her hand. “Darling, listen—my intention last night was only to spend some time together, to get to know each other.”

When she met his gaze again, hers was cool as the mist. “And if I had welcomed you with open arms? What would your intentions have been then?”

He had the sudden sensation of a crevasse opening up before him. One false step and he’d be down in an abyss from which there’d be no easy return. He opted for the teasing grin again. “Honestly? I have no idea. The situation makes me every bit as nervous as any blushing bride.”

She snorted in obvious incredulity. “I hardly think so.”

A breath of peace blew over his spirit. “Because you hardly know me. But flirtatious reputation aside . . . my faith has always been the most important thing to me, darling, and God is rather clear on the behavior He expects of His people in that regard. Yes, I’ve long looked forward to having a wife . . . but I thought I’d know her better than I know my own mind, that we’d both be caught up already in love and desire. You and I . . .”

She still wasn’t looking at him, but she held herself so taut that she must be listening very closely.

He smiled. “We have the whole process to go yet, from acquaintance to courtship.”

She stared out the windscreen, but he had a feeling she saw nothing of the glen or the road away.

An ache started in his chest and swallowed him whole. She was but a lost child, hurt by those who should have loved her and now whisked away from all things familiar, lashed to the side of a man she knew nothing about.

Brice gripped the wheel and drew in a long breath. “I shall be utterly honest. Someday I’d like children. I’d like a wife who loves me, one whom I love with all my being. And I believe that, someday, we can have that.”

Her rigid posture folded until she closed in on herself, just like in the circle the other night when she realized what her father and maid had done. “But what if we dinna?”

“We will. The Lord put us together, and He knows better than we ever could what we need. We’ve only to trust Him and to discover what He has in store for us. To let ourselves fall in love.”

Rather than relax her, the words seemed to draw her into a tighter ball. “Because no one can resist the handsome and charming Duke of Nottingham?”

He told himself the distress in her voice wasn’t aimed at him, not really. It was for the whole situation she’d been forced into—the one he knew about, and whatever had inspired it besides.

The words still nettled. “Are you one for wagers?”

“Pardon?”

At least it got her to look at him. Brice flashed his most teasing grin. “I bet you a holiday in the destination of your choice that I fall in love before you do.”

Mouth agape, she stared at him for a long moment. Then she shook her head. “And what if you do? What if I dinna reciprocate? Then ye’ll want to . . . Yer mind will go to children and that passion ye say ye’ve kept a rein on, and ye’ll either be miserable or . . . or too impatient.”

One hand rubbed at her opposite wrist, where the fading bruises were hidden. Or perhaps where new ones had bloomed after the run-in with Kinnaird the other day. Was he the one who had put the first ones on her? And if he had grabbed her wrists so hard . . . if she rubbed at them when talking of a man becoming impatient . . .

Lord, hold her close. Show her she’s safe. Heal the wounds on her heart
.

He wouldn’t have called it peace that enveloped him. But it was calm, anyway, and it allowed him to try a soft, serious smile for her this time. “I will protect you, Rowena. Even from myself. We’ll take this slowly, we’ll fall in love eventually—
then
we’ll worry with the other.”

Some steel came into her spine, lifting her from her broken stature and even raising her chin. She had a bit of Lochaber in her, for certain. Did she realize it? “What if we never fall in love?”

It would happen. It
must
, someday, mustn’t it? God wouldn’t have given him the command to take a wife who would never want anything to do with him.

Or, who knew, maybe He would. Brice shrugged. “I’ve a young cousin I’ll have to groom for the duchy then, I suppose. He’s only six at the moment, and a rip-roaring little monster—but we all are at that age, I suppose. If it’s what the Lord has in mind, then I’ll trust it’s because young Ellsworth is meant to be the next duke.”

And resign himself to a life of celibacy, to a wife that despised him simply for being a male with a bit of control over her life?

Ducky.
He leaned into his door and nudged his hat up a bit so he could rub a finger over his brow.
Just ducky.

Nine

F
or the first time in her life, Lilias stepped out onto English soil rather than Scottish. She’d been watching the Yorkshire moors roll past from the window of the carriage she shared with the other ladies’ maids and decided they weren’t so different, at a glance, from those of the Lowlands, where they’d just spent a week with the dowager duchess’s family.

She’d been on her guard the whole time they lingered in Scotland, certain Malcolm would come pounding his way in at any moment. They’d meant only to pass a night with the Brices, to be sure, but the lady’s mother had been feeling poorly, and they’d lingered to see her improved.

English soil felt of freedom. Of safety. She’d miss Scotland, aye, something fiercely—for herself. But for Rowena . . .

His Grace’s car had needed to stop a while back for petrol, and the carriages had pulled ahead. The duke and Rowena now brought up the rear of the considerable Nottingham convoy, a mile or so back. Lilias took the time to look around her at the grand manor she’d been told was Whitby Park. She spotted a maze to the side of the house, gardens surrounding, horse paddocks stretching out in multiple directions. Lady Ella’s maid, Lewis, had said the sea abutted the property to the north.

