Of course it’s her, he groaned inwardly.
This was not the quiet, demure widow he had envisioned. In the long carriage rides from London to Inverhall, he pictured a small, petite woman with a quiet disposition and plain eyes. Yet before him was a wild creature, completely untamed, as the sunlight seemed to radiate from within her.
She was a mess, yet so deeply enchanting that Hugo could not avert his gaze. She may as well have been a Highland mare, tearing up the hills, or a witch, capturing his attention despite his efforts to look away.
Surely this cannot be the widow…
“Ye daenae have to shout so loud; I can hear ye just fine,” she said, striding forward until she was in front of him. “And who might ye be, stormin’ through me gardens as if ye own the place?”
“These,” Hugo corrected, a muscle ticking in his already sore jaw, “are my gardens now.”
Her eyebrows knitted together in disbelief, but then she eyed him up and down, and her face fell.
“Oh no,” she breathed out as she smoothed down her skirts to little avail and tried to wipe some of the mud off her cheeks. “Oh, dear.”
“Oh,yes. Allow me to introduce myself. I am Hugo Blythe, the Duke of Arrowfell,” he said with a sneer, his chin tilted up. “And now, as fate would have it, the new Marquess of Inverhall.”
Lady Inverhall sighed, a long, dramatic sound that grated on him. The sound may as well have been rusty nails on a metal pot. He ran a hand through his hair in a desperate attempt to anchor himself back to reality.
“Forgive me, me friends,” she called out to the assembled villagers and their children. “It seems our time has come to an end for today. The Marquess has arrived.”
A collective sound ofoohsandaahsresounded around him. He turned his back quickly, pacing away from the crowd and into a set of hedges. He was in no mood for introductions, nor did he feel like getting mud on himself after hours of travel.
He looked over his shoulder to see Lady Inverhall quickly signaling to the staff, who had been hovering uncertainly near the garden’s entrance.
“Please, see our guests off the grounds, Mr. McDonough,” she softly instructed the butler who had escorted him. “It seems the day’s merriment has been brought to a sudden and unfortunate end.”
“Right away, M’Lady,” he said with a small bow. “I will coordinate with the other servants and see to it at once.”
As the villagers slowly began to disperse, an old, hobbling man whispered something to Lady Inverhall. Hugo watched, narrowed-eyed from behind a hedge, as she discreetly pressed a few coins into his wrinkled hand. He wiped a tear from his eye as she gave him a small hug.
While it was such an innocuous, kind gesture, it managed to annoy him even further.
Donating to charity is one thing, but this reckless, scattershot generosity only makes a mess of things. If I am going to sell this place properly, I need to stop these chaotic gatherings and restore the manor to a respectable, orderly state.
Once the last villager had departed, the garden became eerily quiet. Hugo approached Lady Inverhall, who led him silently into the house.
The drawing room, though still in disarray from what he could only assume was its usual daily use by various members of the community, was at least free of mud and wildflowers.
Lady Inverhall gestured to a worn armchair as she reached for a towel that was set on a nearby table to dry her hair. Yet, Hugo remained standing, his arms crossed in consternation. Tired as he was, he was in no mood to sit down.
“Now,” he demanded, his eyes fixed on her. “You will explain yourself, Lady Inverhall. What was that spectacle I just witnessed out there?”
She met his gaze without flinching, her green eyes boring holes into him as if what she had been doing was the most normal thing in the world. It was a look that pricked his skin, sending an irritated pang to his already heavy chest.
“It was a gathering, Yer Grace. For the villagers. When the weather is kind, I invite them to share in the bounty of the estate.”
“Is that so?”
“Aye, there is no bad weather, just bad clothing. And being outside and on these grounds gives them a bit of cheer, and I always thought that?—”
“Cheer?” Hugo scoffed, gesturing vaguely toward her still-damp dress. “It was a pigsty! And entirely improper for a woman of your station. What sort of marchioness hosts a…a communein her private gardens?”
“A marchioness who cares about her people,” she retorted, lifting her chin as a small smile tugged at her full lips. “Unlike some dukes who seem to care only for their own comfort and convenience. Ye willnae find me perched on some armchair, barkin’ orders. I take me duties as a marchioness very seriously. And nothin’ has been more important to me than the happiness of me people, especially those who are less fortunate.”
“Comfort and convenience, as you so aptly put it, madam, are not frivolities, but the pillars of order,” he shot back, his patience as thin as a sheet ofmille-feuille. “And this… this arrangement is anything but orderly.”
“Perhaps ye prefer a sterile, empty house then, Yer Grace?” she challenged him. “One where no laughter echoes in the halls, and no good deed is done to benefit another person?”
