Page 81 of The Duke's Wicked Widow
“Och, lass…yearewicked.”
* * *
Ellie wasn’tthe only one exhausted by the time they finally arrived at Hangcok Hill. Merida’s eyes were drooping and Fawkes kept stretching, digging his knuckles into the small of his back and grunting.
Only Tramp had any energy, delighted as he was tofinallybe allowed to bark and jump happily.
A carriage had met them at the station and the last leg of their journey had taken another few hours, but finally they were here…and Ellie was impressed.
Hangcok Hill wasn’t as grand as the Bonkinbone estate, not by any stretch…but it was hardly a cottage either. She reminded herself that Fawkes’s mother had been the sister of an earl—perhaps she’d inherited the estate from her father?
The home sat at the end of a stately drive, lined by now-skeletal trees. There were outbuildings behind it and sweeping views of the sun sinking behind the mountains to the west. Farms and grazing land stretched to the east, with a patch of forest just visible in the distance.
“Youlive here?” breathed Merida, who—until this week—had never slept anywhere besides Cumnock House, not being allowed to travel with her father when he returned to his own ancestral estate.
Fawkes reached out and tugged on her earlobe. “Nay, sprite. I live in London, remember? That’s where my work is. My mother lives here, though. I was raised here.”
“It’samazing.”
His dimple reappeared, and when he glanced at Ellie, she nodded. “It is quite lovely, Fawkes. Thank you again for inviting us.”
Even if itisfor a short time.
The train ride had been…interesting.
Once he’d made it clear that he’d forgiven her for her horrible self-centered actions in trying to get pregnant, and she’d been brave enough to admit how pleasurable she’d found her experiences with him…they’d settled into a sort of comfortable banter. When Merida had awoken he’d told them stories of growing up in the Highlands—and myths like the Teeth Mice—and she and Merida had been utterly enthralled.
Despite the discomfort of the accommodations, the trip had passed easily enough. If Ellie had wished it had beenFawkesshe’d been cuddling with instead of Merida, in the double room he’d acquired for them, well…she hadn’t mentioned it.
It was as if their relationship was new and somehow fragile. Delicate. He’d forgiven her, and she’d thanked him for everything he’d done, and now they’d started over. Started again.
She tried not to think about how nice his hand had felt in hers.
As Fawkes helped them from the carriage, the front door to the house was flung open, and a small woman brushed past the butler. “Fawkes!”
And Fawkes, bless him,lit up.
Ellie caught her breath as his dimple appeared suddenly, joy lighting his face as he spun toward the woman. He didn’t bother taking his leave, just hurtled himself toward the portico to sweep her up in his arms and spin her in a circle.
The woman was laughing. “Put me down, love, I’ll get dizzy!”
When he settled her—just in time for Ellie to tug Merida up the steps—she did indeed cling to Fawkes’s arm. But Ellie thought it was less because she was dizzy, and more because she didn’t want to let him go.
You and me both.
Up close, it was obvious this was Fawkes’s mother. They shared the same green eyes—the same eyes Rufus and Merida shared, in fact—and auburn hair. She didn’t have a dimple and was grinning wide enough that fact was obvious.
“Mother,” Fawkes began, “I am delighted to introduce ye to Lady Danielle Aycock, and her stepdaughter Merida. Ellie, Merida, this is my mother, Lady Estella MacMillan.”
Ellie instinctively curtsied, and Merida did a moment later. The tiny woman—even smaller than Ellie—eyed her, smile fading.
“Aycock, ye say?” She had the most delightful brogue, fainter than Fawkes, but beautiful with her breathy voice.
“Aye, and now I think we ought to use the sense God gave us to get in out of the cold, before Clutterbuck kills us.”
The butlerwasglaring at them.
Inside, Ellie was surprised to see the foyer—in fact, the entire house—decorated gaily for Christmas. There were wreaths on every door, garlands hung a little crookedly from the bannisters, and even what appeared to be a holiday-themed cuckoo clock hanging on the wall.
