A move would mean they’d no longer be neighbors to Lord Carlyle and, by extension, Ethan. No more private shows at the windows or impromptu visits. Not that Aunt Agatha’s townhome was a great distance away, but there was a kind of intimacy that came with being direct neighbors.
They’d originally come to Woodrest to escape Montague’s slanderous tales. She’d chosen to avoid the gossip pages from the London papers while here. If talk had died down in their absence, then great. But she’d not let avoiding her notoriety in society be the reason Aunt Agatha delayed returning to her home.
Lottie addressed Connor. “That answers your question from the other day. We will return to London as soon as possible. No more female distractions for his lordship.” She let the sarcasm speak for itself. Gathering the forgotten book from her lap, she rose, shaking out her skirt, and turned to Agatha. “I’ll tell Darling to begin packing.”
“Yes, dear girl. We have much to do. When Lord Amesbury returns, we must inform him of our departure. We leave tomorrow,” Agatha said.
“Of course, Auntie.” Lottie left the room as her aunt requested a pen and paper from a footman. There were lists to make. Focusing on that might distract her from the thought that leaving Woodrest meant leaving the freedom she’d shared with Ethan while here.
* * *
Connor met him at the door. “Yer lass an’ the old lady are goin’ home.”
“What happened? Are they all right?” Ethan’s heart dropped. Delivering the blankets and visiting the Thatchers had taken most of the day. He’d missed the evening meal, and now his houseguests were leaving him.
“Aye, they’re right as rain. Just a bit worked up after gettin’ word from Lon’on. Lady Agatha’s home is ready. No’ sure what that means, exactly, but they’re packing.”
“Lady Agatha’s home has been under construction, leaving her tae rent the house next door tae Cal. I suppose they’ll move back tae Berkeley Square, then.” No more Lottie next door. No more window views. But he’d be damned if she’d back out of their morning rides. Seeing her grumpy morning face at the beginning of each day was something he looked forward to.
Connor took Ethan’s overcoat and plucked the hat from his head. “She’s in the library right now.”
Ethan squeezed Connor’s shoulder in thanks and hurried down the hall.
Tonight’s gown glowed like an ember in the firelight, with the flickering flames casting her olive skin and inky hair in stark relief. Sitting in his chair reading, she seemed right at home. This time had essentially been a break from reality. A tease of what life could be if only things were different. “I hear you’ll be leaving me soon, lass.”
Lottie looked up from the book with a start. “I didn’t hear you enter. We missed you at dinner.” She closed the book, then crossed to where he stood. “How are the Thatchers?”
“First, kiss me. I’ve no’ tasted you in hours.” She was smiling when his lips met hers. Again, the rightness of the moment struck him. Unable to let her go quite yet, he placed a light kiss on her forehead. “The Thatchers are tired but healthy, and besotted with their wee one.”
“What did they name the babe?” Lottie resumed her seat, leaving him to follow.
“Beatrice.” Ethan sighed and sank into the chair beside hers. After his time in the cold wet, the warmth of the fire was heaven. “I wish you’d seen her, Lottie. Such a wee bit of a thing. Her head fit in my palm. She’s only as long as my forearm. Didn’ cry the whole time, except tae eat. Mrs. Thatcher thanked you for the basket.”
“I’m glad she liked it. Beatrice sounds precious.”
“Aye, she is. Now what’s this Connor tells me about you leaving tomorrow?”
The book in her hand caught her attention. Her long fingers stroked the spine in a habit he’d become familiar with this week. When he stilled her fingers with his hand, she flipped her hand, intertwining their fingers as if they’d been doing it for years instead of days.
“I’m sure Connor told you. Agatha’s home will be ready for us to move in by the end of the week. Much remains to be done before we move house. We leave for London in the morning. Darling is packing my things as we speak.”
“The real world intruded at Woodrest, aye?” Ethan rested his head on the chair back but kept his gaze and hand on her. “Thank you for sharing my home for a short while.”
Her posture mirrored his, with her smile just as tired as he felt. “I’ve enjoyed my time here. Particularly how you’ve included me in your duties and business discussions. Thank you for not expecting me to sit in the front parlor and knit.”
“Ach, lass, I know better than that. You’ve run things for years at Stanwick. Why wouldn’ I include you?”
“I’ve been trying to determine if there’s a way to fit you—us, I mean—into my plans. I’m not saying I expect you to actually marry me—that would be presumptuous, wouldn’t it? But our time here has me questioning everything—even my plans. And my plans have perfectly sound reason to support them.” She appeared flustered, shaking her head at her own words. “Never mind. Ignore all that.”
A bittersweet ache pierced him at seeing her unsure of herself. “I don’ want our time together tae end either. You know I want you. But no, I’m not a man who fits in your plans. If I married you, I’d want you in my bed every night. I’d want you by my side, not in some far-off estate living alone. The future you want and the one I’m making here don’ fit together, lass. One of us would
