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“Nothing’s as nice as Ireland. But this is quite wonderful, I must say.”
“Those are the Campsie Fells.” He pointed to a high ridge of hills in the distance. “On a really clear day, you can catch a glimpse of the mountains around Loch Katrine.” His gaze was locked on the horizon. “Sometimes I swear you can see all the way to Castle Kinglas.”
She couldn’t help being curious. “What’s Kinglas like?”
“Grand,” he thoughtfully said. “A great, grand old castle tucked between lake and sky, with mountains to keep it company.”
She blinked at the poetic description—and at his handsome, austere profile. He seemed to be looking at something far, far away.
“It sounds very romantic,” she softly said.
His gaze snapped into focus as he glanced down at her. “It’s certainly in better shape than poor old Mugdock. Kinglas is a working estate, and it takes a great deal of management and work from Nick and Victoria and the staff to maintain it. It’s a constant battle to keep the bloody place from falling apart. With these old castles, romantic generally only runs to the surface.”
She frowned at the sudden change in attitude. “But you still love it.”
He shrugged, his broad shoulders shifting under his coat. “Yes, but it’s not really home for me anymore. And it has its bad points. It’s bloody cold and snowy in the winter, for one thing. Sometimes we’d get snowed in for weeks. That, I assure you, isn’t the least romantic.”
It could be, with the right person.
“That is a commendably realistic view of life,” she said instead.
“I am nothing if not realistic, Miss Calvert.”
Turning slightly away from him, she propped her chin in her hands and drank in the view. “Well, as I said before, it’s not Ireland, but I like it.”
He snorted. “What makes Ireland so much better than Scotland or England?”
“FewerSassenachs.”
When he laughed outright at that, for a moment the breath caught in her throat. He had a deep laugh, full of warmth and life. In response, her body came alive with a joy that somehow seemed part of everything around them, from the stones beneath their feet to the crystal-blue vault of the sky.
“That’s certainly one mark in Ireland’s favor.” The warmth of his laugh lingered in his smile. “What else?”
A jumble of words gathered on the tip of her tongue. Words likelush,green,soft, andwelcoming. Cherished images flooded her mind ... the rushing brook that ran through the bluebell meadow, the deep, cool woods, and the thick fields of clover. But words could never really catch the feel of the place and what it meant to her.
In the end, only one word did. “It’s home.”
Even more importantly, it had been her mother’s home. Where Mamma had lived and loved her husband and children, creating a haven of peace and beauty for everyone blessed to know her.
His gaze turned thoughtful. “And you miss it.”
Kathleen had to swallow against the sudden emotion that had tightened her throat. “More than anything.”
“But I understand you haven’t been back since you were sent to school in Bath.”
She mentally frowned. How did he know that sort of detail?
“That is correct,” she cautiously answered.
“Don’t you think it might have changed? Be different now from your memories?”
She flushed under the disconcerting intensity of his gaze.
“No, I don’t think so. I grew up there, with my family. With my mother.” And her mother’s memory made all the difference.
He glanced away for a moment. “Of course, your mother. Forgive me, Miss Calvert. It makes perfect sense that you would miss her, and your old home.”
There was something in his voice she couldn’t quite interpret. Regret? No, that wasn’t it.
