She’d never heard him make a jest before. This was certainly a first.
“And have you put these remedies of yours to use?” the Duke asked, one brow lifting.
“Aye,” Elspeth said softly. “The people of Inverhall village took to me quickly. They enjoyed bein’ welcome on the grounds, sharin’ in the bounty of our harvest and fortune instead of bein’ excluded and hungry on the outskirts of the villages.”
“Then why the rumors?”
“The people of high standin’ in the surroundin’ estates and grand houses liked to tease me. People like to do that to an outsider, someone new to theirways. They said I was a daughter of a lowly laird who had married above her station. That I must have employed some wiles to have secured such a fortuitous match.”
His brow furrowed, his eyes darkening for a moment before he motioned her to continue.
She sighed. “They took many liberties with their stories. Paintin’ me as a witch, for makin’ teas to help young lassies with maladies. ‘Cause I was a woman of me own mind. Each one embellishin’ this point or that.”
“Either way, all that seems hardly a practical hobby for a marchioness,” he said as he sat down opposite her, splaying out his book as he turned the pages. “Most women take to stitching, piano forte, and the like, even Scottish ladies, I presume. Why dig around in the dirt?”
“Perhaps nae to ye,” she said. “To me maither, the power of the earth was everythin’. She saw beauty in the smallest things, theway a thistle flower opened, or a wild rose climbed a wall to bloom. I like workin’ with me hands.”
“I see,” he said as he pulled out a larger map tucked in the back of the atlas and splayed it out on the table.
Elspeth noted a passing glance at her hands, then at her body. She wore a simple gown that day, soft blue and neatly tailored, the kind of dress that lent her a quiet elegance without demanding notice. Her hair was pinned with care, each coil and twist held so firmly it seemed almost to defy the storm that churned within her.
When he returned his eyes to the map of Scotland, she said nothing more, lowering her gaze back to her studies. She reached for another volume. The room settled into a companionable hush, broken only by the faint rustle of Hugo unfolding his map and the gentle turn of pages beneath her fingers.
“I must go into town,” Hugo said at last, his tone cutting through the quiet like steel. “There is a land agent I mean to consult regarding Inverhall. I will have its true worth set before me without speculation or pretense. The matter of repairs will be managed in due course, but not before the year’s end. I intend to see the place sold, and swiftly. I have no hunger for coin. I merely wish the business settled.”
“Aye, I can tell ye the true value of the place,” Elspeth scoffed. She closed her book and looked at him, her green eyes glitteringat the challenge. “I will accompany ye then, as yer resident expert.”
“There is no need. I am certain you haveyour studiesto attend to.”
“It is nae trouble,” she insisted, closing her book and standing in front of him then. “Besides, I would like to visit a bookseller. I am curious about the latest novel everyone is talkin’ about.”
Hugo sighed. “Very well. But you will not cause a scene. Do you understand me, madam?”
“When have I ever caused a scene, Yer Grace?” she asked with a playful arch of her eyebrow. “I cannae think of what would give ye the impression I was capable of such things.”
“Do not test me, Lady Inverhall,” Hugo said, not answering her question as he led her out of the library. “Let us be on with it then.”
The prospect of a new book was so exciting that Elspeth almost forgot the Duke’s other business. Once inside, the carriage trotted down the street and into the heart of London. They stopped in front of a small bookshop, every inch of it covered in books.
Elspeth stepped into the narrow aisles with a kind of hushed reverence, her fingertips brushing lightly over the rows of worn leather spines as though greeting familiar companions. She breathed in deeply, savoring the must of paper and ink.
Behind her, the Duke followed at a measured pace, his hands clasped firmly behind his back, his expression one of cool composure.
“Good day to you, sir. You must be Mr. Fitzwilliam?” Elspeth asked brightly, turning toward the counter with a smile.
The elderly bookseller’s lined face lit with warmth. “Indeed, madam. Mr. Fitzwilliam, at your service.”
“It is a true pleasure,” Elspeth replied. “I am Lady Inverhall, and this is His Grace, the Duke of Arrowfell.”
Mr. Fitzwilliam bowed, first to her, then more deeply to Hugo. “Your Grace, my lady, you honor my humble shop.”
The Duke inclined his head with polite formality.
“I have heard a great deal of you from my friend, the Marchioness of Wrotham,” Elspeth continued.
“Her ladyship is most gracious,” Fitzwilliam said with evident fondness. “I have had the privilege of supplying her household for some time now. And you, my lady, are most welcome.”
Elspeth’s countenance warmed further, soothed by his kindly, almost grandfatherly air. “Thank ye, sir. Tell me, have ye received any new stock from the mysterious authoress ofThe Highland Holiday?”
