There was little he could argue with there. “You’re right. Fate put me here, and I often wonder why.”
The earl gestured toward Ethan’s clothing. “You don’t dress like a lord, carry yourself like a man of quality, or think like one.”
“I apologize for my informal dress. Two days on horseback, then another two in the carriage tae get here took its toll.” The tension from his hands spread up his spine to his shoulders. He glanced down at the dried mud he’d tracked onto the carpet. He was an absolute wreck, and now the library smelled vaguely of dried horse shite. Brilliant.
“Are you telling me that your dislike for Ethan stems from basic snobbery? Lord, Father, that’s mighty narrow-minded of you. None of that matters.”
“None of it matters? Charlotte, of course it does. Why do you think we trained you so tirelessly? Deportment lessons, dancing lessons, voice lessons. Not that it did much good, because look at you now.”
An ormolu clock ticked on the mantel, filling the silence. Lottie caved first to break the quiet. “So that’s it? You’re going to look me in the eye and hold on to your judgmental attitude, even though it hurts your only daughter?”
The earl assessed Ethan with cool, dark eyes. The resemblance to his daughter was suddenly uncanny. “My decision stands. You can have him, or you can have your dowry.”
* * *
They’d tried. She turned to Ethan, guilt eating her alive. “Montague never would have hurt you if not for me. I’m so sorry. I owe you an apology for everything else too. Can we rebuild without my dowry? If we leave now, will you still want me if I don’t come with a fortune?”
His smile reassured her. “We may have tae change the schedule for a few things. But we’ll make do, love. We can work together tae restore Woodrest.”
He spoke with such unshakable confidence, she believed him. They would make it work, and build something new from their efforts.
Father cocked his head, looking at Ethan. “If this isn’t about money for you, then what is it?”
“I love her. Her money or lack of doesn’ change that.”
“You love me? Since when?” She stared up at him, trying to wrap her head around the casual way he shook her to the core with his words. As if it was a given and she should have known he loved her.
“Lass.” Ethan smiled softly. “Did you really think I proposed out of the goodness of my heart?” From the beginning, then. Breath escaped her as she considered the implications. This changed everything.
“Lottie? Do you love him?” her father asked.
“I…” Lottie’s voice trembled. Her mouth opened. She closed it, gulped, and opened it again. No words.
Stepping back, Ethan let go of her, ignoring the hand she held out. Words failed as her brain scrambled, reviewing their shared history through the lens of this new information.
He’d prioritized their relationship over his estate, just like her parents had. Yet she knew he’d move heaven and hell to take care of his people. And Lord, how she wanted to be by his side, watching Woodrest thrive, working with Macdonell to make the new brewery a success.
Ethan loved her. When she’d written that letter ending everything, he must have been gutted. The gross mishandling of this relationship on her part crashed into her with flashes of memory.
The look on Ethan’s face when she said she’d marry him.
His hunger when he took her into his arms that night in the kitchen of Woodrest.
The relief when he arrived at the inn to rescue her—even though she must have hurt him tremendously by ending their engagement.
He’d left everything behind to find her. Everything. He hadn’t even brought a hat.
As if it were echoing in a tunnel, she heard her father’s voice say, “Charlotte, I was trying to make things right. If your mother was here, you’d have married by now. I just wanted you to move on with your life instead of taking care of me.” The rest of what he said faded in her ears, because she couldn’t look away from Ethan’s face.
The love had been there for anyone to see all along, but she’d refused to acknowledge it. Too wrapped up in her plans, as per usual. She’d hurt him. Hell, she’d probably been hurting him one degree at a time for the last few months, but everything had reached a boiling point in this library.
Hell on a broomstick. All he’d done was love her, and she’d brought an arsonist to his door, then broken his heart.
“Ethan, I’m so sorry.”
Chapter Thirty
The ground hit him as hard as her words had. At the last minute he remembered to roll as he came off the horse’s back, but the air left his lungs on an “oof” and didn’t come back. As he stared up at the gray sky, struggling to breathe, the first fat raindrop hit him in the eye. Ezra was throwing him over too, and now the heavens were taking a piss on his head.
Ethan, I’m so sorry. Her stricken expression had damned their relationship until the only feeling left had been a dull thud of his heartbeat in his ears. What was the use of staying to hear more? So he’d run as if the hounds of hell nipped at his heels.
All the broken pieces inside him had turned to ice. Ezra hadn’t been unsaddled yet, so it had been an easy
