Livy nodded, and as her father walked by her, he gave her a meaningful look.
“Be a comfort and not a bother, poppet,” he murmured. “Poor chap’s been through a lot today.”
Did he honestly think she would bicker with Hadleigh on the day of his wife’s funeral? Resisting the urge to roll her eyes, she dipped her chin in acknowledgement. Papa squeezed her shoulder then exited, and she went to stand next to Hadleigh, who’d resumed his brooding watch over the grey and misty landscape.
“You needn’t stay with me, you know,” he said. “Regardless of what your papa thinks, I am too old to need a nanny.”
“I am not here to mind you.” Knowing Hadleigh would despise even the slightest sign of pity, she said lightly, “I am here to get away from the crowd.”
This wasn’t untrue. The house was packed with so-called “mourners” who’d obviously come for the spectacle and gossip rather than any sense of caring. To Livy’s disgust, she’d overheard people whispering horrid things about the deceased. The rumors of the Duchess of Hadleigh’s infidelity were not new; they’d even reached Livy’s young ears before. Nonetheless, Livy was shocked that people would show such blatant disrespect, not just toward the dead, but the living.
“I do not blame you.” Hadleigh looked at her then, the agony in his eyes piercing her heart. “Most of the people are here out of curiosity, if not downright spite. Arabella did not have many friends. Yet she always liked an elaborate affair, and I wanted to give her a procession fit for a duchess.”
“The arrangements you made are very grand,” Livy said softly. “I am sure Her Grace would have approved.”
“It doesn’t really matter, does it? Arabella is gone.” He exhaled. “Because of me.”
“You mustn’t say that,” Livy protested.
“Why not? It is the truth,” he said harshly. “She died due to complications in her pregnancy—a pregnancy she did not want in the first place. I was the one who insisted. The one who thought that a child would make things better between us…” His throat bobbed above his dark cravat. “Instead, I killed her.”
“No, you did not.” Livy placed a hand on his quivering bicep, over the black mourning band. “I do not know why these things happen, but they do. A part of God’s mysterious plan. But whatever the reason, you are not the cause of Arabella’s death.”
“I loved her, you know. Despite everything that…that went on in my marriage.” His voice broke. “I loved my wife.”
How Livy wished she could shoulder some of his pain. “I know you did.”
And because he looked like he needed it, she gave him a hug, the way she might comfort her brothers when they had a bad day. Since he was much taller, she wrapped her arms around his waist, tucking her head against his spice-and-Hadleigh-scented waistcoat. After a heartbeat, his arms circled her, nearly crushing her with the force of his grief.
That was the thing most people did not understand about Hadleigh: his jaded insouciance hid a man of intense feeling. Over the years, Livy had come to realize how harshly he judged himself. She could not let him take on one more sin.
“I am sorry you must go through this,” she whispered. “But know that you are not at fault. And that you are not alone.”
A tremor travelled through his lean frame. “What would I do without you?”
“You’ll never have to find out,” she promised.
“But maybe I should.”
Before she could puzzle out his gruff words, he let her go.
Jamming his hands into his coat pockets, he said, “I need to get away, Livy. I am not…I’m not doing well.”
“You do look a bit worse for the wear,” she said candidly. “Why don’t you come to stay at Strathmore Castle? Mama says Scottish air is medicine, and it has done wonders for Will’s constitution—”
“No. I have to be alone.”
“Your country seat, then. It is not too far. Papa and I can come to visit and—”
“I won’t be seeing visitors.”
She paused at his stark look. “Not…not even me?”
“Not even you, little one.”
“But why not?” she asked in bewilderment. “I wouldn’t be a bother. You and I are good at being alone together, remember?”
“I am not right, Livy.”
“You’re not ill, are you?” she asked with sudden anxiety.
“Not in the way you mean.” He shoved a hand through his hair, dark without the burnished kiss of the sun. “It is a grown-up matter, something I must take care of on my own. But I promise you that when I am well, you will be the first person I seek.”
“How long will your recovery take?” she asked, her bottom lip trembling.
“I do not know.”
“Days? Or weeks? Not months—”
“Livy.” He cut her off with a look. “I truly do not know, and you hounding me isn’t going to change that.”
Panic beat inside her chest at the thought of losing him. “But what will I do without you? Soon I will be introduced into Society, and it is bound to be a disaster. I will need your advice.” An even worse thought slammed into her. “What if you forget all about me?”
He laughed, and for a moment, the shadows receded from his thin face.
“How could I forget my little queen, whom I fished from a pond, hmm?” He chucked her beneath the chin. “If anything, it will be you who forgets me. You’ll be too busy taking Society by storm to pay your old chum any mind.”
“I could never forget you,” she vowed fiercely. “And I will always be here for you.”
“We shall see.” His smile faded into something exquisitely sad. “Nothing lasts forever.”
He was wrong. The love and loyalty of a McLeod did last forever. Yet from his expression, she could see that words were not enough; she would have to prove it to him.
“May I at least write to you?” she asked.
“Yes.”
She narrowed her eyes at him. “And will you write me back?”
“I will do my best,”
