Page 93 of Duke of Moonstone
“He reads too much,” Eleanor said with the particular fondness of a woman who found the fault charming.
“Is there such a thing?” Frances asked.
“When one has to eat dinner on one’s lap because every table is covered in volumes? Yes.”
Frances laughed. Alexander almost smiled.
A knock came at the front door an hour later. Mrs. Campbell answered it, and then a voice carried from the hall.
“Eleanor said I might come.”
Malcolm Frazer entered the parlor. He was tall with brown hair and spectacles and the particular bearing of a man who had spent his life earning everything he had and was not ashamed of any of it. His coat was well-made but plain. His boots were clean. His gaze met Alexander’s directly.
“Your Grace.” He inclined his head.
“Mr. Frazer,” Alexander said.
“I am glad you came. Eleanor hoped?—”
“I am here for my sister.”
“Of course.” Frazer did not flinch. His hands were steady at his sides. “I would expect nothing less.”
The tension sat between them like a wall. Eleanor appeared at Frazer’s elbow, her hand finding his arm, and Frances moved to Alexander’s side.
“Malcolm,” Frances said with a warmth that surprised Alexander, “it is good to see you again. Eleanor has been telling us about the roses.”
“Mrs. MacLeod’s roses.” Frazer’s expression eased. “She has been growing them for thirty years. She offered the entire bush when she heard about the wedding.”
“The entire bush!” Eleanor laughed. “I told her we only needed a few stems.”
“And she said nonsense, a bride deserves all the flowers in Scotland.”
Eleanor beamed at him. The look she gave Frazer—open, trusting, and incandescent—was not something that could be manufactured.
She loves him.
The evening unfolded. Tea turned into supper—simple food prepared by Mrs. Campbell, served at the small table where they sat four abreast with their elbows nearly touching. Frazer talked about his school, his plans for the autumn term, and a colleague in Edinburgh who was developing new methods for teaching mathematics to young children.
He was intelligent, and Alexander could not deny it. Articulate and passionate about his work without being tedious, he asked Frances about Emily with genuine interest. He also inquired about the estate drainage—of all things—and how the summer storms were affecting every estate in England.
He is not what I expected.
By the time Mrs. Campbell cleared the plates, the tension had not vanished entirely, but it had thinned. Enough to breathe through.
Frances caught his eye across the table as Eleanor and Frazer debated whether to serve cake or biscuits after the ceremony. She raised one eyebrow a fraction.
Are you well?
He held her gaze. Gave a single nod.
Her mouth curved. Just slightly. Just enough.
And Alexander sat in a small Scottish cottage with his sister, her intended, and his wife, and he found that the evening was not unbearable. It was not what he would have chosen. It was not the future he had planned.
But Eleanor was laughing. And Frances was beside him. And the fire burned low in the grate.
It was enough.
