“Very different from the future you’d imagined, I suppose,” she said.
Peat smoke from the tenants’ hearths scented the breeze, not quite covered by the scent of fresh earth after last night’s rain. “God and the English king conspire against those who make plans of their own.” He laughed a little, shaking his head. “When I saw Woodrest the first time, I panicked. I thought I was doing well for myself, aye? I could support a wife with the land my parents left me. But my entire childhood home would fit inside one of the drawing rooms here.”
“I’m surprised you didn’t run away from it all.”
Frankly, so was he. Sometimes the urge still hit him to leave it all behind and go back to his quiet corner of Scotland. They let their horses pick their way across a small stream, navigating rocks and uneven ground. “I nearly did. Excused myself from the staff and the solicitor, then sat on the floor of the smallest closet I could find. I remember thinking there wasn’ enough air tae breathe while I waited for my heart tae beat out of my chest.”
“How old were you?”
“Young. Twenty-two. Sitting in a scullery closet, panicking like a child.” They were cresting a small hill, with the fields spread out before them, and pride shot through him. The estate’s success was evidenced by harvested land and well-maintained buildings. A tenant cottage stood to their right, tidy and charming, with a small kitchen garden off the side farthest from the west wind, and a heavy wood door worn smooth from decades of hands coming home. He shot her a glance and was gratified to see Lottie taking it all in.
“I might have panicked too. Where were your parents in all this? How did you not know you might inherit?”
That was a question he’d often wondered himself. In the beginning, he’d struggled with resentment that Da hadn’t prepared him for the possibility. No one could have foreseen an entire line of men dying off, though. Or maybe Da would have mentioned it when Ethan was older. “We were the black sheep branch and had been for a few generations. No one cared that we were there, and some English title wasn’ important tae us in the village. Mum and Da had passed on by the time I inherited.”
“So what you’re saying is that underneath the wild young buck in London, you had a lot of adjustments to make,” she said.
The reminder sat heavy. His past actions would always be between them, no matter how close they became. “Aye. I didn’ always handle it well.”
“About that. I have a question. It’s personal. And none of my business,” Lottie said.
Ethan raised a brow, waiting. “I thought anything personal was open for conversation by now.”
It didn’t take long for her to sigh and say, “Well, it’s like this. The brewery you’re building—aren’t you worried about it?”
“Worried? Did you notice something on the worksite?” He’d thought everything was in order, and Mr. Macdonell had agreed. Had they missed something?
Lottie looked uncomfortable but, being Lottie, continued anyway. “You avoid spirits. My coachman, Patrick, has a compulsion to drink alcohol as well. He conquers that need daily, as I assume you do, since I’ve never seen you have more than a single glass of ale or wine.”
“I see.” Ethan studied the horizon, where the main house, with its ridiculous gargoyles, canted rooflines, and chaperones, awaited them. Lottie deserved honesty, even if she might judge him for his answer. “I don’ have compulsions or cravings for liquor like your coachman. But I learned the hard way that I don’ like who I become when I drink that much. An occasional ale or glass of wine is fine. Never more than one or two in a night. And no whisky. I haven’ been drunk in five years.”
Her brow furrowed as she mulled over what he’d said. “If you don’t have Patrick’s issue with stopping, then why not enjoy one glass of whisky and leave it be, like you would ale or wine?”
Because he was a coward. And now she’d know it, which couldn’t help him win her over. Rubbing a hand over the rough stubble of his jaw, Ethan tried to find the right words. “I’m scared, Lottie. I don’ trust myself. When I hurt you, I was drunk. When I injured Connor, I was drunk. I don’ want tae make more mistakes and hurt people.”
She nodded but didn’t respond before they arrived at the house. A groom rushed to hold their reins, and Ethan took the opportunity to help Lottie dismount.
“You just wanted an excuse to hold me for a minute, didn’t you?” she whispered from his arms.
He winked. “Guilty as charged, my lady. I’d kiss you if we were alone.”
“And if we were alone, I’d let you.” She stepped away, straightening her hat. “I’m going to meet with Cook and arrange a delivery to your new brewmaster. Mr. Macdonell might appreciate a basket from the kitchens as he settles in. Do you mind?”
“Not at all, lass. Thank you for thinking of it.” He watched her go, shamelessly admiring the sway of her full hips as she climbed the steps to the door. She was all curves and competence, and he couldn’t look away.
After dinner they relaxed in the library, as had become their custom. They were already settling into patterns and habits.
All day he’d received compliments from masons and carpenters on his choice of bride. It had been bittersweet. His feelings had grown beyond what she offered in return, so he shied away from putting a name to them.
Her fingers caressed the spines of the books on the far wall of the library. What she was looking for, he didn’t know, but the quiet was comfortable, so he didn’t ask.
A glass of brandy warming in his palm would be nice. It
