XX

Nearly three hours after their last stop, the carriage came to a gentle halt, and Marcus, sitting in the dim interior, sensed that they had arrived. Without rushing, he pulled back the curtain and confirmed his suspicions: the small, quiet village of Kinross stretched out before him, bathed in the waning light of the sun. The journey had gone according to plan, and if all continued as expected, they would reach Strathmore by the following day, where the long-anticipated reunion would finally take place.

He glanced at Holloway, who rested beside him, oblivious to everything. The young man had spent the entire journey in a deep sleep, something Marcus had deliberately refrained from interrupting. He knew that Simon needed to recover his strength after the torturous sea voyage, but now the final jostling of the carriage had roused him from his dreams.

" Have we arrived? " Simon asked groggily, his eyes still heavy with sleep.

" Yes, " the marquess replied, his voice graver than usual, as he waited for the coachman to open the door.

" What a short journey! " Simon exclaimed, stretching his arms extravagantly as if the long ride had been nothing more than a brief stroll.

Marcus, however, barely heard him. His mind was tangled in the web of thoughts that had accompanied him throughout the trip. Gregor Aife's words echoed repeatedly in his head. The widow of Westlin… a child. How could he piece together the life Grace had led after all these years? The Scotsman's revelation, though strange, amused him somewhat. If Grace considered herself his widow, it implied that perhaps no other man had been in her life—or at least, that's what he wanted to believe.

" Milord. " The voice of the coachman broke through his thoughts as he opened the carriage door. " Mr. Aife is speaking with the innkeeper. "

" Good, " Marcus responded, stepping out of the carriage with a determined stride.

Before he could fully move, Holloway quickly jumped out ahead, extending a hand with a beaming smile.

" Your Excellency, allow me to help you down. After so many hours in the carriage, your legs must be numb. "

Marcus suppressed a growl. His legs would be numb if Holloway hadn't taken up so much space... Shaking his head, he disembarked without accepting the help, though the butler remained at his side, ever attentive to any potential need.

The inn before them seemed like something from another time. The weathered stone blocks that made up its structure bore the marks of many harsh winters. Above the entrance, ancient family crests hung in view of travelers, a reminder of feudal times. The small, barred windows barely allowed a glimpse of the interior, giving the place an air more of a fortress than a refuge. The whole structure gave Marcus a sense of solidity and rusticity that fit perfectly with the ruggedness of the region.

Inside, Marcus saw Gregor engaged in a lively conversation with the innkeeper in Scottish Gaelic. Although Marcus didn't understand most of the conversation, he caught enough to know that the man had secured three rooms. Yet a doubt crossed his mind: three rooms for four people?

The Scotsman approached, his usual serious and resolute expression in place.

" Lord Westlin, " Gregor said, with a hint of sarcasm, recalling how the young woman had mentioned that Marcus was supposedly dead. " The innkeeper has informed me that he only has three rooms available: one double and two singles. I thought it would be most practical for you to share the double with your butler, given that he is meant to attend to you. "

Marcus pressed his lips together, about to protest, but before he could refuse, Simon intervened eagerly.

" Magnificent choice, sir! " he exclaimed with his ever-present smile. " This way, I can assist you and make up for lost time. "

Marcus closed his eyes for a moment, trying to suppress his irritation. A shared room... Of course, it wouldn't be the first time, but Simon's boundless energy wasn't something he considered comforting in such close quarters.

" If we're all agreed, follow me, " Aife instructed, taking charge like a leader as he headed toward the stairs, as if leading a small troop.

The room, though simple, had a cozy feel. The fire in the hearth crackled softly, filling the space with warmth. For Marcus, this was the perfect moment to retreat into his thoughts, away from the noise of his companions. He sat by the fire, taking a glass of brandy from a nearby table. Grace—her image, her laughter, and now the mystery of the child—completely consumed his mind.

However, his butler seemed entirely incapable of recognizing his master's need for silence. As soon as Simon entered the room, he began vigorously shaking the sheets, as if afraid they were infested with bedbugs. Then he moved to the fireplace, preparing water for Marcus's wash, bustling around with an energy that was the exact opposite of the calm Marcus craved.

" What are you doing? " Westlin asked, frowning but not taking his eyes off the fire.

