Page 41 of A Scottish Bride for the Duke
“I understand. And it can be difficult when you are the center of everyone’s attention, good or bad. The ton is a dangerous beast to tame.”
“Ye can say that again.” Isobel sniffed.
“No matter. Rest up tonight, and you’ll find the world looks better tomorrow.”
Isobel smiled, but although she hadn’t lied about the headache, precisely, she had no desire to go to bed and stare at the ceiling.
London held so many things, but on nights like this, when the summer seemed as though it hovered right at the back of her consciousness, she missed Scotland more than ever.
She missed the drizzle, the baleful glare of the sheep, the sharp angles of the hills, the rocky barrenness of the ground. The Highlands were beautiful in a way that felt so alien from London’s cultivated gardens and brick houses.
Her homesickness bit into her chest, and she sat in the drawing room before the embers of the past fire, the ache rising to her throat.
What she would give to have her horse and her freedom back—and to ride through the hills, through the bracken and gorse.
She missed drinking from the small lochs, missed the way her feet sank in the silt shore, missed the soaring sky, the sense that in the Highlands, she was a tiny piece of the world. Like everything around her extended forever.
The door opened. She glanced up in time to see the duke.
“Oh,” he said, sounding unsure. “I didn’t know you were in here. Are you… are you all right?”
“I—” She dabbed at her cheeks and gave her best attempt at a smile. It wobbled somewhat. “I’m all right.”
He ventured a little further into the room and held up the bottle he carried in his fist. “This might help if you’re amenable to some company.”
Company. She didn’t know if that was what she wanted, but there was no antagonism in his voice, and maybe being alone would do her more harm than good.
“Do ye have glasses?” she asked.
“I was going to drink from the bottle itself.” He settled himself into the chair beside her, close enough that she could reach out and touch him if she wanted.
He removed the cork and took a swig, handing it to her.
“A lady should never do such a thing,” she said primly, but she accepted the offered bottle.
The brandy burned her throat on the way down, and she spluttered, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand.
“Your first time?” he asked, amused.
“Yes. It’s not as pleasant as I thought it would be.”
“It grows on you.” He rested the bottle on the cushions beside them. “Why are you sitting in here alone? Is my mother in bed?”
“I asked her to come home early.”
“Why?” His voice was soft, and the hint of kindness in it made her release the last of her inhibitions.
“I got a little homesick.”
“Edinburgh?”
“No. My home in the Highlands.” She smiled as she thought. “It was a place I always felt as though I could be myself.”
“And you don’t here?”
“Surrounded by brick and stone?” She raised her gaze to him. “I grew up in an estate so far from the world, it often felt as though nothing else existed. We had local villages, I suppose, but it was truly—it was wonderful. I don’t have the words. And here is… different.”
“It’s certainly not the wilderness,” he said dryly.
