“Try to what?” Sebastian asked, mystified. As he stared into her infuriated face, and saw the hurt in her eyes, he asked slowly, “Lillian, are you saying you want to be friends with me?”
“Yes, you self-absorbed, dull-witted lobcock!” Lillian jumped to her feet, obliging the men to stand as well. “No, don’t get up,” she said. “I’m going for a walk. The three of you can finish the discussion without me. Apparently that’s how you prefer it.”
She strode from the room, and Westcliff began to follow.
“Wait,” Sebastian said to him urgently. “This is my fault. Let me make peace with her. Please.”
Westcliff swore quietly and relented. “If you upset her any more than she already is—”
“I won’t. Trust me.”
At his friend’s reluctant nod, Sebastian left the morning room and saw Lillian heading toward the back entrance of the house. “Lillian. Wait.” He caught up to her swiftly. She turned away from him, folded her arms, and went to a bank of windows overlooking a small garden.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “I was an ass. You deserve far better than that from me.”
She didn’t look at him. “Apology accepted,” she muttered.
“I’m not finished yet. I should have given Westcliff leave to say something to you. Selfish bastard that I am, it didn’t occur to me that I was putting him in a damned difficult position by asking him to keep a secret from his wife. I beg your forgiveness for that. You’re entirely worthy of my trust, and I wouldn’t have minded at all if he’d told you.”
Lillian’s shoulders relaxed, and she turned to give him a wry glance. “Marcus would never break a confidence,” she said. “He always tells the truth and keeps his word. You have no idea how trying it is.”
Sebastian’s lips twitched. “I might. I have my own issues with Evie. She insists on being kind and trying to see the good in everyone, every damn day. I’ve had to live with it for decades.”
He was gratified to hear Lillian’s reluctant snort of amusement. In a moment, he went to stand beside her at the window. Together they contemplated a bed of purple heliotrope and cascades of pink ivy geranium on lax stems that trailed over the border edging.
After an awkward but not unfriendly silence, Lillian ventured, “It must have been a nightmare to learn you had a grown child you were never told about. It could have just as easily happened to Marcus, you know.”
“Hard to imagine.”
“Not really. No matter how careful one is, there’s always a risk. As the mother of six children, I ought to know.”
Sebastian sent her a bleak glance. “I always knew I’d have to pay for my sins in some future cosmic reckoning. But in my arrogance, it didn’t occur to me that a man never bears the cost of his sins alone. The people around him—especially those who love him—have to pay as well. That’s the worst part of it.”
It was the most vulnerable he’d ever allowed himself to be with her.
When Lillian replied, her voice was uncommonly gentle. “Don’t be unduly hard on yourself. Ever since you married Evie, you’ve tried to be the man she deserves. In fact, you’ve inhabited the role of a good man for so long, I think you may be growing into it. We become our choices, eventually.”
Sebastian regarded her with a touch of surprise. “Throughout this entire godforsaken mess, Lillian … that’s possibly the most comforting thing anyone has said to me.”
She looked smug. “You see? You should have told me at the beginning.”
His lips twitched, and his gaze returned to the window. “I’m sure I’ll regret asking this,” he said, “but was Keir in Merritt’s room when you found her?”
“Yes,” Lillian replied dourly.
“Were they—”
“Yes.”
Sebastian winced. “That must have been a shock.”
“I wasn’t shocked by what they were doing so much as I was by Merritt’s recklessness. Taking a man into her bed in broad daylight? It’s not at all like her. She’s behaving as if scandal can’t touch her, and she knows better than that.”
“So does Keir. But they’re both moonstruck. You remember how it is in the beginning.”
She grimaced. “Yes, a state of derangement with chapped lips.” Folding her arms across her chest, she heaved a sigh. “Tell me about this young man. Is he a silk purse or a sow’s ear?”
“He’s pure gold. A big, fearless lad … engaging and quick-witted. Admittedly, the manners are a bit rustic, and I can’t speak as to hygiene: so far, grooming him has been a collective effort. But all in all, a fine young man.”
