Page 32 of I’ve Grown Accustomed to My Scot

“She must be lonely.”

“Yes, I think she is.”

“Perhaps your uncle will return soon.”

Rory said nothing, and by now they had reached Grace’s bedchamber. He hesitated as if in two minds and then bowed politely. “I will let you rest,” he said. “I have a little surprise for you tomorrow.”

Grace’s eyes widened as she wondered what the surprise was, but Rory was already moving away. Inside her room, she stood and stared at nothing, trying to make sense of her feelings. Tonight she had felt as if she truly were Rory’s wife, and he had treated her as if she were his wife, too. Was that a good thing? She wasn’t sure. It might only cause her disappointment in the long run. Or heartache. She was increasingly aware of her feelings warming toward Rory in a way she had never expected.

He satisfied more than her body, and she thought she could love him. And then what? Would she sit sadly waiting, like Jennie, for a man who was off enjoying himself somewhere else? The idea did not make her happy. The solution was not to fall in love with him, so she wouldn’t. And she would ignore the little voice that whispered in her head: Are you sure it isn’t already too late?

Chapter Sixteen

The narrow house was part of a terrace in a quiet street, and Rory thought it was exactly what Grace had wanted. Her eyes lit up when she first saw it, and she stood a moment in the sitting room that looked out over a handkerchief-sized garden, where a bird perched on a lilac bush. He knew she was imagining herself living here.

The silence drew on and he shuffled uneasily, wishing she would say something. The longer he stood here, the more doubts he was beginning to have. The place was very small. Too small, really. When Grace’s two sisters were living here, it would be crowded. Perhaps he should have looked for something larger?

“You are deep in thought,” he said abruptly when she still did not speak.

She started at the sound of his voice and turned to him. “I am imagining myself here,” she said with a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “I am hoping it is the sort of place my father will allow my sisters to visit, even if he will not let them live here permanently.”

“You are a respectable married woman,” Rory said sharply. “There is no reason for him to keep your sisters from you.”

She said nothing but he could see she disagreed, and she had had more experience with Ormsby than he. He looked about him again, trying to picture Grace here on her own. Living her own, quiet, insular life. It made him feel very depressed. He did not want her to be quiet and—and lonely, and yet it was he who had decided upon this place. Impatiently he asked himself what would happen if Grace did not live here. Didn’t Rory want his old life back again, that free and easy existence he had enjoyed for so long? Wasn’t that the whole point of finding Grace somewhere else to live?

“It was very generous of you to do this for me,” Grace went on, but she sounded as subdued as he. “I wasn’t sure . . .” She hesitated. “You hadn’t spoken about finding somewhere for me, not lately, and I wasn’t sure . . .” Again, she stopped.

He was almost about to retort that of course he was going to find her somewhere to live because she was his wife! But then he realized that wasn’t helpful either.

“I will be able to fill in my time in the garden,” she went on quickly, smoothing over the awkward moment, and moving to the window to peer out.

Rory sighed. “It is a very small garden.”

“Yes. But I will be living here on my own most of the time, and I won’t be able to afford a gardener. Or servants. Maybe one,” she mused.

That made him feel even more depressed, thinking of her out in the garden in all seasons and cleaning and cooking, while he . . . He paused there. What exactly did he expect he would be doing? Returning to Bonnyrigg and picking up his former rackety life where he left off? Forgetting himself in more drink and women as each year passed until they all blurred together?

The idea made him feel squirmy inside, and the bright colors in the garden outside the window dulled.

Perhaps he should stay here in London? Before the duel, he had been enjoying himself. Hadn’t he? But Rory knew in his heart that wasn’t entirely true. Even before the duel, he had begun to have doubts about the direction his life was taking. He’d tried to hide them from himself, but since he had met Grace, and made friends with Kilsyth, those doubts had burrowed their way back into his consciousness.

That life, the one he had always believed he wanted, had come to an end. It was too narrow, too shallow. He wanted more but what that more consisted of . . . The answer seemed just out of his reach despite how much he strained to grab hold of it. He suspected that it involved Grace.

How could a marriage that was meant to be nothing more than a good deed suddenly have become so important to him?

He made an impatient sound. Warily, Grace turned her head to look at him. “Rory? What’s wrong?” Her voice sounded strained.

“This was a mistake,” he blurted out like an idiot.

Her eyes widened. “A mistake?” she repeated. “Do you mean our marriage?”

He hardly heard the painful note in her voice. He was too caught up in his own chaotic thoughts.

“This place is not suitable. I can see that now. It is too . . . too . . .” He gave up. “Come on, there will be somewhere else. Somewhere better.”

Even as he said it, he was wondering if there would ever be somewhere else that was just right for Grace. He tried to picture this perfect place in his head, but the image that came to him was Bonnyrigg Castle. Impatiently, he pushed it away.

She was looking up at him with a worried expression. “Rory. Really, this is quite satisfactory. I’m sorry if I am not as enthusiastic as I should be. It was just that I thought—”