Page 131 of Adjacent But Only Just

What a whirlwind this past summer has been for literary enthusiasts! First, as dedicated readers most certainly know, Miss Viola Brodure has begun a serial novel (after the style of Mr. Charles Dickens) entitledA Ring of Gold. This new novel follows the misfortunes of a young woman bound to debtor’s prison for losing her mistress’s gold ring. Some say the topic is a stark deviation from the sentimental tone of Miss Brodure’s previous works. But if the first two installments ofA Ring of Goldare any indication, the authoress has delivered atour-de-force. We predict the novel will be Miss Brodure’s most popular to date.

Naturally, the change in Miss Brodure’s style could be the result of her recent nuptials. The lady did indeed marry a Mr. Penn-Leith this summer. But to our puzzlement, the groom in question was Mr.MalcolmPenn-Leith, elder brother to the celebrated Highland Poet. How this came about, we are at a loss to explain. Regardless, Mr. Ethan Penn-Leith gave his blessing to the union and stood as best man to his brother. Both groom and brother were reported to be dashing in their full Highland regalia. Miss Brodure was radiant in a white silk gown trimmed with Venetian lace. The bride’s father, Dr. Brodure, officiated the ceremony. We atThe Tattlerwish the newlywed couple every happiness.

We cannot determine if Mr. Ethan Penn-Leith is heartbroken over Miss Brodure’s choice of husband, though he has tellingly left Scotland. Rumor has it he intends to take an extended holiday abroad, in Italy perhaps? His latest poem, published in this month’sAtheneaum, will surely earn Mr. Penn-Leith a place beside the literary greats of history. In the poem—entitledElemental Is My Love—Mr. Penn-Leith compares his beloved to the moors of Scotland, crying, “Her of the wandering vagabond heart and lamenting banshee soul.” As one critic enthused toThe Tattler, “Mr. Penn-Leith’s comparison of his love to the battered heather and gorse of the moors positively thrums with the savage vitality of the Highlands.” We also have it on good authority from Mr. Penn-Leith’s publisher that his long-awaited second book of poetry should be published sometime in the spring.

If this is a taste of things to come from both our Highland Poet and Mrs. Penn-LeithnéeBrodure, we count ourselves lucky to be living in this age. Or, as Mr. Ethan Penn-Leith has said, “Let us embrace the heather’d scent/A wanderer no more adjacent.”

Epilogue

Five Years Later

Viola tossed a copy ofThe Rabble Rouseraside in favor of looking across the parlor at her husband bathed in the soft glow of firelight.

Her husband!

Mmmm, even after nearly five years of marriage, she still experienced a thrill just thinking that word. Or rather, in thinking upon Malcolm Penn-Leith as the man she married.

As usual, he sat in his favorite chair before the fire, a candelabra blazing on a table beside him, his nose buried in Mr. Dickens’s popular novel,A Christmas Carol, despite the current date being closer to Halloween than Christmas. Malcolm was dressed casually in shirtsleeves and trousers, a loose banyan thrown over the whole to ward off the evening autumn chill.

“Enjoying your view, wife?” he asked, tone casual, but a twitch of his lips betrayed his bright mood.

“Very much, as a matter of fact.” She raked him brazenly from head to toe, eyes lingering on the muscles bunched in his upper arms, the wide breadth of his shoulders. Heat unfurled in her belly.

Gracious, but her husband was a finely formed man.

Malcolm raised his head, his gaze snagging on the blush currently spreading across her cheeks. His eyebrows hitched upward, as they had been married long enough for him to understand what that blush meant.

Of course, the thought simply intensified the burn of her skin.

“Careful, wife.” His smile broke free. “As ye well know, I cannae resist your fair blushes. If ye keep looking at myself like that, ye might find yourself with child once more. And as we just spent the last hour wrangling our two wee hellions into bed, I can understand that ye may not be eager tae add another so soon.”

Viola laughed, pressing a hand to her fiery cheeks. “I will always welcome your child, Malcolm Penn-Leith, and well you know it.”

His grin turned wicked, eyes gleaming in the firelight.

Despite Malcolm’s fears early in their marriage, Viola had proved a champion at pregnancy and childbirth. The birth of their two children—Kirsty and Robert—had been surprisingly quick and uneventful. Malcolm had refused to leave her side with each one, his hand trembling in hers as she pushed a new life into the world.

But the joy of watching Malcolm Penn-Leith hold his tiny daughter for the first time . . . the way he had wrapped her wee fingers around his chafed knuckle and let joyful tears dampen his beard . . .

Well, Viola nearly wept herself every time she recalled it.

As for her father, Dr. Brodure had stood by his words and defended Viola’s choices. He had eventually resigned his living in Westacre and had lived for a time with Viola and Malcolm in Thistle Muir while she was pregnant with Kirsty.

However, Lord Hadley had also been true to his vow. Hadley and his good friend, the Marquess of Lockheade, had put forth Dr. Brodure’s name to the Queen—along with a glowing recommendation—for appointment to bishop. Her Majesty had only been too happy to see it done. Her father had been Bishop of Ethington for nearly four years now and had done much good in his new-found role.

For her part, Viola had continued to write, even with the havoc and exhaustion and joy that came with having two small children. Kirsty was dark-haired and fearless, a whirling dervish of chaos. Robbie was blond, blue-eyed, and regarded the world with wondering caution. That is until Kirsty lured him into one of her scrapes; then, mayhem ensued.

“So . . .” Viola looked at the journal she had just set down, tracing its cover with a finger. “Itisthe servants’ day off tomorrow, and I have arranged for Isla to take the children on a long walk so I can, theoretically, write. And, well, you know how empty and lonely this house is without everyone here.”

In her peripheral vision, Malcolm’s body snapped to attention.

“Go on,” he nudged with his chin.

Meeting his gaze, Viola stood up and slowly crossed to him. Her husband grinned wider. He set down his book. Viola reached for him just as he wrapped his hands around her waist, toppling her onto his lap. Curling into his chest, Viola ran her fingers through his beard and guided his mouth down to hers.

“Ye were saying, wife?” Malcolm murmured, lips skimming down her neck.

“Just hoping you might be interested in helping me ensure the house isn’ttooquiet tomorrow.” She kissed him on a giggle.

Malcolm growled and quickly stood up, easily hefting her in his arms. Viola squealed and clung to his shoulders.

“Tomorrow?” He kissed her soundly as he walked for the door. “I say we begin right now.”