XXI

The day was moving along under a warm sun that illuminated every corner of the small village. In the parish where Grace taught her classes, tranquility filled the air. She had just finished that morning's lesson, and the children had already left, leaving the room in peaceful silence. The small parish room had space for fifteen desks, the exact number of children she taught. All of them were the children of the local villagers, who appreciated her and often gave her simple gifts like the one she held now.

Grace walked slowly between the desks, checking each one. She knew her students had a habit of forgetting things, and she didn't want anyone using the excuse of having left their work behind the next day. Each desk was worn from use, but there was something almost comforting about those small wooden benches. Once she had finished her inspection, she returned to her table and picked up the bag of oranges one of the children had given her as a gift. As she tucked the bag under her arm, she reflected on how peaceful her life had become in this place.

Ever since she arrived as a young girl, she had known that in this corner of the world, she would find the peace she so desperately needed. She had spent years building a quiet life amid these green hills, surrounded by the simple folk who had welcomed her as one of their own. Grace took a deep breath as she made her way toward the exit. Outside, the midday sun bathed the landscape, and a soft breeze caressed her face. Spring in Scotland was a gift, and despite everything, she felt grateful.

As she crossed the door, she spotted her son, Robert, playing happily with other children in a small field near the parish. A smile spread across her face as she saw him so full of joy. At first, she had feared that the boy might not adapt to the village, but seeing him run and laugh with his friends eased any doubts she had.

" Robert, we need to go! " she called out, trying not to disrupt the play too much.

The boy turned toward her, his face lit up with a smile.

" I'll be right there! " he responded before diving back into his fun.

Grace nodded, somewhat reluctant to leave him, but she trusted that he knew the way home and would be back before the plates were set on the table. She started on the path back to her house, thinking of Lesly, who was surely already preparing lunch. She didn't like arriving late and making her wait.

Just as she was about to walk away, she noticed a figure approaching from the other side of the path. Her heart gave a small jolt. The parish priest, Mr. Hartwell. Immediately, her body tensed. Though he was a good man and had always been kind to her, the clear intentions he had shown of courting her made her deeply uncomfortable. She had no interest in marrying. Westlin had left an indelible mark on her heart.

She let out a long sigh as she thought of him. The hope of seeing him again had faded after the first five years. At first, when she discovered she was pregnant, fear had consumed her, and all she wanted was to stay hidden. But when Robert was born, everything changed. Her desire not to see Marcus again began to waver. The boy was so much like him that every little gesture reminded her of Westlin.

But he had never come looking for her. Grace knew the first thing he would do upon discovering her disappearance was to head to France, where her parents, the Counts of Hesse, had lived, but there had never been any word from him. It was as if the earth had swallowed him whole. Eventually, she concluded that the misunderstandings that had come between them were the reason he had forgotten her, and she accepted her fate. When she decided to return to Scotland with Robert in her arms, everyone asked what had happened to her. To avoid unnecessary speculation, she declared herself the widow of Lord Westlin. At first, she did so with fear, but over time, the idea of being the marquess's widow became so normal that even she began to believe it.

The priest's voice pulled her from her thoughts.

" Are you leaving already? " he asked in his cordial tone as he approached.

Grace looked at him and forced a smile.

" Good day, Mr. Hartwell. Yes, I've finished today's lessons. "

He observed her with a kind smile, though a flicker of frustration crossed his eyes.

" Please, stop calling me that. You know my first name, you're welcome to use it whenever you like. "

Grace lowered her gaze briefly, uncomfortable with his tone. She had no intention of doing what he asked.

" Did you have any trouble today? " he asked, trying to maintain a polite conversation, not dwelling on her silence.

" No, everything went smoothly today, " she replied, keeping it brief.

Hartwell took a step closer, reducing the distance between them.

" I'm glad to hear everything went well, but you know if you ever need anything, you can always come to me, " he said, with a look that hinted at a much deeper interest.

Noticing his approach, Grace tightened her grip on the bag of oranges against her chest and took a graceful step back.

" I'm sure it won't be necessary. Until tomorrow, Mr. Hartwell, " she said, inclining her head slightly and offering a polite smile to signal her departure.

Disappointment was clear on the priest's face.

" Until tomorrow, Lady Grace, " he replied, his voice tinged with sadness as he watched her walk away with a light step.

As she walked, Grace exhaled the breath she hadn't realized she was holding. It wasn't the first time she felt uncomfortable in his presence, and although he was a decent man, she couldn't imagine a life with anyone other than Marcus.

The path to her home was dusty, and as she walked, she observed the houses around her. Many of them had been renovated, and though they still retained a rustic, humble charm, they no longer showed the signs of poverty from years past. The wooden fences were well-maintained, with animals grazing peacefully inside. Grace had always seen those houses as a reflection of herself—renovated on the outside, presenting a solid facade, but still holding remnants of a past that would never fully disappear. For a moment, she felt like one of those houses—hidden behind a facade of stability, but still anchored to the past.

With a smile, she continued until she reached her home, a modest but cozy house. It was spacious enough for the three of them, and unlike many other homes, there were no holes in the roof. She reached out to move the metal gate that enclosed her garden, but the sound of commotion behind her stopped her in her tracks. Turning around, she saw that the Fraser house, just across from hers, had its windows and doors wide open. A group of workers bustled in and out, moving furniture and cleaning with energy. Grace frowned, curious about the activity.

She was about to cross the street to find out what was going on when the door of her house opened and Lesly appeared, her apron dusted with flour, wiping her hands as she squinted at the commotion.

Before Grace could ask, Lesly answered without preamble.

" I think the new tenant at the Frasers' will be arriving this afternoon. "

Grace looked at her with interest.

" Do you know who it is? "

" They say it's an older man who's come from England. Maybe a deserter or a criminal on the run, " the maid said, dismissing it casually.

Grace's heart raced at the mention of England. It wasn't an exact description, but anything related to that country put her on edge.

" Perhaps it's best we keep our distance until we know why he's decided to live here, " she suggested, trying to conceal her sudden unease.

Lesly nodded without much thought, paying little attention.

" I wasn't planning on welcoming him, don't worry. "

Grace glanced once more toward the Fraser house before stepping into her own. A strange feeling lingered in the air. She didn't know if it was good or bad, but something told her that the arrival of this man would change her life.