“And how is he with Merritt?”
Sebastian hesitated before replying. “No one outside a relationship can ever know its inner workings. But from what I’ve seen, it has the makings of something durable. They talk easily. They pull together in adversity. Many marriages have started with far less, including mine.”
Lillian nodded, seeming deep in thought. “Is marriage on the table? Would he be willing to do the right thing by her?”
“He’d cut off a limb if she asked him to.”
“Good. She’ll need the protection of his name. Or someone’s name. Merritt has flouted convention one too many times since she became a widow. Rumors of this affair will be the final drop that makes the cup runneth over. As we all know, there’s nothing society loves more than tearing down a respectable woman who’s broken the rules.” She hesitated. “I’m afraid for her sake.”
In all the years of their acquaintance, Sebastian never heard Lillian admit to being afraid of anything.
“Nothing will harm Merritt,” he said. “A score of eligible men would offer for her tomorrow if she’d have them. But I think she wants this one.”
Lillian shook her head distractedly. “My God, Sebastian. She chose her first husband with such exacting care, and now it seems likely she’ll end up with a man she hardly knows and has nothing in common with.”
“Common interests can be acquired,” he pointed out. “What matters most is having similar values.”
“Oh? What values do you and Evie have in common?” But the question sounded teasing rather than mocking.
Sebastian thought for a moment. “She and I have both always wanted me to be happy.” As Lillian laughed heartily, he offered an arm to her. “Shall we rejoin the others?”
“No, I’m going to walk out to the cove and do some thinking. You may tell the other two I’ve regained my sweet temper and am no longer breathing fire. And don’t fret over things you can’t change. ‘Life must be lived forwardly.’ That’s from a philosopher Marcus has taken to quoting lately, I can never remember the name.’”
“Kierkegaard,” Sebastian said. “Life can be understood only by looking back, but has to be lived forwardly.”
“Yes, that’s it.”
“I’ll keep it in mind.”
Impulsively Lillian gave him her hand, and he held it in a brief, warm clasp.
“Pax, old friend?” Sebastian asked gently.
Her lips quirked. “After thirty years, we may as well give it a try.”
Chapter 30
KEIR SAT NEXT TO the firepit at the sandy cove, watching shore birds feed. Dunlin, plovers, and stints ran delicately across the wet sand to peck and probe for mollusks. They whistled plaintively and kept a wary eye on a gull digging for a buried shellfish.
Before long, he thought wryly, he would be driven to forage for mussels right alongside them. He was hollow with hunger. All he’d had so far that day was the cup of tea Culpepper had brought before shaving him.
The valet had told him that Lord and Lady Westcliff were breakfasting with the duke and duchess. Assuming Keir would join them, Culpepper had brought an elegant morning coat and vest, and trousers made of striped gray wool for him to wear. Keir had assured him emphatically that he had no intention of going down for breakfast. He was heading to the cove, and would need casual clothes and canvas shoes. Although the old valet obviously hadn’t liked that idea, he’d broug
ht a new set of garments after the shave.
Keir felt like a coward, slinking out of the house rather than face the Westcliffs, but he had no intention of meeting them and the duchess all at once.
“Perhaps you should lie low,” Merritt had suggested to Keir, “while I go downstairs and assess the situation.”
Keir had thought that was a good plan, in light of the fact that Merritt’s mother had just caught them in bed together. He’d told Merritt he would probably walk out to the cove, as the weather was mild and no one else would be out there.
If only he weren’t so hungry.
Sighing, he poked at a birch log. It sank heavily into a blaze of collapsing kindling, pluming the air with smoke and sparks. Through a dance of light-flecks, he saw a figure emerging from the holloway.
It was a woman wearing a black cloak. She stopped at the sight of him, seeming disconcerted to find someone else at the cove.
Keir rose to his feet, reaching up awkwardly to remove his hat before remembering he wasn’t wearing one.
