Page 48

“It got a little easier after that, but the income from the book was never guaranteed. I wrote a few articles here and there to supplement it all,” he said.

“And now you work for Mr. Moray,” she said.

He chuckled. “One day he’ll take you to task for not dropping the ‘Mister’ although few people call him by his given name.”

“I suppose we should have him for supper one day. And Mrs. Wilis, of course,” she said. “I’d enjoy getting to know her better.”

“As I’m sure she would you.”

Ina planted her elbow on her knee and settled her chin in her hand, studying him as he continued to row. After a moment she said, “And next you’ll write a book.”

He pursed his lips, keenly aware that she’d named the ambition that had thus far eluded him. “Do you think I should?”

“If it’s what you want. I think you could do anything you wished to.”

Her blind faith warmed him just as it had when she’d revealed that she’d waited outside the bookshop the day his novel came out.

“I’ll consider it,” he said. “I wonder what my father would say if that ever were to come to pass. I think the fact that I’ve only written one had been some small comfort to him, as though I haven’t truly proven that I was right to follow this path.”

“He wouldn’t congratulate you?”

He shook his head. “Doubtful.”

“It’s strange that I know you so well, and yet your life before Edinburgh is still a mystery to me,” said Ina.

His hands gripped a little tighter on the oars. “There isn’t much to tell.”

A lie, but one he’d tell Ina again and again.

“You hardly ever speak of them,” she said.

“Who?” he asked, delaying her inevitable questions.

“Your family.”

“They choose not to see me, and I choose not to see them. It’s really very simple.”

It wasn’t simple at all, but she didn’t need to know that. That was an old, unhappy story full of scabbed-over pain. He had no interest in revisiting any of it, especially not this evening, when everything was supposed to be about his present with Ina.

“Is that why they didn’t come to the wedding?” she asked.

He’d thought about telling her that he hadn’t invited his mother, father, brother, or his sister-in-law. It would’ve been easier and worried Ina less. The responsibility would’ve fallen on him rather than reflecting back on the fact that his family had no intention of being a part of their lives.

In the end, he’d been right. He’d sent word to his mother and father and a separate letter to Richard and Grace. Neither branch of the family had seen fit to change their plans to attend and lend support to his suspiciously speedy wedding to a Scottish woman they’d never heard of.

“We’re hardly in one another’s lives any longer,” he said.

“You know I understand what it is to have a difficult parent. If Mrs. Sullivan hadn’t insisted that everything be done properly to prevent scandal, I wonder if my father would’ve shown up at all.”

The bitter hurt in her voice was unmistakable. Arthur Duncan lived his life holed up in his study, working on his never-finished book while his daughter ran his house, kept her own company, and created her own art on the basement floor. His neglect had allowed her to study sculpture, to coax and cajole teachers in her teenage years, yet for all the freedom she’d enjoyed, she wasn’t without pain. Gavin suspected Ina would’ve preferred a parent who loved her unconditionally, and that the wound ran deeper than anybody could predict.

Enough. He didn’t want this evening to be about pain or regret. It was to be all about Ina. He needed to do something to bring the spark of life back to her eyes and set her rolling with laughter.

“Have I ever told you about the time I tried to win a race against my brother in a rowboat just like this?” he asked.

Her brows shot up. “No, and now that you’ve mentioned that, I demand every little detail.”

“No doubt to bring them up again and remind me of my foolishness,” he teased.