Chapter 17

17

I t had ever been Maryn's way, when out of her depth, to resort to a chilling insincerity. Such seemed particularly false in light of her usual graciousness. Yet her stilted words still struck deep. The battle between them had begun when he'd stood before her in Lockhart Hall's library. Her battle, anyway. Orin nearly admitted defeat the moment he'd looked at her stricken face.

The injury she'd tried to hide he'd noticed immediately, along with the slight slump to her normally straight shoulders as if intent on shrinking from sight. Aside from being more rounded than he remembered, she was even more beautiful. Her hair was still her glory, a shining wealth of blue-black even wind-whipped. Stray wisps dangled here and there, making him want to reach out and tuck them away. But it was her green eyes he'd remember if he never saw her again. Not lively and shining but listless … haunted.

"Pity," he finally said, "is the least of my motivations."

"Whatever your reasons, I beg you return me home."

"I'd rather show you the gatehouse and garden. Once it was your favorite place."

She hesitated. "Even if I wanted to, there's no going back to what was."

He looked at her. He was having a hard time looking away from her. "We'll make a new start then."

"Much has happened since Herschel's death." Her eyes glittered. "Much I cannot speak of."

The catch in her voice made his own throat tighten. He fisted the slack reins when what he wanted was to take her in his arms and shoulder the brunt of her pain. His mind began sifting through her wounded words to what might lie beneath. It was challenging scaling the formidable wall she'd been erecting from the first though he felt no frustration. He felt time was running out. If he didn't deal with her honestly, attempt to mend their estrangement, he feared he'd not have another chance.

His angst doubled when she said, "I'd rather you return to the lady I saw you with from my coach."

So, she'd been thinking of a lass he hardly thought about? Myriad possibilities ricocheted through his mind. Might her mentioning Miss Lyon indicate a deeper feeling for him than she was willing to acknowledge?

"You shouldn't have sought me out." Her troubled eyes met his again. "I don't want you to do so again."

Hard as it was to hear, he understood. "If this has to do with the past—if my presence pains you—then I will leave you be."

Without answering, she got out of the cart and walked toward the cliff's edge. Her hat nearly took wing in a sudden burst of wind and she was trying to hold down her skirts with her good hand. Should he go after her? For a moment he feared she'd fall—or worse.

Lord Almighty, help.

He climbed out, ready to catch her—or comfort her. "Maryn."

His gut lurched when she turned toward him, tears tracing her pale face. He wanted to take her in his arms. Dry her tears. Be what she needed, whatever that was. Reluctantly, she took the handkerchief he offered. He didn't dare touch her—

"I'm sorry." She made a wide circle around him to return to the cart, her voice so full of feeling it shook. "I'm not the Maryn you remember, not one whit. And I can't pretend otherwise. Please return me home now."

Orin rode to Duns the next day, the village he'd known all his life. He needed to do something to clear his head if not his heart after his failure at Lockhart Hall. Below the hulk of Duns Castle on the hill, the main square was chock-full of horses and wagons, the weekly market anchoring Lowland life. After a tankard of ale at the Ewe and Lamb, he made his way to Black Bull Street and the empty building he'd had his eye on since his arrival back in Berwickshire.

The empty shop's stone face boasted two bow-fronted windows, the grimy glass in need of cleaning. To his right was an apothecary, to his left a tailor. Both respectable and well-established. A gentleman who was none other than Lord Lyon left the latter and greeted him heartily.

"Milord," the older man began with a wink, no doubt referencing the rejected baronetcy. "What brings you to town?"

"A business matter. I've had my eye on this building since my return."

"Whatever for?"

"To found a circulating library."

Lord Lyon looked amused. Nay, scornful. "Hardly worthy of an earl's son, is it?"

Orin held his peace, well aware his cause was often unpopular among the gentry.

"The lower classes aren't meant to read, surely," he persisted. "They're meant to labor and laborers don't require any sort of education. My opinion is that by educating the masses you'll only encourage them to aspire to the unattainable."

"I didna ask your opinion," Orin said evenly, looking over the shop's front to see if a sign to sell or let was posted. "Nor do I agree with it."

"Be that as it may, Hume, your mission is more fool's errand."

"Fool's errand or nae, Lowland literacy has long been my aim. For now, I'm here to determine this empty building's owner."

"Oh? 'Tis Fordyce property, from what I've heard. The duchy owns most of this street, in fact. But since the auld duke died things may have changed hands."

Fordyce property? If he'd leveled him with a blow Orin couldn't have been more taken aback. Or determined.

"I'll look into it, then," he said, thanking him.