" Milord, just making sure everything is in order. We can't allow you to rest on unfit sheets, " Simon replied with comic seriousness, continuing his task.

Before Marcus could respond, there was a knock at the door. Simon, always attentive, hurried to open it. It was the coachman, bringing up the small trunk Marcus had requested.

Quickly and efficiently, Holloway began organizing his master's grooming supplies—laying out the towel, soap, razor, and lotion, everything meticulously arranged. When he finished, he turned with a look of satisfaction.

" Everything is ready, milord. Whenever you're ready, I can prepare you for a proper rest. "

Marcus ran a hand over his beard, which had grown longer than usual. While a shave might be a good idea, he wasn't sure about letting Simon, in his state of over-enthusiastic cheer, wield a razor near his throat.

" Let's leave it for tomorrow, Holloway, " he decided, glancing back at the decanter of brandy.

" As you wish, milord, " Simon replied, somewhat disappointed, before retreating behind a screen to undress.

Marcus sipped his drink, trying to refocus his thoughts on the day ahead. Tomorrow, they would arrive in Strathmore, and the long-awaited confrontation with Grace—and the child—was imminent.

When Simon reappeared, wearing a long nightshirt and with his usual carefree smile, Marcus raised his glass just in time to witness the scene. The drink he had been savoring shot out of his mouth, straight into the fire, causing a brief spark in the fireplace.

" What on earth are you thinking? " he asked, unable to hide his surprise.

" Milord, I just want to get a good night's sleep so I can serve you properly tomorrow, " the young man replied, settling under the sheets with satisfaction.

Marcus shook his head in resignation. "Do as you please," he thought, though he didn't say it out loud. Instead, he sank back into his thoughts. How could he approach Grace without being recognized? He knew his identity wouldn't remain hidden for long if he showed himself directly, and he feared that an abrupt encounter might ruin any chance of redemption.

" How in the world do I hide? How will I manage to go unnoticed? " he muttered to himself.

" Milord, can I help? " Holloway's voice pulled him from his brooding.

" Go to sleep, boy, " Westlin ordered curtly, trying to rid himself of the interruption.

" Truly, if you tell me what's bothering you, I'm sure I can find a solution. My mother always said I was quite clever, and I think she was right, " he responded with unexpected seriousness.

Marcus looked at him, surprised.

" Do you know why we're going to Strathmore? " he asked, not taking his eyes off the young man.

" Of course, milord. You're going in search of the love of your life. My uncle told me she ran away and that you were heartbroken, " Simon replied without hesitation.

Westlin frowned, astonished.

" What else do you know? " he pressed, wanting to gauge how much his servant understood.

" That you want to win her back, but something from the past is holding you back. I suppose Mr. Walter gave you the information you needed to muster the courage to come find her, " the young man added, as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

" And...? " Marcus urged, growing a bit impatient.

" And you don't know how to approach her without being recognized. But that's not a problem. I have a possible solution, " Simon declared, still smiling.

" What is it? " the marquess asked, now more curious than skeptical.

" Have you ever thought about disguising yourself? "

Marcus stared at him, perplexed.

" Disguise myself? "

" Yes, not like dressing as a woman. That wouldn't suit you at all, " he said with a broad grin. " But I think a simple mask could hide enough so no one recognizes you. Maybe just covering part of your face would be more than enough, " Simon explained, clearly convinced of his plan.

" A metal mask? " Westlin asked, increasingly intrigued.

" No, that would be awful and terrifying. I'm thinking of something like a black lace mask, " Simon said, full of enthusiasm.

" Can you get something like that? " the marquess asked, surprised by how absurd yet effective the idea sounded.

" Absolutely! " Simon exclaimed, leaping out of bed with newfound energy. " You focus on resting, and I'll take care of everything. I promise it'll be ready by tomorrow. "

For the next hour, Marcus watched in silence as Holloway bustled about, gathering materials for his little masterpiece. With the innkeeper's wife's help, Simon had sewn several black lace masks by the dim light of the candles. Westlin, though still bewildered by the idea, began to believe that this ridiculous disguise might just be the key to his reunion with Grace. Now, he just had to figure out how to act when he finally faced her.