Page 75 of The Last Debutante
“Aha.” Jamie sighed. The lad had the same important matters on his mind as Jamie had on his.
“He is easily distracted.” She folded her arms across her middle. “You need a better guard.”
“Aye, it is clear that is so. I ought to hang him for leaving his post.” He looked at Daria. “What other advice have you for me? More bogs that should be drained? Perhaps you’ve had more thoughts on botany? Or dancing?”
She pretended to think hard, then shook her head. “Nothing comes to mind. But if there is any advice you would like, you need only ask.” She cast her arms wide. “I am here, ready to advise, my liege.”
Jamie could feel his smile reaching out through his limbs. “Walk with me?”
“Of course.”
They began to walk, each with their hands clasped at their backs, as if to keep from touching one another. Or so Jamie wanted to believe. A yellow wildflower Daria had put in her hair bobbed around her cheek, slowly working its way free. Jamie imagined her picking the flower, then slipping it into her hair, pleased by the result.
“Did you enjoy the rest of your evening?” she asked.
The mention of last evening shook him from the pleasant rumination. “I did.” He glanced away, unable to look into her eyes and think of Isabella. “I would that you had stayed to enjoy it as well. There were quite a lot of tall tales and lies bandied about.” He smiled at her. “A typical Scottish evening.”
“Tall tales happen to be one of my favorite pastimes. What tale did you offer?”
“Me? Why, I could scarcely manage a word among the lot of them.”
Daria laughed. “I wouldn’t have understood the tall tales even had I stayed, you know. Gaelic is a very difficult language to comprehend.”
“Aye, I suppose it is,” he conceded. He didn’t like the reminder of the differences between them, language being the most glaring of them. “I hope you will keep my confidence if I tell you that I find English a wee bit easier for conversation than my native tongue.”
Daria feigned a gasp. “Scandalous, Laird! But I swear I will not utter a word.” She smiled up at him. “At least not in your presence.”
“Of course no’. You’ve no one to tell here,” he teased as they reached the hothouse.
“That is not entirely true!” she protested. “Bethia has, on rare occasion, accidentally listened to what I have said.”
He chuckled as he reached for the door. “I would strongly advise against saying a word of my preference for English to Bethia, for she will surely see it as a portent of some great calamity to befall the Campbells.”
Daria tossed her head back and laughed as they stepped into the hothouse.
There was no one within, for which Jamie was grateful. He wanted this time with Daria to himself. As he walked down the narrow path, examining his experiments, it occurred to him that he rarelyhadmoments alone. That he’d rarely felt aneedfor moments alone before now. He couldn’t recall a need to be alone with Isabella bubbling up in him like a thirst.
He thirsted now.
He paused at two pots of barley, examining the thickness of the stalks. He thought about how many iterations of barley he’d tried, seeking a greater yield per stalk. He would have sworn to anyone, to God Himself, that he was thinking of barley and only barley when he opened his mouth to speak. But instead, he said, “Isabella wishes to resume our engagement.”
He was as surprised as she that the words had tumbled out of his mouth. But there they lay, and he could not bring them back. For a moment, he dared not look at Daria. He couldn’t guess her reaction, and he suddenly realized he didn’t want to be disappointed. So many other things in his life had let him down; he didn’t think he could bear for Daria to be a disappointment to him.
She did not speak right away, and the silence began to press against his throat. He shouldn’t have said it. What purpose did he think it would serve?
“Is that what you wish, as well?” she asked quietly.
“It ought to be, aye,” he said flatly, and finally risked a look at Daria.
Her cheeks had bloomed and she was looking down, as if she were intently studying a strain of wheat. She nodded, as if she’d expected him to say yes.
“But I canna say that it’s what I wish any longer.”
Her head came up, her eyes searching his. “Whatdoyou wish?”
He wished for things he would never have guessed he’d wish for. He wished for things far beyond anything he would ever admit to himself, much less out loud.
He touched the flower in her hair, then brushed his fingers against her collarbone.