Lord Lyon turned away. "I ne'r figured you for a merchant, Hume."

The slur was not lost on him. "An enlightened commercial venture, mayhap."

"How did it go at Lockhart Hall?"

If anyone other than Blythe had asked him, Orin would have considered it a sore subject. The countess, however, always tread lightly and her genuine concern assuaged him.

"Not well," He sat down beside her in the shade of a wisteria arbor like they'd done since he was a lad. She still spent much of her time outdoors in fair weather.

"I don't mean to pry but I am praying."

"Bethankit. I've spent many years seeing answers to your prayers."

"How is she?"

"Wounded." He mulled their regrettable meeting. "Her left side seems to have taken the brunt of the accident. Other than that she's as bonny as ever, at least outwardly. Her spirits are another matter."

"Too much loss, I fear. And now the entire weight of the duchy on her shoulders."

"She made it clear she doesn't want to see me again though she did ride with me to that overlook where you can see clear to Fast Castle and the North Sea."

"Surely riding with you in that restored cart counts for something," she told him consolingly. "I admire your efforts. Not many would attempt such."

The dreamer in him had hoped for a different sort of reunion. A glimmer of the lass he once knew. His mind remained fixed on their chilling silence when he'd returned her home. Had sadness and suffering changed her irrevocably?

"Perhaps I should invite her here for tea now that we know where she is."

"I'm going to try a different tack." Orin leaned back and folded his arms across his chest, a tentative plan taking shape. "Approach her about a business venture."

"Truly? What on earth do you have up your sleeve?"

"A circulating library which may well include a print shop. Ironically enough, the building is owned by the new duchess."

"How fortuitous." Blythe's surprise turned to delight. "She's as literary minded as you and always has been. Perhaps this venture—a joint venture—will be what you both need."

"You're far more confident than I. She may not be willing to let the building to me, let alone sell. She may even feel the cart ride I took her on was a cunning means to an end."

"Not if she knows you well though I do wish you'd been able to deal with the business matter first." Blythe worried the pearl ring on her finger, her usual serenity ruffled. "But there's no undoing what's been done. When will you approach her?"

"I'm undecided. Pray about that too, aye?"

Lord Lovell took Orin aside into an alcove at the next fête. "A word with you if I may. I leave for Edinburgh on my father's business tomorrow but want to ask for Lady Charis's hand first.

"Have you approached the laird?"

Lovell expelled a tense breath. "I had planned on it tonight but he was summoned to Jedburgh on some matter."

"Does Charis ken your intentions?"

"She does but says her father wants her to finish the season first."

"You should respect that then." Orin wished otherwise but it seemed the course of true love never did run smoothly. "Everard is not a man to cross as a future son-in-law."

"Agreed. I'm not worried about the laird but all the other suitors vying for her hand while I'm away, namely Lords Lindsay and Keith."

"If you're certain of her affections then you need not be concerned with any rivals." Orin looked toward the ballroom floor where Charis was indeed dancing with Lindsay. "From where I'm standing you have none."

"My frequent absences and my father's failing health put me in a precarious position, at least where courting is concerned." He grimaced, darting another look in Charis's direction. "Society with all its innuendo and protocol wears one down. I'd as soon revert to medieval times when knights wore the colors of the lady they were fighting for around their arms."

"You echo Iago in Othello. " It had been one of many plays he and Maryn had learned line by line long ago. " But I will wear my heart upon my sleeve. "

"Aye, I am hopelessly romantically entangled, heart upon my sleeve for all to see," Lovell murmured, warning in his gaze. "And not only I, my friend … "

He slipped away, leaving Orin with a frowning, fan-fluttering Miss Lyon. "You've only partnered with me once all evening, Mr. Hume, and 'tis nearly midnight."

"This evening is more about business than pleasure, I'm afraid."

"Ah, yes." Her fan fluttered harder. "Father said you're gauging interest in this new Lowland endeavor of yours and that you've run against some opposition."

"Only from those who won't acknowledge the merits of being literate." Lord Lyon foremost, he didn't add. "There are some here who even say the plays and novels of this age will corrupt those who read them."

"Rather ironic given you're a playwright and poet." She sighed. "I confess our library at Lyon Court is rather lacking. We'd rather pursue other interests. If I agreed to frequent your future bookshop, might you make time for a foxhunt or two?"

Orin's half-smile softened his stance. "I'll be too busy for sporting in future if all goes as planned. And I'll have little time for dancing."

"Well, we'll have to make tonight memorable then. As for my father, not everyone agrees with his opinions. I applaud you for pursuing something different given your bookish bent. And I'll cheer you on in any way that I can."