Graham kissed her in return, much less gently, a low groan rising within him.
“Perfect,” he murmured. “Come on.” He slid his hand into hers and entwined their fingers before heading for the door.
“I dinna have a riding habit, Graham,” she pointed out, sounding hesitant even if her steps were not.
Laughing, he glanced at her. “I won’t tell if you don’t.”
As he’d hoped, Edith laughed in return and squeezed his hand. “Then I willna say a word.”
They hurried out to the stables, and horses were quickly prepared for them.
As it happened, Edith was more than accomplished as a rider, and the exhilaration on her face from almost the moment they began was worth more than the entire house party. They galloped almost recklessly at first, raced for a bit, then let the horses walk while they engaged in free and relaxed conversation with each other. It was so easy to talk with Edith and even easier to listen to her. The sound of her voice was soothing, but it was more than that.
It was so much more.
She spoke of her home in Scotland, her older brother and younger sister, and the sort of life they’d had as children of an earl without much to recommend him. He spoke of his brother, of their rambunctious youth, and of the sort of marriage Matthew had found. She told him about her grandmother, by all accounts the only member of her family to always treat her well. He told her of the life he had imagined for himself before he’d inherited.
“But I suppose there is no use in remembering that life,” he admitted, nudging his horse closer to her. “I have the title, I have Merrifield, and I have Molly. Responsibilities all, though Molly is easily the best and brightest of them.”
Edith beamed at him, her dark hair having tumbled from its style on the ride and now hanging in waves around her shoulders and down her back. “I can easily see that. She is the loveliest lass. I’m quite fond of her, Graham.”
He smiled softly. “And she is of you. She asks me every morning when you are coming.”
“You see her every morning even with the house party?” she asked with a smile.
He nodded. “We have breakfast together. I cannot attend her all the time, and she knows this, but I was in London so long, I want to make up for it.” His smile turned sheepish, and he shrugged. “And she seems to enjoy eating with me.”
“Yes, I can imagine she would.” Edith considered him with a tilt of her head, her lips curving into a fond smile. “You are a fine father figure, hero.”
He snorted and gave her a look. “Passable, at best. And don’t call me that, Lady Edith Leveson.”
“Don’t call me a Leveson,” she retorted, shuddering a bit. “ ’Tis the only thing I share with the weasel, and I detest it now.”
Now that was something he could understand.
He shook his head, staring at this miraculous, impetuous woman he had come to know, wondering how in the world she had come to this.
“How did the weasel obtain such power over you?”
Edith looked at him with wide eyes as she rode, clearly stunned. “You don’t know? I’d have thought the others would have said something afore this.”
“I know a little,” he admitted, patting the horse’s neck as the animal nickered beneath him. “I know he is the cousin of your late husband, and I know what he wants of you, but beyond that…”
Edith looked away, staring off at the grove of trees in the distance.
Graham winced and reached out to take her hand. “Forgive me. I didn’t mean to sadden you. It must be very hard at times, and if you still miss your husband…”
“On the contrary,” Edith informed him with a smirk, returning her attention to him, “I have not missed my husband from the moment he was taken from me. Does that shock you?”
He shook his head. “Not as much as it should. I had heard, of course, of Sir Archibald and his ways, but I wasn’t at all sure what…” His cheeks flamed in sudden embarrassment. “That is… if your relationship was…”
Edith took pity on him and exhaled shortly. “I was bartered to Sir Archibald, and I do not say that lightly. He received a titled bride in exchange for a moderate fortune, less than he’d have liked, that was very shortly spent upon nothing of particular value.” She managed a weak smile, though Graham could see real pain behind the façade. “The rumor goes that I was married for about five minutes, but in truth, it was really about the space of an hour. Perhaps two, at most.”
Graham pulled his horse to a stop, barely able to blink at what she had said. “You’re joking.”
She shook her head, her smile fading as she stopped as well. “Not at all. We were married long enough for him to do his marital duty, no breakfast or luncheon after the vows, and then he died in a horse-riding accident directly after he left our marriage bed.”
He hissed a wince. “That’s terrible.”
“Oh, no, it was quite a relief,” she assured him without much emotion. “It was the most horrifying, painful, terrifying hour of my entire life, and then, suddenly, I was freed from it all. His will had not been amended to include provisions for me, which my father should have overseen, but…”
“I meant the manner of his death,” Graham interrupted with a short laugh, “and that he died so quickly following the wedding.”
Edith flushed and laughed, tucking a dark curl behind her ear. “Oh. Oh, that.” Her brow furrowed briefly with thought, then cleared. “Yes, I suppose it was. It probably didn’t help that he was so drunk he couldn’t remember my name.”
“He was what?”
“Drunk,” she said again, her eyes somewhere on his horse’s mane. “Completely and fully soused. Could barely make his vows intelligible. He drank his way back to his house after the wedding, drank his way through his duty, and called me four different names throughout, none of which were mine. Then he called me a fifth name as he stumbled out of the bedchamber, yet another bottle in hand.”
Graham couldn’t believe what he was hearing. Was disgusted by what he was hearing. Would have probably killed Sir Archibald himself, if the blackguard were alive today.
