It was difficult for Anne, saying goodbye to Mary, especially after just finding her again. But if they missed this packet, there would not be another for a week, and Hamish, rightly so, was anxious to find Elizabeth.

Anne had had very little time to get to know Jamison, but fortunately they had a chance to talk and it became clear to Anne that he loved Mary with all his heart and he would do anything he could to keep her safe and well.

Because of their choice, their lives would not be easy, but neither seemed to mind.

Ah, young love.

She was glad to be beyond such things.

She was, wasn’t she?

“Are you all right?” She jumped when Ranald’s hand fell on her shoulder, partly because she’d been thinking of him.

“Oh. Of course.”

“How is your stomach?”

She offered a chagrined smile. “Better, now that we’re not moving.”

“And not on a boat,” he jested.

“You have no idea!”

“Do you really get seasick?”

“Terribly! Even a ride in a skiff is a disaster.”

“I’m sorry to hear that. I love punting about.”

“I can imagine so.”

“There’s a loch by my manor. It’s great fun to go fishing or boating.”

“You have a manor?” She’d never known. Never asked.

“Aye.” He sat at the table and signaled for an ale. “Creaky old thing. Been in the family for ages.” He leaned in and added, “Hardly haunted at all.”

“Sounds lovely.”

“I like it. And Catriona . . . She loves it too.”

“You must miss her.”

“Aye. I do. But it won’t be long before we have you all married and I can return to her.”

The reminder that he would one day leave hit her and hit her hard. She must have paled because he took her hand. “What is it, Anne?”

“You will go back.”

“Of course I will. It’s my home.”

“I’ll miss you when you go.”

Pain flickered over his features. “And I you.” His hold tightened. “But we doona have to part.”

Her throat closed. She stared at him.

“Could you live in Scotland, wee Anne?”

Oh God. She would be happy anywhere, if she was with him.

The realization floored her. She hadn’t expected this. This . . . feeling. Not so fast. Not so completely.

But this was a foolish whimsy, wasn’t it? Could she really leave her life, her family, and move to Scotland?

“My sisters . . .”

He leaned closer. “We can visit them. I’ve offered Jamison a job, if he wants it. He and Mary are welcome at Bowermadden. So is Victoria. And, for that matter, Elizabeth, if she needs a place to stay.”

It was a tempting thought indeed. But . . . “And Aunt Esmeralda?”

He grimaced and then blew out a sigh. “All right, her too.” Fortunately, Anne could tell he was teasing.

But then, he sobered. “All I know is I want you in my life, Anne. I want you to be my wife. If we have to live in London”—he shuddered—“I can make that happen.”

She leaned in and whispered conspiratorially. “I’ve never been fond of London.”

“Have you no’? You seem so at home there.”

“I’ve always secretly longed to run barefoot in the grass.”

His expression brightened. “You? No!” His laugh was a melody. “How provident then, that we have grass in Halkirk. The thickest, sweetest grass you ever saw.”

A horrible thought occurred. “What if Catriona doesn’t like me?”

He shook his head. “She will love you. She’s always wanted a mum. But . . .”

“But what?”

“What if you doona like her?”

She set her hand to his cheek, wounded by his worry. “How could I not love her? She is part of you.”

He sat back and blinked. “That sounds a wee bit like a declaration.”

“Does it?” She had to laugh at his expression. “I suppose it is.”

“Ach. I love you, Anne St. Claire,” he said as he leaned over to kiss her.

She broke away as a horrible notion occurred. “What about the duke? What if he doesn’t approve?”

“The duke?” he growled. “The duke be damned.” And then he kissed her again.

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.

Miss Claire opened the envelope and read in silence for a moment. Elizabeth found herself wishing she would read it aloud, even though it was probably personal. News from London seemed surprisingly alluring.

“How is she?” she asked when she could contain herself no longer.

“Oh well. Very well. She’s increasing again.”

“That is lovely.”

“Yes. James is hoping for a little girl.”

“Naturally.”

“There’s more news. About the season, if you’re interested.”

Could she be? Could she really be that interested? “Oh please.”

“She mentions a Lady Callinda Frey.” Claire’s brow wrinkled. “Do you know her?”

“Oh, yes. I do.”

“I thought as much. I believe some of these messages are for you.”

Elizabeth brightened perceptibly. “For me?”

“They appear to be written in code.” Claire laughed. “How like Helena. She knows she cannot write directly to you.”

“Of course not. No one knows where I am. What does she say about Lady Callinda?”

“Oh.” Claire frowned. “It’s not good news.”

“Excellent.”

To which Claire chuckled. “Very good then. She’s been cut by Lady Jersey.”

“Oh dear!” Social disaster!

“Apparently they had words about a certain Scotsman.”

“Oh, brilliant!”

“And someone named Mary has returned to London.”

Elizabeth stilled. “Mary? How is she?”

Her tone must have captured Claire’s attention, because she glanced up. “She’s . . . married.”

“Oh no.”

“To a young man named Jamison.” Elizabeth’s heart plunged. Though she was happy for Mary—she’d been head over heels for the handsome footman—she had likely destroyed her future. “Hmm. Says here Jamison is the esteemed employee of the Baron of Bower.”

Elizabeth blinked. “What?”

“When the season is over, Mary and her husband will be moving to Halkirk—that’s Scotland, is it not?—and Jamison will work at Bower’s distillery.” Claire set the letter down. “That seems like very specific information.”

“It is. But good news.” Maybe Mary would not be reduced to begging after all.

“Your sister Anne took ill in Scotland and will return when she is feeling better.”

“What’s wrong with her?” Elizabeth asked.

Claire shrugged. “It doesn’t say, really.”

“Oh, I hope she’s all right.”

“I’m sure she is. Oh. There’s more. A Lord Twiggenberry—” She paused in her reading to titter. “Twiggenberry? Is that really his name?”

“It is.”

“Oh dear.” Claire’s chuckles were so contagious, Elizabeth found herself chuckling as well.

“What’s so funny?” she asked, because it would help to know what one was laughing about.

“When I was a girl, I once heard a man’s parts described as his twig and berries.”

“No.” Oh. Oh. That was funny.

They giggled for quite a while—through many failed attempts to sober up—before Claire was finally able to resume her reading. “Anyway, Lord, ahem, Twiggenberry has apparently left town. Helena has no idea where he’s gone.”

As long as it wasn’t Clovelly, Elizabeth didn’t care.

“Anything else?” Surely she wasn’t hoping for news about Hamish.

“She’s hosting a soiree.”

“Lovely.” It wasn’t. At least it wasn’t what Elizabeth was hoping for.

“A Scottish theme. In honor of the Duchess of Moncrieff.”

“Of course. Kaitlin is Scottish.”

“She’s even engaged a Highlander to attend.”

“That would be Lord Ranald, Baron of Bower.” Who would have returned home with Mary.

Claire shook her head. “Huh. That’s not what this says.”

Elizabeth’s head jerked up. Her heart pattered. “What does it say?”

“It says his name is Hamish.”