Page 28 of The Lyon and the Unicorn
“It’s painful to lose a mother so young,” Clara said.
“Aye,” Mrs. Tuffington said. “But ye have yer mother, Miss Martingale—something to be thankful for. It’s a loss ye cannot imagine unless ye have lived it. Barely out of the crib, my nephew was, when his mother passed.”
Mama took Clara’s hand. “My daughter and I were separated for many years,” she said. “She has known loss.”
“I didn’t know. Forgive me,” Mrs. Tuffington said. “How did ye come to be separated? I cannot imagine a mother not being with her child. Families should be together.”
Clara’s gut twisted with horror, and she glanced at her mother, fighting the onset of panic.
“It matters not, Aunt,” Mr. McTavish said, meeting Clara’s gaze. “What matters is that Miss Martingale is with her mother now—and that she is loved.”
His emerald eyes focused on Clara for a heartbeat, and she tempered the nugget of hope.
“I didn’t mean to pry,” Mrs. Tuffington said. “Forgive me, Yer Grace, Miss Martingale. I only meant that it must have been very hard to be separated.”
“It was,” Mama said. “My daughter and I were reunited only recently. So you see, I have no wish to part with her unless I’m assured that she will be happier, wherever she goes, than she is here.”
“Which will prove something of a challenge, Yer Grace,” Mr. McTavish said.
Clara’s hope died. Was he saying that he couldn’t make her happy, or that he didn’t wish to court her?
Her mother set her teacup aside. “Nothing in life is worth having if it’s not achieved by overcoming challenges, Mr. McTavish.”
“Ye mistake my meaning, Duchess—I was paying a compliment to yer home. I fear my ineptitude at polite conversation led ye to believe I was being ungallant toward yer daughter. I assure ye, it’s the last thing I wish to do.”
He gestured toward the window, through which the moors were visible, bathed in the sunlight. “How could anyone fail to be happy living here? Next to the Highlands, it seems the most beautiful place in the land. Were ye not telling me as much, Miss Martingale?”
“Yes,” Clara said. “It’s beautiful here. And our gardens are filled with color now the roses are in bloom.”
“Perhaps ye might show me, Miss Martingale.”
His eyes flared with desire, and Clara’s heart fluttered at their expression.
“I’m afraid that isn’t possible,” Papa Harcourt said. “I couldn’t have my daughter wandering about unchaperoned.”
“We’llchaperone her,” Cornelius said. “Won’t we, Nate?”
Nathaniel, his mouth full of cake, nodded.
“Perhaps we could all take a turn about the garden?” Mama suggested. “If you’ve finished your tea, that is, Mrs. Tuffington?”
Their guest glanced first at Clara, then at her nephew, and shook her head.
“I’m not a good walker,” she said. “But don’t let me stopye, Murdo, lad.”
Aunt and nephew exchanged a smile. Then he rose and approached Clara, offering his arm.
“Shall we?”
“Don’t forget your shawl,” Mama said, as Clara stood. “It may be warm outside, but there’s a chill in the air, particularly if you’re intending to explore the wall.”
“Do not fear, Duchess,” Mr. McTavish replied, as he took Clara’s arm and steered her to the door while her brothers leaped to their feet and followed.
Then he lowered his voice to a growl. “I’ll ensure ye’re kept warm, lass.”
“Thank you, Mr. McTavish,” Clara whispered.
“I think ye can call me Murdo, lass,” he replied. “After all, we’re courting.”