But he never would have met Edith if he were alive today.
There was no telling where she would be or what her life would look like. Graham’s life would have proceeded along as it had done with all the same tragedies, responsibilities, and tasks. Everything would have been the same up until one night at the Martins’ ball during a particular waltz.
He wouldn’t have danced it.
He wouldn’t be out riding with her now.
Wouldn’t have…
“I didna even like Archie,” Edith murmured aloud, seeming somehow unaware she was doing so. “I loathed him and feared him, and I didna understand why Da would drag me down the aisle to wed him. Why Ma didn’t come. Why Lachlan had done this. But the thing that fully cracked my heart in two was that my husband couldna remember my name on the day he made his vows.”
Graham would have sworn his own heart cracked, hearing her admission. How could any man alive, having simply seen Edith, treat her that way? How could a man having met Edith not remember her name?
What sort of hell would Sir Archibald Leveson be damned to endure for eternity? Surely, there was no pit of fire and brimstone deep enough or hot enough to adequately house such a man. That such a creature still left such a wound upon the heart of this woman.
Graham could scarcely breathe.
“Edith…” he eventually managed.
She raised her emerald eyes to him, uncertainty and vulnerability written in them.
“I could be five sheets to the wind, absolutely insensible with drink, and I can assure you, I would never forget your name.”
Her eyes widened, and she swallowed before wetting her lips. “Even if we had only been wed for five minutes?”
Graham reached out and brushed his fingers along the curve of her cheek, shaking his head in disbelief. “Even if you had been my wife for all of five seconds, I could never have forgotten your n
ame. I would be acutely, exquisitely, painfully aware of it.”
He heard her breath catch and leaned in, kissing her full lips slowly, savoring the taste and feel of them. She cupped his jaw and molded her mouth more perfectly to his, wringing out any sense he possessed with an ardency that undid him.
One of their horses nickered again, and they were forced to part to steady them.
Graham glanced at Edith and found her watching him, rosy-cheeked and smiling, almost on the verge of laughter.
“What?” he demanded, near to laughing himself.
“Have you ever been five sheets to the wind, Graham?” she asked, her smile widening with the glory of a thousand suns.
He sniffed with mock effrontery and nudged the sides of his horse, sending him into a trot. “I’m not going to dignify that accusation with an answer,” he called back to her.
The pounding of horse’s hooves brought his head around. Edith thundered up, her smile now challenging, but no less attractive. “If I beat ye back to Merrifield, ye’re honor bound to answer the question, my lord!”
“You know better than to call me that, Edith,” he scolded, pushing his horse further to catch her.
“If ye beat me, my lord,” she said with stronger emphasis, “then, and only then, can ye make demands. Tuig?” She quirked her brows and urged her horse on, the animal gracefully and skillfully obeying as though they had ridden together for years.
Graham threw his head back and laughed, then did his utmost to match her, the thrill of her challenge coursing through his veins. Win or lose, this was one competitor he was well motivated to take on, though he was not entirely certain if he wished to win or wished to lose.
Both could have rather pleasant advantages.
Edith, however, proved victorious, leaving Graham with no alternative but to relate to her the one and only time he had gotten intoxicated beyond reason. She had assured him, after her laughter had subsided, that his story would pass for an average evening for a Highlander.
Whether that was designed to make him feel better or worse, he could not say.
Once they returned to Merrifield, they were forced to part, he to change and resume his hosting duties, and she to being one of his guests. When the party left to go for a shoot, most of the ladies with the gentlemen, Edith was not among them.
This time, Graham had no difficulty finding her.
He went up to the nursery, where Edith and Molly were lounging together on a chaise while Edith read fairytales. Molly had snuggled up against her and fallen asleep, completely at ease.
“And the princess wondered…” Edith read, softening her voice before stopping, glancing down at the sleeping girl with a tender smile.
Molly’s breathing shifted with the silence, and she stirred.
“The princess wondered,” Edith continued, “how to do as the fairy had said.”
Graham entered the nursery, his eyes sliding from Molly to Edith and back again as he moved to stand in front of their chaise.
Edith continued to read, leaning her head against Molly’s, and looked up at Graham, smiling.
He swallowed with some difficulty, moved beyond description to see her like this with his ward, and the warmth in Edith’s eyes brought on a fire within him.
Edith must have felt it too, for she dropped her eyes back to the page, her cheeks coloring.
Slowly, Graham stepped closer, then began to move around the chaise, his fingers trailing along the arm of it and barely brushing against Edith’s arm as he came to her side.
She lifted her head from Molly’s but did not look at him, continuing to read, though her voice was not quite as steady.
Helpless to resist, Graham bent to cup Edith’s chin, turning her face to his. She kept her eyes lowered for a moment, then dragged them up to his, the rich darkness in the green depths robbing him of breath. There was so much tenderness in her look, so much emotion, so much that he felt unable and unworthy to express.
Edith’s lips quirked in a bare smile, and he bent to kiss her. She kissed him slowly, maddening in the softness and stirring in the certainty.