The woman crossed the beach toward him with an easy, energetic stride. As she approached, he saw she was beautiful, with heavy dark hair, an oval face, and merry brown eyes. She was an elongated, less bosomy version of Merritt, as if someone had carefully stretched her about five inches north and south.
Lady Westcliff, he thought, and a blaze of embarrassment raced over him.
“Is that a signal fire?” she called out in breezy manner, her accent distinctly American. “Are you in need of a rescue?” She had Merritt’s smile, the one that started with a little crinkle of her nose and made her eyes tip-tilted.
Keir’s trepidation began to fade. “Aye,” he said, “but I’m no’ sure what from yet.”
She was about to reply, but she stopped in her tracks with startling abruptness, her astonished gaze sweeping down to his feet and back up again. “Flaming fuckbustles,” she exclaimed under her breath.
Keir looked at her blankly, having never heard such language coming from a woman.
Lady Westcliff snapped her mouth shut. “I’m so sorry. It’s just that you look like—”
“I know,” he said with a touch of chagrin.
“So much like him,” she said, still disconcerted, “particularly as he was in a less-than-charming period before he married Evie.” She frowned. “But that has nothing to do with you, of course.”
Keir nodded, unsure how to reply.
The conversation collapsed like a pricked balloon. They both stood there pondering how to breathe life into it.
“Milady … did you want to speak with me?” Keir asked.
“Actually, I came out here to do some thinking. I didn’t expect to find anyone at the beach.”
“I’ll leave,” he offered. “I’ll stoke up the fire for you and—”
“No, please stay.” She paused. “What are you doing out here?”
“Hiding.”
That amused her. “Not from me, I hope.”
Her laugh sounded so much like Merritt’s that he felt his heart lean toward her like a garden seeking the sun. “You’re no’ the only one I was trying to avoid.”
“I’m avoiding them too.”
“Would you like to sit by the fire with me?”
“I would,” she said. “Let’s pretend we’ve done all the small talk, and go straight to a real conversation.”
“NOT LONG AGO, you made up your mind never to marry again,” Merritt’s father reminded her as they walked along the holloway to the cove. They had talked for at least an hour after breakfast, just the two of them, lingering over tea in the morning room. It was always a relief to unburden herself to Papa, who was pragmatic and sympathetic, and had an uncanny ability to quickly grasp the details and implications of a problem.
Now Merritt had set out to find Keir, carrying a small lidded basket with a few tidbits from the sideboard. Her father had asked to accompany her, suspecting his wife had encountered Keir at the cove.
“That’s true,” Merritt admitted. “I couldn’t fathom why I’d want to take a husband after Joshua. There was no reason. But then I met this man, and … he was a shock to the system. No one’s ever had this effect on me before. I feel ten times more alive.” She laughed self-consciously. “Does that sound silly?”
“Not at all. I understand. Your mother had the same effect on me.”
“Did she?”
The earl let out a gravelly chuckle as he thought back to those days. “She was a fearless, free-spirited beauty with all the self-restraint of an unbroken horse. I knew she wasn’t suited to the only life I could offer her. But I was mesmerized by her. I loved her enthusiasm and warmth, and everything that made her different from me. I thought if we were both willing to take a chance on each other, we might have a good marriage. It’s turned out to be an extraordinary one.”
“No regrets, then?” Merritt dared to ask. “Even in the privacy of your own thoughts?”
“Never,” he said promptly. “Without Lillian, I would never have known true happiness. I don’t hold with the common wisdom that a couple must have the same tastes and backgrounds. Married life would be dull indeed without some friction: one can’t light a match without it.”
Merritt smiled. “I adore you, Papa. You’ve made it nearly impossible for me to find a man who doesn’t suffer in comparison to you.”
They reached the cove, and saw her mother and Keir sitting on the beach next to a crackling fire. To her delight, they appeared to be talking companionably. As Keir went to pick up a split birch log and toss it onto the fire, flames leaped with new vigor and burnished him with light. He was a breathtaking sight, golden and godlike, his long-limbed form sensuously lean and powerful. He belonged in this natural setting of sun and salt water, the gilded layers of his hair ruffled by a sea breeze.
