Chapter Ten

Miss MacGregor had Howard thinking any number of foolish things. He ’d never before sat beside a woman as she sang to comfort a child. That moment had etched itself into his mind and, stranger still, into his heart. He’d never before let himself imagine being part of a moment like that, and now he could think of little else.

Rain had begun falling not long after they’d returned to Brier Hill. Howard wasn’t averse to working in the rain—he’d never accomplish anything otherwise—but this was a downpour of near-biblical proportions. He’d resigned himself to spending the remainder of the day in his coach-turned-house. His attempt at distracting himself with a bit of whittling was proving futile. That, of course, was likely owing to the fact that what he was carving was a toy horse for the young duke.

Saw ye my wee thing? Saw ye my own thing?

Saw ye my bonnie boy down by the lea?

He skipped ’cross the meadow yestere’en at the gloaming.

Small as a thistle my dear boy is he.

He smiled to himself as Miss MacGregor’s voice echoed in his mind. What else did she sing? Was she one to hum while she worked? He’d enjoyed talking with her as they’d worked in the garden, and he was intrigued at the idea of music filling a moment like that.

Quit your foolishness, now.

He had nothing but this oddity of a house and a life of constant change to offer a woman. He wasn’t poor, but he was far from wealthy. Though he’d not yet reached forty, he knew that years spent laboring in the sun, hefting heavy loads, and working himself to the bone had aged him. Any woman would hesitate when faced with those things.

And this woman had more reasons than those. To build a life with someone, she’d have to stop working as a nursemaid. She couldn’t keep living at or near Falstone Castle. Building a life elsewhere meant leaving her beloved little duke. She would never do that.

It likely didn’t matter either way. He’d no assurance she felt the same pull toward him that he had begun to feel for her. And there he was, already pondering futures. Foolishness upon foolishness.

Howard pushed thoughts of singing and smiles and fiery Scotswomen from his mind and focused fully on his whittling. He managed it for a full five minutes when a knock sounded on the door of his carriage house.

Who could possibly be venturing out in weather like this?

He opened the door slowly because it opened outward and most people weren’t expecting that.

“Miss MacGregor.” The shock of seeing her there froze him. He quickly recollected himself, though, and pulled her inside and out of the rain. “You might’ve drowned trying to get here.”

“I am a right good swimmer.”

He latched the door against the gusts of wet wind. “Are you, now?”

“Actually, no.”

“Something important must have convinced you to brave the elements.”

She nodded. “Lady Jonquil said she is fond of...” Her brow tugged in thought. “I was so careful to repeat it over and over so I’d nae forget.” She bounced in place, rubbing at her arms.

“Heavens, you’re soaked.” He’d been too thrown off his guard to notice sooner.

Howard tucked back the curtain dividing the sitting area of his odd little house from his sleeping quarters and grabbed his blanket. The curtain fell back into place as he turned toward his shivering visitor.

He wrapped the blanket around her.

“Thank you.” She spoke with such exhausted gratitude that he felt ever more guilty for not having realized her misery sooner. “While we were working on decorations for Adam’s Christmas party, Lady Jonquil said she’s fond of a flower called queen of the meadow, and her brother sent seeds back to England when he was away in the colonies. You’re planting a flower for Lord Jonquil. I thought you could plant this one for her, if Lord Jonquil will allow you to have some of the seeds.”

She had run through the rain to help him with his garden? What a remarkable thing to do.

She continued. “I don’t know what that flower looks like or if the seeds’ll still grow anything after so many years, but I thought you’d want to know.”

He opened the drawer where he kept his drawing supplies. “I should bring you with me on all my jobs; you could be my spy.”

“I’d do a fine job of it.”

“Queen of the meadow looks like this.” He quickly sketched the flower, one few people were familiar with. “The flowers start as tight balls and grow as dozens of tiny blooms on a stalk. When they open, each petal is a near-perfect circle. Long stamens emerge from the center, always in a different color from the petals.”

She studied his sketch as he worked at it. “What color is the flower?”

“They come in a variety: white, pink, purple.”

“The stamen looks almost like a crown.” She smiled at him. “Perhaps that’s the reason for its name.”

“Might very well be.”

Her fingers peeked out from beneath the blanket, holding it in place around her. “Where in the garden ought they to be planted?”

“They need soil that remains quite moist, so they’d do best in the shade.” He pulled out the garden plan and unrolled it on his small table. “This flower bed, here, would be a good choice.”

She came closer once more, standing very near him to look at his plans. “Why not plant them in the same bed as the forget-me-nots? Those are Lady Jonquil’s favorite. Planting the two together would make that corner of the garden hers, in a way. I think she and her husband would both like the thought of that.”

“Brilliant.”

A droplet of water fell on the table by his plans, narrowly missing the paper. He stood and turned toward her, fully meaning to tease her about bringing the weather in with her, but she was closer than he’d realized. Her cheeks were rosy from the cold, and the rain had brought out the curl in her hair. Her deep brown eyes were fixed on him, the flicker of lantern light reflected in their depths.

“I wish my little stove put out more heat,” he said. “You’re soaked quite through . ”

Her smile was soft. “The blanket helps.”

She was shivering though. He set his hands on her arms hidden beneath the blanket and rubbed them.

“Is Robbie your given name?” he asked.

She shook her head. “Roberta.”

“Roberta,” he repeated, liking the sound of it. “That name suits you.”

“It didn’t when I was a wee lassie.”

He could appreciate that. “When I was small, I was called Howie. That name would never do now.”

“Howard?” She seemed quite sure of her guess.

“What else?”

His hands slowed as his mind began spinning on the reality of her there, visiting with him, standing close, smiling at him.

“Thank you for holding my hand today in the pony cart,” she said. “I was fretting myself into a terrible worry.”

“I suspected as much.”

She raised herself on her toes and brushed a kiss to his cheek. The rat-a-tat rhythm of his heart picked up pace. He stood as still as a tree on a breezeless day, not by choice but out of sheer shock. He’d not expected such a tender gesture. Even less expected was how much he enjoyed it.

Robbie spun his blanket off her shoulders and slipped quickly from the carriage house and out into the rain, leaving him behind with his whirling thoughts.

Those lofty thoughts he’d had before her arrival hadn’t disappeared in the least. Rather, they’d grown into cloud-built castles, and he hadn’t the first idea what to do about it.