He let his fingers stroke the underside of her jaw absently, the texture of her skin almost addicting to the touch. She sighed against him as he did so, encouraging him to repeat the motion with more pointed attention.
It was not a long or particularly passionate kiss, but there was something deep and intimate to it. Something that terrified Graham, yet cried within him as perfection.
A terrifying, beautiful perfection.
When he broke the kiss, he cupped Edith’s cheek, and he smiled at her softly.
She gave him a dreamy smile in return, and he knew for certain that he would do a great many impossible things to receive that smile again.
Chapter Eighteen
Confessions may give the heart wings and free the soul.
-The Spinster Chronicles, 6 July 1818
“Of all days for it to rain, it had to be a day when I wished to walk. It is always the way.”
Edith glanced up from her drawing to smile at Eloise, sitting as she was in the parlor and looking forlornly out of the window. “We walked yesterday, Eloise.”
That earned her a scowl. “Yes, and it was so lovely, I wished to do it again. That is all.”
“I can walk with you, Aunt Ellie!” Molly exclaimed, beaming up from her own attempt at a sketch, having seen Edith drawing a time or two over the last few days. “We can walk inside and pretend it’s outside!”
Eloise smiled at the girl. “A perfectly capital idea, sweetheart. When you have finished your picture, we may do so. How is it coming?”
Molly frowned down at it. “It doesn’t look like anything. I’ll never be able to draw like Edith.”
“It takes many years of practice, nighean milis,” Edith assured her. “With patience, if ye work at it, ye’ll be far, far better than me.”
Molly looked at Edith’s drawing, her eyes wide, then looked back up at her. “Really?”
Edith leaned forward and playfully touched her forehead to Molly’s. “Aye. Really.”
That made Molly snicker, which made Edith giggle, and even Eloise, watching on, laughed at the pair of them.
A gong sounded from somewhere in the house, and Edith sighed at hearing it, glancing at Eloise.
“Already?”
The older woman wrinkled her nose up with a reluctant but understanding smile. “We are all formality tonight. Gray has been overseeing details all day, which is likely why you haven’t seen him.”
Edith blushed and shifted her eyes to the window, heart leaping to her throat. How could Eloise know that they had been seeing each other during this house party? That Edith had been wondering why Graham had not sought her out, or sent her a note, or any of the other sweet and surprising signs of affection he had made use of over the last several days? She hadn’t felt hurt, only curious. After all, tonight was a ball, and she was assured of at least one dance with him.
But more than anything, she anticipated the look on his face when he saw the gown she would wear tonight. Janet had brought it to her yesterday, and it fit Edith to perfection.
She’d already discussed ideas for her hair with the maid Eloise had set her with, and, apart from generally disliking grand affairs like balls, she found herself eager for the night’s activities.
But not yet.
“You have to go now?” Molly whined, somehow pouting without actually doing so.
Eloise rose, her complexion pale, but her smile warm. “Come along, pet. We’ll take that fine walk of ours, and tomorrow, Edith will come and tell you all about the ball, eh?”
Molly nodded and curtseyed to Edith. “Good night, mo charaid,” she said softly, fumbling over the pronunciation of the word Edith had taught her only yesterday.
Tears sprung to Edith’s eyes, and she gave Molly a quick hug before hurrying out of the parlor.
If nothing else good came from this stay at Merrifield, the friendship she had found in that
precocious girl would be worth it all.
“Edith, there you are!”
Whirling in surprise, Edith’s jaw dropped at the owner of the voice. “Charlotte? When did you get here?”
Charlotte beamed and hurried to her, kissing both cheeks and taking her hand. “Just arrived. I may have missed the rest of the party, but why should I miss a ball at Merrifield?”
“But in the middle of the Season?” Edith demanded, smiling in return as Georgie, Grace, Izzy, and Amelia soon joined them. “How could you get away from your admirers?”
“Oh, they bore me, simply bore me!” Charlotte waved a hand and scoffed, then took Edith’s hands in her own. “Besides, when I had the letters from the girls regarding your remarkable absence from certain moments of this party, and a certain increase in warmth from the host, I had no course but to come here and root the secrets out of you.”
Edith’s eyes widened, and she swallowed hard. “The what?”
“Letters,” Georgie repeated, smiling with a quirk of her brows, “that we wrote.”
“Kindly,” Izzy added for emphasis.
“Because you’ve disappeared more often than you’ve appeared,” Grace insisted brightly. “We can almost never find you.”
Had she really been so absent? She’d not known anyone was looking for her at any given time, apart from Graham, and had presumed she hadn’t been particularly missed.
They’d noticed she was gone?
Did they suspect…?
Edith swallowed again and looked at Amelia with wide eyes. “Oh, Amelia… I am so sorry; I have completely abandoned you, haven’t I? This was meant to be an escape for us both, and I’ve only been thinking of myself.”
Amelia snorted and waved it off. “I don’t care about that, I have been well enough off with this lot and trying to find information about Edmund. Although now, I demand to know where you have been, what you have been up to, and what the devil Lord Radcliffe has to do with it.”
She folded her arms and raised a brow in query.
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