“Somehow,” her father said dryly, “I think that fellow will survive the comparison to me.” He paused before adding beneath his breath, “Good God. There’s no doubt as to his sire.”
Lillian remained seated on a wool beach blanket, grinning as they approached. “Hello, dears. My lord, this is Keir MacRae. We’ve been having the most delightful chat.”
“A pleasure, MacRae,” the earl said, with a precise bow, which Keir reciprocated. “It appears there’s something we need to discuss, in light of a rumor I’ve heard.”
“Sir?” Keir asked warily.
“Kingston mentioned you’re an angler.”
Keir relaxed visibly. “Aye, now and then I’ll take a brown trout from one of the lochs on Islay.”
“I occasionally try my luck at dry-fly casting on a Hampshire chalk stream.” The earl glanced at Merritt and smiled reminiscently. “My daughter has accompanied me a time or two. She has excellent aptitude but little interest.”
“I lose patience with the fish,” Merritt said. “They take too long to make up their minds. I prefer going shooting with you—it takes far less effort.”
“Are you a good shot?” Keir asked.
“I’m not bad,” she said modestly.
“She’s the best shot in the family,” Lillian said. “It drives her brothers mad.”
The earl went to his wife and lowered to his haunches until their faces were level. “My lady,” he said, his voice softening with a warm, tender note, “I came to ask if you’d be willing to listen to some groveling.”
“How much groveling?” Lillian asked, sounding interested.
“A one-man symphony. ‘Grovel in D minor.’”
Lillian chortled. She gave him her hands and let him pull her to her feet with him. “I’ll settle for a short overture,” she said. Rising on her toes, she kissed her husband impulsively.
Despite the impropriety of the gesture, the earl returned the kiss soundly. Keeping an arm around his wife, he said, “We’ll continue our discussion later, MacRae.”
“I look forward to that,” Keir replied.
As her parents walked away, Merritt went to sit on the blanket. The radiant heat of the fire
sent a pleasant shiver through her. “I hope my mother didn’t shock you,” she said as she watched her parents walk hand in hand to the holloway.
“She’s a charming woman,” Keir replied, sitting beside her. “I like her very well. She dinna shock me, although … she swears like a Scottish golfer.”
“Oh, dear. Are Scottish golfers really that profane?”
“Aye, the worst language you’ll ever hear is from a Scot in a sand bunker.”
“Is there golf on Islay?”
Keir nodded. “A neighbor by the name of Gordon Catach laid out a nine-hole course on his property.”
“Golf is a civilized sport,” Merritt said. Perhaps it was grasping at straws, but she was happy to learn about any kind of culture on Islay. “I find that encouraging.”
He laughed. “I dinna want to give you a false impression. The course is ruggit and patchy with muckle stones, and we usually have to clear the livestock off the fairway before we play.”
“It’s still nice to learn there’s a golf course.” She reached into the basket she’d brought and unearthed an enameled tin flask with a lid.
“What’s this?” Keir asked as she handed it to him.
“Tea with honey.” Merritt reached in again and withdrew a napkin-wrapped parcel. “And I thought you might want these.”
Unwrapping the napkin, Keir discovered a trio of sausage pasties, miniature pies with sausage filling. A brilliant smile crossed his face. “Merry …” He reached out, curved a hand around the back of her neck, and guided her head to his. He kissed her ardently, trapping her laugh between their lips.
After he had devoured the pasties and drained the flask of tea, he wrapped his arms around Merritt and coaxed her to lean back against him.
“Isn’t this uncomfortable for you?” she asked in concern.
“No’ if you stay still,” he said. “How my arms love the feel of you, lass.”
She smiled, her eyes heavy-lidded as she stared into the fire, the flames shivering and snapping at the breeze. One of his hands drifted over her gently, coming up to stroke the side of her throat and twine a stray lock of hair around his finger.
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