The Highlander Is All That (Untamed Highlanders #4)(66)

They repaired, in haste, to their room and fortunately, no other thoughts occurred. Not for a long, long while.

*

“My lady? Did you hear me?”

Elizabeth glanced longingly up the hill at the cottage she shared with Miss Claire. She had heard Lord Hamlyn, but she’d been dreading this conversation for weeks, though it was probably best to face it head on. She sighed and shifted the packages in her arms and turned to him. “My lord?”

“I said, I’m in love with you. Head over heels, totally, utterly in love with you.” The boy dropped to one knee. “Say you will make me the happiest man on earth.”

Elizabeth winced at this lovelorn pronouncement. Oh, he was handsome and gentle and kind—nearly as perfect as a man could be.

But only nearly.

And even though he was tall and handsome and sweet—and titled and rich—Elizabeth couldn’t dredge up a shred of interest in him. Even if she’d had an inclination to do so, which she did not.

Aside from that, he’d fallen in love with her on sight, the very day she’d arrived in Cornwall, which she found highly suspect. They hardly knew each other.

She shook her head. “I cannot marry you, Lord Hamlyn.”

“Cary, please.”

No. He would always be Lord Hamlyn. “You must understand . . .”

His hopeful expression deflated. “Did you love him so much?”

“Beyond words.” And she still did.

Not the fictional soldier they’d invented who had (not really) perished in Waterloo, but the faithless Highlander who preferred widows. Which was ironic, considering her disguise. She glanced at Lord Hamlyn and winced. He seemed devastated, which was a little silly. They’d only just met. But he was young and . . . fanciful. She struggled to hold back a maudlin smile. Hamish had once thought the same of her. “I’m sorry, my lord.”

“Please say you will reconsider.” He stared at her with puppy-dog eyes.

She caught his gaze, allowing her expression to speak for her. And then, with a small squeeze of his hand, she headed back to the wattle-and-daub cottage she shared with Miss Claire on the bluff overlooking the town.

The duchess had had the brilliant idea that Elizabeth travel disguised as a widow to Clovelly, a small village in the Torridge district of Devon where she was to stay with Helena’s retired nurse until the scandal blew over. The ploy was even more inspired when, two weeks after her arrival at Miss Claire’s cottage, Elizabeth began losing her breakfast on a regular basis.

Though she had no idea what was happening, Miss Claire did.

It was a surprise and a delight for Elizabeth to realize she was increasing.

If she had to live her whole life in this lovely seaside town, it would be easier to do it as a widow than a disgraced girl.

Which she was.

Somehow, though, she had trouble dredging up a hint of shame or guilt.

All she knew was happiness. Certainly enough of it to smother her heartbreak.

She would have much preferred to have Hamish here with her, but he was, no doubt, back in the arms of his Scottish widow by now.

She refused to allow such a prospect to dim her joy.

The walk up the steep hill had her panting by the time she arrived. Lately, she’d been tired a lot, no doubt due to the child. She took a moment to lean against the fence and catch her breath. From their yard, she could see the harbor, the cobbled main street snaking through the picturesque town, and the waters of the Bristol Channel sparkling in the distance. Not far from shore, a packet sailed past, probably headed for some exotic port. Sweet sea-scented breezes caressed her face. She closed her eyes and tipped her face to the warm sun. It really was a lovely place to live. She could see why Miss Claire had chosen it. And she felt very lucky to have found it as well.

“There you are.”

Elizabeth opened her eyes and smiled at Miss Claire as she bustled out of the cottage. “I was beginning to worry.”

“Ah, yes. The hill took me a while.”

“I can imagine so. It takes me longer each time, I sometimes feel.” Miss Claire peeped at her packages. “What did you get?”

“Fresh bread, some lovely cheese and fruit.”

“Excellent.” Miss Claire clapped her hands with delight. “I was just making tea. Do come in and sit.”

Elizabeth sighed. “Tea sounds lovely.” She hooked arms with Miss Claire and together they made their way into the tiny kitchen-cum-sitting room. Oh, this cottage was a far cry from the grandeur she was used to, but Elizabeth found she enjoyed it very much. It was an adjustment, making fires for herself, brewing her own tea, and making meals as, naturally, there were no servants around. But she loved feeling . . . useful.

Back home, she’d whiled away the hours doing embroidery and attending to social duties. Somehow, this felt more like real life.

The only drawback was the fact that she missed her sisters and her aunt terribly.

And of course, Hamish.

But she wasn’t thinking about him.

Or his widow.

Not in the least.

“Oh,” she said as Miss Claire laid out the teacups. “This letter arrived for you.”

She slid the envelope across the table. Miss Claire’s eyes brightened. “How lovely.” She checked the seal. “It’s from Helena. What a dear girl.”

“She is.” And yes, though they’d only just met, there was another person she missed. Helena, Kaitlin, Violet, and Eleanor. How ironic that she would be exiled from the ton just when she’d finally met members of the nobility she actually liked.