The night was chilly, though, and despite being on the quiet side of the castle, what if someone saw her? It would be most inappropriate. So she crawled into bed, lay there for a time, and thought about the evening. Mostly, she thought about the Duke of Argyll, no matter how much she tried to put him from her mind. However foolish the notion, she wondered if she crossed his mind as well. Likely not, as she imagined his thoughts were consumed by his late wife—as they should be.
Which led her back to what he had said in regard to Elizabeth. How he had taken out his anger at her loss through fencing. What anger had he battled before that, though? Should she ask him about it again, or was it a matter best left alone? She would think not, considering he had seemed ready to tell her before they were interrupted.
Either way, she decided it best to let the matter rest as she made her way down to breakfast the next morning. When she found the dining area empty, she decided to pass on eating. No doubt, her sister and Lord MacLauchlin had entertained well into the evening and still rested. As did most, based on how quiet things were.
“Good morning, Lady Barrington.” The butler beamed brightly at her when she approached the front door. “Out for a morning stroll?”
Where she had barely taken notice of him upon her arrival, she found his demeanor rather pleasant today, so she met his smile. “I think perhaps I am.”
“Very good, my lady.” He assisted her with her coat. “While it’s quiet after the night’s festivities, you might still find a soul or two about. It seems you and the Duke of Argyll are early risers.”
“Is the duke outside, then?”
“Aye, my lady.” He smiled and opened the door. “He tends to like morning strolls.”
Somehow that did not surprise her, given his inherent energy. Or so she assumed him energetic, based on his fitness. It was not just that alone, though. Perhaps the zest for life in his eyes or the excitement she sensed hovering beneath his surface. As if he were just waiting for the formalities to be over so he could move. Do something more exhilarating.
“Thank you…” for the first time in years, she prompted a butler for his name.
The butler’s smile only grew wider. His eyes sparkled beneath bushy white brows as he bowed from the waist. “That would be Mr. Finley, my lady, but most in these parts just call me Finley.”
“Well, thank you, Finley.” She stepped out the door and did yet another thing she had not done in years when she wished a servant a good day.
If possible, Finley’s smile grew even wider. “You as well, my lady.”
She started down the steps and breathed in the fresh, crisp air. Where she had seen the castle’s obvious wealth when she arrived, today she saw the beauty of nature and the glorious grounds. They were well-groomed and quite lovely. More eager than she would admit, she scanned the immediate area for Jacob but saw no sign of him.
Leave him be regardless, she chastised herself. It was clear he still faced personal battles. Moreover, he might very well want the time alone. A chance to reflect. Remember.
A strange notion because she had no idea if she had actually felt love for Randolph initially. Knew for certain she did not as time went on. How could she? So she had no idea how it felt to love so deeply and then lose it. The only thing she could possibly compare it to was how she’d felt when she’d realized her husband did not love her. Would never love her. There had been a terrible sense of loss in that, but she suspected it paled in comparison to what Jacob had gone through.
Interested in what lay behind MacLauchlin Castle because she had heard things quite enchanting, she made her way along a winding, tree-covered path that ran alongside it. She could not remember the last time she enjoyed anything like this. Before she married and moved to London, to be sure. Back in her younger years when a trail like this would have ignited her imagination.
A time when she had, in her naiveté, envisioned walking hand in hand with the man she loved at their country estate. Pictured kissing him beneath a verdant canopy of leaves. Making love when they wandered across a sunlit patch of meadow. Giving herself over to how he made her feel.
She inhaled the scent of the pungent, earthy woodland and allowed her imagination to drift even further. To envision strolling, not with her late husband, but with Jacob. She imagined the conversations they might have before he began looking at her in a certain way. Her cheeks warmed at the thought. At how he might gradually steer her closer to him. How it might become obvious by the look in his eyes that he had become less interested in the conversation and more interested in kissing her.
Where moments before she had been chilled, she felt rather overheated now and unbuttoned the first few buttons on her coat. She once again inhaled the crisp air deeply and tried to set aside her wandering thoughts, yet it seemed impossible. How would he go about things? Would he pull her against his strong body? Cup her cheek and close his mouth over hers?
Her thoughts only spiraled from there.
What would his kiss feel like? Would it be like the few her husband had given her over the years? Cold and unfeeling?
Somehow she doubted it.
Jacob had too much passion for that. He would kiss her with the same vigor he had exuded when explaining the portraits. Spoke of Scottish history. Of the various dishes being served. She would have his undivided attention. He would see only her. Only ever her as he swept her up into his arms and carried her to a private sunlit patch of meadow laden with wildflowers.
To their own little oasis nuzzled in the trees.
Or so her ridiculous and foolhardy mind thought of a man she barely knew. That she had loathed not a day ago. With good reason, too, when she spied him around the backside of the castle. He was not sitting alone, deep in thought, pining over his late wife but doing quite the opposite. Rather, he strolled in the hedge gardens below with a beautiful woman on his arm. Smiled at her. Laughed with her.
Clearly adored spending time with her.
Her stomach sank at how foolish she had been. What had she been thinking letting her guard down for even a moment? For imagining they might have been forming some sort of connection the night before? That she might ever enjoy a kiss of all things with him. Shame on her. She knew better.
Preposterous.
Before he caught sight of her, she headed back the way she had come. Enough was enough. The Lord of Argyll was everything she had thought him. A scoundrel, to be sure. One she would make sure to avoid at all costs until she left first thing tomorrow morning.
