“It is one of my favourites of recent times. It was one of the last books my mother bought for me before she became… it is very dear to me.”
“And what do you like so much about it?”
“I used to read it to her late into the evening. She adored Scotland you see, and I felt that perhaps it might settle her dreams if she could think of the wild highlands.
The noble stag was pausing now
Upon the mountain's southern brow,
Where broad extended, far beneath,
The varied realms of fair Menteith.
Colin watched her lips form the words, noting the awe in her voice as she recited without a need to refer to the text.
“There are many passages like that,” she said, “showing the grandeur of the Scottish hillsides. It is my dearest wish to go someday. I have heard it is beautiful.”
“It is indeed. There are many wonderful places to walk where you can see stags wandering in the woods and hillsides.”
“Have you been, your Grace?”
“Many times, I love Scotland. It is a wild country filled with history and folklore. I have often wished I possessed an estate up there. Lord Edward Hayesworth, a very close friend, has a home in Perthshire. It is not the easiest journey, but utterly beautiful.” He riffled through the pages. “And is there anything else about the poem that you admire?”
Lady Wentworth’s cheeks coloured beautifully, and Colin was delighted to see it. He found himself amused again, deeply happy that he could witness such a reaction, and his smile came easily, casting off the shroud of his papers and ledgers for a little time.
“I can see that there is something. Now you must tell me, I have hit upon it.”
Charlotte shook her head ruefully. “I confess, Sir James Fitz-James is very admirable. I rather think chivalrous men are the most impressive.”
The duke eyed her with a knowing glint in his eye. “I shall make a note,” he said softly, and a gentle quiet settled between them.
Charlotte did not know what he had meant by that, but she could only imagine it was a comment intended for her somehow.
Behind them, Malcolm watched his cousin blush and hid a smile as he continued his own discussion with Elizabeth. For Malcolm’s part, he hardly knew what to do with himself.
Elizabeth was the loveliest creature he had ever had the privilege of speaking to. Every time she spoke, he found himself unable to concentrate on anything else. She was eminently sensible and not at all like the silly chits he had been forced to socialize with for so many years. Elizabeth was fiercely intelligent. He could not help imagining a far-off future where they might have children together and how clever and sensible they might be.
He had spent much time in society and had heard several friends speak of how they had felt when they had met the woman they knew they would marry. He had cast off such romantic commentary, but now his heart was beating so loudly at her proximity that he worried she might be able to hear it. He knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that Elizabeth was who he wanted above anyone else in the world.
“I am not as well versed in poems as Lady Wentworth,” Malcolm confessed. “I was much better at history and science at school.”
“You are most self-deprecating, my Lord,” Elizabeth chided him gently, for the man had a propensity to criticize himself that she did not care for. Lord Preston appeared to believe that all other men were superior to him in intellect and had been most embarrassed at his performance at cards. “You have made many pertinent points,” she protested.
“About the words, not the meaning,” he said again, and she held herself back from laying a hand on his arm as she might a female friend to reassure him.
“I would like to ask you to do something for me, my Lord,” she said carefully.
He raised his eyebrows at her and, for a moment, his expression deepened to something quite different. “Anything.”
“I would like you to speak kindly of yourself when you are conversing with me.”
Lord Preston frowned as though her words were a surprise to him, but then he gave a crooked smile and bowed his head. “Very well, Lady Ludlow. I had not realised I was speaking ill of myself, but I shall endeavour to desist.”
“Good,” she said with a happy smile, and they continued to discuss the poem for several minutes more until the bell rang. Elizabeth could not help noticing that by the end of the discussion, Lady Wentworth and her cousin were leaning into one another far more than they had been at the start.
After a couple of hours of intense discussion and a mixing of the groups that had moved Colin away from Lady Wentworth, he found himself lingering at the back of the room as he waited for his mother to finish refreshing.
Lady Wentworth was speaking animatedly with Elizabeth. The two women clearly got along very well, which warmedColin’s heart to see. Anyone Elizabeth liked was always worth liking.