They went round to the rear of the house—she and the other servants, and the carriage loaded with the family’s luggage. The butler and housekeeper would no doubt be at the front to receive the guests, but a lovely young thing met them at the rear door with a smile and a nod.

“I’m Deirdre O’Malley, the duchess’s lady’s maid, and this is my husband, Hiram Tenney.” O’Malley touched a hand to her husband’s arm as she spoke, giving him a smile that either spoke of recent nuptials or the kind of love that held fast for a long while. “We offered to show everyone to their places while Mrs. Doyle and Mr. Graham tend the guests.”

The rest of the servants Lilias had traveled with seemed to accept this without a bat of an eye as they moved into the kitchen, calling out greetings to those who must be friends. Lilias followed, not surprised when O’Malley held up, obviously waiting for her. She must be the only unfamiliar face, after all, and she put a friendly smile upon it for the young woman.

O’Malley smiled back. “We were told there would be an added guest, but no more. A lady, I presume? Sure and you must be her maid.”

“Aye. Lilias Cowan.” His Grace hadn’t told his friends that he’d married? Lilias pressed her lips together. Rowena had been worse than quiet during the week in Edinburgh, seeming to shrink a little more each time she had to play a part in the family gathering. Try as she might to learn why, Lilias could get no answers from her. Did they ask too many questions? Ignore her? Make her feel out of sorts and tapsalteerie?

She didn’t know, but surely it would only make it worse for her to realize His Grace hadn’t seen fit to share about his nuptials with those he claimed were his closest friends.

O’Malley must have noted Lilias’s expression. She drew her out of the kitchen, toward a set of service stairs. “Is something the matter? We prepared rooms in both the bachelor and lady’s wing, so as we’d be prepared, whoever happened to come. It shan’t be a problem, I assure you. What is your mistress’s name?”

And that was the problem. Lilias hated to reveal a truth to the staff that the master hadn’t seen fit to share with the lords, but what was she to do? “She was Lady Rowena Kinnaird until a week ago—but now she’s the Duchess of Nottingham.”

O’Malley came to a halt in the dim stairway, but enough light reached her to show the shock upon her countenance. “His Grace got
married
? And he didn’t tell the Staffords?”

What could Lilias do but shrug? “I heard mention of a funeral they had to attend at the same time.”

The maid deflated a bit at that. “Aye, His Grace’s cousin’s wife. Shame, that—and sure and they would have felt torn between the two. But could Nottingham not have delayed the wedding a bit? They are his dearest friends.”

“A delay would have been . . . ill-advised. There were circumstances, ye ken.”

Many of the servants she knew would have laughed it off with an
Isn’t there always with the lords?
This one narrowed her piercing blue eyes and planted a hand on her hip. “What kind of circumstances? Nottingham only left us for Scotland a fortnight ago—hardly enough time to necessitate the usual ‘circumstances’ for a rushed wedding.”

Lilias sighed. When she’d designed this plan, she hadn’t thought much beyond getting Rowena to England. Certainly hadn’t considered how all His Grace’s friends would react and what they would assume. How much should she share?

Too many of their company had been present that day at the castle for Malcolm’s threats to go unknown here for long. The ladies would whisper of it, or the lords, and the servants were sure to hear.

Still she hesitated another moment before saying, “There was a bit of a threat—a local man. His Grace agreed to wed her quickly to get her away from him.”

No understanding softened O’Malley’s eyes, nor did her incredulity fade. If anything, it deepened. “And he brought her
here
?
Now
? When His Grace had been planning to—?” She cut herself off abruptly and spun away.

Lilias’s back went stiff and straight. Which “His Grace” was the woman speaking of now—Stafford or Nottingham? And what was either of them planning, that a new bride would get in the way enough to cause such a reaction from a maid?

O’Malley hurried up the stairs. “I’ll let the head housemaid know we’ll need a suite in the family wing for the Nottinghams instead.”

Lilias followed, pressing her lips tight. Her heart pounded by the time they reached the landing. And it wasn’t from the stairs.

First they’d had to stop for petrol. Then they’d gotten bogged down in a patch of muddy road. And with each holdup, Rowena wavered between relief at delaying the inevitable introductions and guilt over that relief.

Her husband was trying. She knew it, and she wanted to like him for it. But they were so very different. And she so feared giving him hope for a physical relationship if she dared to smile or respond to him. Would this bone-deep yearning for the child she’d been ready to love ever overcome the repulsion brought on by the thought of a man’s touch?

Her eyes slid shut, blocking out the sight of purple heather and feathery bracken. She shouldn’t mourn the bairn, she knew that. It had been Malcolm’s. Or perhaps it had never been at all—how was she to know? Her heart said it had, that she had miscarried. But perhaps the bleeding had been her normal courses, delayed. . . . But shouldn’t it have lasted longer than it had? There had been none of the usual pain, either. Did that point to losing the child?