XIX

Three hours after leaving the port of Leith, the carriage came to a halt in a clearing along the road. The journey toward Strathmore was proceeding as planned, but the horses needed rest, and for the butler, any excuse to step on solid ground was more than welcome. The Scotsman, always practical, had planned a stop to regain strength and allow everyone, including the animals, a moment to breathe.

The landscape surrounding them was picturesque, bathed in radiant sunlight that painted the fields in vibrant shades of green. The hills stretched beneath the clear sky, covered in a fresh carpet of grass that gleamed in the warm daylight. A crystal-clear stream bordered the road, its waters reflecting the sun's rays. The fresh, clean air was a sharp contrast to the salty sea breeze they had left behind.

Under the shade of a large tree, the Scotsman spread a blanket on the grass and began to unpack the contents of a basket his wife had prepared. Freshly baked bread, chunks of cheese wrapped in cloth, two bottles of wine, and small sandwiches filled with cold meat were laid out in a rustic yet appetizing arrangement.

The butler, on the other hand, paid little attention to the food. Without wasting a second, he dismounted and wandered off into the field. For someone who had suffered so much during the sea voyage, the simple act of walking on solid ground felt like a miracle. With each step, the relief he felt was palpable, almost as if every footfall was a silent prayer of thanks.

" Blessed be, God, " he murmured to himself as he ventured further into the meadow. " Blessed be this solid earth that holds me. "

For several minutes, he wandered, enjoying the tranquility of the place, stretching his legs, and feeling the world finally stop moving beneath his feet. It was clear that his stomach was still not ready to face food.

Meanwhile, the Scotsman and the marquess had settled under the tree. Though Marcus was more composed than his butler, he was grateful for the rest. However, what truly unsettled him was the information Gregor had mentioned back in Leith.

" Can we talk about the information you mentioned in Leith? " Marcus blurted out, his voice tinged with impatience.

The Scotsman took a sip from a bottle and glanced at Westlin.

" After the inquiries Lord Symes requested, I must inform you that the lady lives in a small cottage on the outskirts of Strathmore, " Gregor said without ceremony, biting into one of the sandwiches.

" Are you referring to Grace Aylett? " Marcus pressed, seeking clarification.

Aife nodded calmly.

" Yes. However, I must tell you that the news about her differs from what you heard in London. "

" I don't know what you mean, " Marcus said, narrowing his eyes.

" In town, they don't call her Miss Aylett; they refer to her as the widow of Westlin, " Gregor said with a hint of amusement.

" The widow of Westlin? " Marcus repeated, his eyes widening in shock.

" Indeed. It seems when she left Strathmore, it was to get married. And when her husband passed away, she returned with her maid… and a child. "

The marquess's heart stopped for a moment. The Scotsman's words left him utterly bewildered.

" A child? " Marcus repeated, his voice a mixture of disbelief and confusion.

" That's what I said, " Gregor confirmed, his usual tone unchanging as he continued chewing.

Marcus gazed out at the horizon, a whirlwind of thoughts swirling in his mind. Where had this child come from? It couldn't possibly be his… or could it? The possibilities swirled in his head, but none of them made sense.

Sensing the agitation in his companion, the Scotsman decided to continue his story without further delay.

" I should also tell you that since her return, she has been working as a governess. She teaches at the parish, " he explained, calmly slicing a piece of cheese. " People here respect her greatly. They value her as one of their own, so if your intentions are not honorable, I suggest you reconsider. These folks won't be lenient. "

The marquess raised an eyebrow, not entirely understanding what his companion was implying.

" Lenient? " he asked with a touch of irony.

" Yes, lenient, " Gregor affirmed. " If you hurt her in any way, they won't forgive you. Popular justice here is quite… decisive. You wouldn't be the first to disappear. "

The marquess smiled to himself. The fact that the inhabitants of Strathmore protected Grace with such fierceness didn't surprise him, though it did complicate matters. Knowing that she was so well-regarded in the community added a new challenge. If he wanted to approach her without arousing suspicion, he would have to be extremely careful.

" I've also fulfilled other requests from Lord Symes, " Gregor continued. " I've found a house directly across from hers. You'll be able to see her every time she steps out into the garden. "

This news gave the marquess some comfort. Having Grace so close was an advantage. It would allow him to observe her and understand her life before making his presence known. However, there was one problem: how to act without being recognized. He knew that, sooner or later, he would have to reveal himself, but for now, remaining hidden seemed the most prudent course.

At that moment, the butler returned from his walk, looking somewhat more animated, though he still showed signs of exhaustion.

" Milord, I believe I've recovered enough to continue the journey, " he said with a weak smile.

Marcus glanced at him. Though it was evident that Simon was in better spirits, his valet still exuded an air of fatigue. However, his determination to press on was undeniable.

" Aren't you going to eat something? " Gregor offered, gesturing toward the basket.

" No, sir, " Simon replied with a faint smile. " I'd prefer to let my stomach rest a bit longer. It's been through enough. "

Gregor didn't insist. He stood, packed up the remnants of the snack, and carefully placed them back in the wicker basket.

" Let's go, then, " Aife declared briskly.

The marquess and the butler returned to the carriage. The latter settled into his seat, letting out a sigh of relief. Gregor, meanwhile, secured the basket in his leather satchel, mounted his horse, and signaled the driver to set off.

The carriage began moving again, leaving behind the peaceful clearing where they had rested. The journey continued, but the marquess's thoughts remained fixated on one thing: the child.

The possibility that the child might be his was growing stronger in his mind. If Grace had given birth to his child and hidden it all these years, questions swirled endlessly. Why hadn't she told him? What would he do if the child really was his?

Outside, the landscape slowly unfolded, but Westlin barely noticed it. The trees passed by like green and brown shadows as the carriage moved along the rural roads.

" Milord, don't worry, " Holloway said, attempting to break the silence. " Soon I'll be the servant you need. I'm feeling much better. "

The marquess nodded mechanically, paying little attention to his words. His mind was elsewhere, caught up in the mystery that had been revealed with the mention of the child. He knew he wouldn't have answers until he reached Strathmore, but with every mile they traveled, he grew closer to a truth that, though he feared, he knew he could not avoid facing.