“Aye,” he said with a chuckle. “Constantly together, the two of them. I wager they’ll marry at Christmas.”
Another blow, and a much stronger one. “Marry, ye say?” she asked as she pretended to look at the hard candies.
“Aye.” He looked over his shoulder at her as he lifted the lid from the glass case. “I suppose ye’ve no’ heard then, having come from Edinburra. Aye, there is an announcement to be made this Sunday, after services. Laird Douglas and Miss Crowley are to be wed.”
So that was it, then. It was over. She’d had her chance—no, she’d had dozens of them—and had squandered them all.
“Are ye all right, Miss Lockhart?”
She jerked her head up. “Just anxious to be home, I think.”
“’Tis too cold to walk. I’ll have me son drive ye up, then, aye?”
“Aye, please, Mr. Wallace, that is awfully kind.”
He smiled, put several sweetmeats in a plain wrapper, and handed them to her. “Enjoy these on yer way home. Consider it a welcome-home gift.”
“Thank ye,” she said and tucked them in her reticule. Small consolation in light of what she’d lost, but Mared smiled.
The Lockharts were, predictably, quite happy and surprised to see Mared, and showered her with hugs and kisses and dozens upon dozens of questions.
She weathered the inquisition well enough without giving anything terribly personal away. She smiled, she laughed, she talked with great animation about Edinburgh and all the parties, and all the while her heart was breaking, crumbling into tiny pieces, scattering with the wind that suddenly seemed to be blowing through her. She felt so empty.
She begged off supper that night, citing a headache from her traveling, and retired early. In truth, she was exhausted. She tossed and turned in her bed, and when she grew weary of that, she got up and paced before the hearth, her mind racing and spinning and her heart twisting and twisting until she felt absolutely ill.
She had lost him, that much was obvious. Yet she was compelled to see him, to confess that she’d wronged him, that she was terribly sorry for it, that she’d been a frighteningly na?ve lass with cotton in her head. And that her heart, which had tilted to him long ago, had tilted and tilted until it had fallen over and shattered completely without him there to catch it.
But how could she tell him? It would not do to march up to his front door and announce to him and his staff that she was a bloody idiot. And besides, she hardly had the nerve to face him after all that had gone on between them. Or on the eve of his betrothal to Beitris.
The next day dawned bright and full of sun, and the snow quickly melted from the roads and sheep trails. Mared tried to settle into her life at Talla Dileas again. She romped with her dogs, played with Duncan, plaited Natalie’s hair and told her of Edinburgh, then helped her mother inventory the repairs that needed to be made to Talla Dileas. Everyone, it seemed, was more relaxed now that they were free of the worry over money. Everyone seemed to be happily and patiently waiting for Anna’s baby to come, and for Christmas, which was little more than a fortnight away.
As she helped inventory the list of repairs that afternoon, her mother remarked that she could now afford to hire the help they needed to maintain Talla Dileas. “I am in need of a good housekeeper. Perhaps I should inquire after Mrs. Rawlins.”
Mrs. Rawlins…that was Payton’s housekeeper; Mared remembered the name quite clearly. “Who?” she asked.
“Mrs. Rawlins. She was hired as Douglas’s housekeeper, but apparently it was no’ a very successful engagement.”
“No? Why is that, then?”
“Oh, I donna know, really. Other than he’s been a wee bit of a bear of late. I hear he’s been rather demanding. I suppose building a distillery and arranging a wedding are rather trying.”
Mared’s heart did a funny little lurch. “He’s always been demanding,” she muttered, but all she could think was that Payton was without a housekeeper. There was no one there to turn down his bed and launder his clothes and open his drapes in the morning.
For the first time in two days, she smiled from within.
In the midst of a dream of oak barrels and enormous vats, Payton was moved to consciousness by the scent of lilac. It startled him out of sleep, really, for he’d not smelled that heavenly scent in what seemed an eternity now.
He opened his eyes, rolled onto his back, and glanced around the room. It was dark; the drapes were drawn and he could see nothing but the red embers at his hearth. He rubbed his eyes, heard the rustle of cloth, and quickly dropped his hands, pushed himself up, and looked around the room.
The sound of drapes being pulled garnered his attention, and as he looked to the windows, he felt his body go cold with shock.