Blair’s mood sank further when Amelia emerged from the keep behind him. The hood of her gray cloak was drawn up against the cold, but the tail of a chestnut plait hung out over her shoulder. She’d forgone her usual tidy bun in favor of the braid for their tromp through the snow.
It was a practical decision, nothing more, but still, the sight of the thick braid, tied with a little slip of green ribbon, did something strange to his insides. He wanted to play with it, brush the ends of her hair over his palm, then against her cheek.
To distract himself from such preposterous musings, he cleared his throat and pointed at the pair of gloves she was tugging on. They looked to be soft kidskin, trimmed in fluffy fur.
“Those are verra fine,” he commented lamely.
“Thank you,” she said, her smile touched with sadness. “Perhaps too fine for a governess. They were a gift from the late Earl.”
Irrational jealousy bubbled up in Blair’s stomach. Not because he believed the gesture held any romantic connotation. Nay, Amelia seemed to think of the late Lord Glenrose as family—a father figure of sorts.
In the most private corner of his mind, Blair could admit that what chafed about the Earl’s kindness was the response it drew from Amelia. She clearly held the man in high regard. Nonsensically, Blair longed for such a position in Amelia’s esteem.
Not bloody likely, given the circumstances.
With Livie leading the charge, they set out toward the woodland on the northwest corner of the estate, Blair pulling the sledge behind them by a rope. The snow was deep, but Livie’s enthusiasm and seemingly boundless energy had her plowing onward, breaking a path for Amelia and Blair.
By the time they were a mile deep into the woods, Blair’s temperament had substantially improved, despite his best efforts to remain surly and silent. Something about the knife-sharp air, the crystalline sky, and the dazzling blanket of snow had a way of clearing the cobwebs from his mind. What was more, the exertion of tromping about with the sledge in tow warmed his blood and deepened his breaths, which puffed before his face in white plumes.
He couldn’t deny it—it felt good to be out of doors, in the clean, fresh air, putting his body to use instead of hunching over some ledger or other in the study. Until his father’s death ten years past, Blair had always spent a portion of every day out of doors, rain, sun, or snow. The Highlands had a way of drawing one out like that.
“There,” Livie cried, pointing to a prickly holly bush dusted in snow.
They had already gathered several pine boughs and even a few clumps of mistletoe. But they’d still needed holly, according to Livie, who said the red berries would offset the mistletoe’s white ones nicely.
Taking up the ax, Blair approached the holly bush. He used his forearm, which was encased in his thick overcoat, to push aside the thorny leaves. Then with three sharp blows of the ax, he lopped off several branches.
Livie clapped her gloved hands. “Those will be perfect on the mantel. Thank ye, Blair.”
He gave the lass a little bow, as if to say, I am ever at yer service, milady. Once he’d loaded them atop the other greenery piled high on the sledge, Amelia gave the heap a decisive nod.
“I’d say we’ve successfully collected our boughs of holly and evergreen, wouldn’t you, Livie?”
At Livie’s broad smile, Amelia said, “Good, for I am ready to thaw out with a fire and a cup of tea at Glenrose.”
They turned back toward home, picking up the path they’d already broken. For her part, Livie went zig-zagging ahead through the trees, preferring to cut her own circuitous route.
Which left Blair alone with Amelia.
“Did you gather boughs of greenery when you were growing up at Brenmore?” she asked into the soft silence.
It was as if she’d read the thoughts of childhood lingering in his mind.
Rather convenient of her.
“Aye,” he replied, casting her a glance out of the corner of his eye. “Brenmore had a few acres of forestland, though not as impressive as Glenrose’s.”
Amelia pulled in a deep breath. “We never did such a thing in Drayton. What a joy to bring the scents and colors of the forest into one’s home. It is rather primitive, to be sure, but it lends an air of magic to the season, does it not?”
Blair halted, fixing her with a look. “I know what ye two are up to.”
Amelia’s booted foot faltered, and she, too, drew to a stop. She gazed about the trees as if in placid contemplation, but Blair noted the way her eyes studiously avoided him.
“I’m not sure I understand your meaning.”
Her evasion confirmed it. He’d been suspicious from the first. Livie’s sudden about-face toward him, paired with Amelia’s determined cheer and the way she kept steering the conversation toward Blair’s happier memories of the Highlands, had piqued his skepticism. And now a bonny blush that had nothing to do with the bite in the air crept over Amelia’s cheeks.
“Ye think that by melting my frozen heart, ye might save Glenrose’s crofters.” Despite the bluntness of the words, his voice came out strangely flat. He was so tired all of a sudden. Tired of hardening himself against the world, of the responsibilities he bore.
If only it were as simple as Amelia and Livie made it out to be—they would charm away all his problems, and through nothing more than a change of heart, he
