Page 5

Lydia

“Did you have an enjoyable morning ride?”

Mr. Campbell’s deep, rich murmur, tinted with Scottish brogue, surrounded Lydia.

She shivered beneath her wool coat, but it wasn’t from the weather, the unseasonably warm weather.

There was something about the way Mr. Campbell spoke to her sometimes, when he dropped his voice to a near whisper, like he was sharing a secret just with her.

It did things to her, caused a fizzy sensation to build in her belly, her heart to flop frantically in her breast like a trout on dry land.

She wrinkled her nose. That was not a very flattering visual.

But it was the truth. The man made her heart a floppy fish.

But worst of all—when he spoke to her like that?—it gave her hope. That just maybe he did want to share a secret with her. Share more than secrets with her.

She glanced at him from the corner of her eye as they followed after her rambunctious brood.

His comforting scent, leather and beeswax, drifted to her on a small gust of wind.

She loved the way he smelled. Knew it was a product of him working in the stables.

But every time she rode, it was like she had a piece of him with her.

She was embarrassed to admit, sometimes she held the reins to her nose, breathing in that familiar scent of beeswax and leather…

wishing, hoping, it’d been his hands preparing them for her.

“Quite,” she replied. “I am glorying in the warm days we’ve been having of late. You know well how much I enjoy my morning rides.”

He always ensured her favorite horses were ready when requested. Personally. Never another groom. Always bid her farewell, a pleasant ride. Those small moments, what most would consider insignificant, were the ones she stored away, the ones she cherished.

“Aye.” He flashed her a smile, quicker than a blink, but full of mischief and charm.

And she snatched it up, another memory to hold on to.

As she was wont to do. He had a disarming smile, lopsided and a bit cheeky, like he was teasing the person, but they had no idea why.

It was in stark contrast to his sharp jawline.

Her fingers twitched with want. To touch.

An excited squeal shot back to them and her attention flew to her brood, a grin splitting her face.

Felicity, Lydia’s four-year-old daughter, bounded toward the three-rail fence surrounding the pen that housed the estate’s sheep.

She clambered up onto the fence, and Felix, Lydia’s eldest son, came to stand next to her.

Lydia bit her lip. At eleven, Felix was trying so hard to be a man.

But he nearly vibrated with excitement next to his sister.

“Look, look!” Felicity pointed violently inside the pen. “There are the twins!”

Fitzwilliam, only a year older than Felicity, clumsily climbed up next to sister to see as well, his riotous curls peeking out from beneath his cap. Lydia had never had any luck taming them. And according to Freddy, who had the same unruly curls, it was a fruitless endeavor to even attempt.

“Where?” Fitzwilliam asked, leaning over the top rail, eyes nearly squinted shut as he peered into the pen.

Lydia and Mr. Campbell stopped behind the children. And sure enough, in the far corner of the herd, underneath the small lean-to shelter, were the lambs Mr. Campbell had informed them were born yesterday eve. He had known the children would be excited to see them.

“Look closer, Lady Felicity,” Mr. Campbell said, a faint chuckle rumbling through his words.

Felicity leaned closer and gasped.

“Not twins!” Felix bounced next to his sister, no longer able to contain himself. “Triplets! Look, Flick, Fitzy, there’s the third one.”

Fitzwilliam leaned even farther forward. “I see two of them. Where’s the thir—”

He shrieked, and Mr. Campbell lunged forward, grabbing him by the back of his coat.

Lydia inhaled sharply, rushing forward, hand pressing to her throat.

But Mr. Campbell had her son, held firm, dangling about a foot from the ground.

In a swift motion, Mr. Campbell hauled him back up, settling him safely back onto the fence.

“Easy there, lad.” Mr. Campbell glanced back at Lydia, his steel-blue eyes dancing.

Hand still at her throat, she let out a relieved breath and shook her head. That wasn’t the first time the Scotsman had rescued Fitzwilliam from one such incident or another. The poor boy was terribly accident-prone.

Felicity jumped from the fence with a thwump and turned to Mr. Campbell. She planted her little fists on her hips and scowled—quite ferociously—at the man. “You had said the ewe had twins, Mr. Campbell.”

He arched a single dark brow at her, not cowed in the least by Lydia’s little spitfire of a daughter. “Did I now, Lady Felicity? Or did you assume, lass? Sometimes assumptions lead us astray, aye?”

“He said an ewe gave birth to lambs yesterday, Flick,” Felix informed his sister smartly. “He never elaborated on the number of lambs.”

She cocked her head, her brow puckering. “Perhaps…”

Lydia covered her smile with a gloved hand.

Quite a good lesson to learn, the subtle one the Scotsman was imparting.

Her heartbeat fluttered in her throat. He was terribly good with children.

Patient. Gentle. Always teaching. Which only made the dratted man that much more attractive.

Something she’d kept suppressed for a long time. But lately…

“You assumed, Flick,” Felix chimed in, superiority coating his words. He turned to Mr. Campbell. “Because twins are so common. But triplets aren’t. Isn’t that right, sir?”

“Right you are, Master Felix. We don’t oft see triplets. Because of that, we’ll need to step in to make sure all the lambs grow strong. Their mam’s milk might not stretch far enough for all three.” He turned and looked at each child in turn. “Do ye want to help feed the wee beasties?”

A chorus of yeses echoed around them, and Lydia’s cheeks ached from the force of her smile. Mr. Campbell ushered them off to one of their young grooms, who had arrived at the paddock with a set of glass bottles with leather teats affixed at the necks and a bucket of milk.

“One at a time, mind you,” Lydia called after them. “And be gentle .”

Lydia stepped up to Mr. Campbell’s side as Fitzwilliam and Felicity scampered off, Felix trailing after his younger siblings.

She’d noticed him doing so more often lately.

Separating himself a bit from his younger siblings, trying to act more mature, gaze always tracking back to his father, emulating him.

No longer her little boy. Her heart squeezed.

“Thank you for sharing this with them.”

“O’ course, my lady.” He leaned against the fence, his piercing blue gaze sliding right through to her lungs and stealing her breath.

As it never failed to do. “The unseasonably mild weather made lambing easier this year; the triplets were a rare and joyful surprise. And I know how your brood love when we have new life born on the estate.”

“You’re good with them, you know that?”

He tilted his head, giving his head a slight shake.

“The children,” she clarified. “Imparting that little lesson on assumptions with Felicity. Saving Fitzwilliam. Again .”

He chuckled and glanced over at the children. “They’re a fun lot. And I’ve always loved bairns.”

But as far as she was aware, he had none of his own. She’d heard through servants’ gossip a tale or two about his…prowess. But nothing in the recent years. She assumed that meant he’d finally settled down. But as he had said, assumptions can lead people astray.

“Do you plan to have some of your own?”

“Bairns?” His eyebrows rose, and he shook his head in the negative, a half-smile quirking his lips. “No bairns. Need a missus for that.” He threw her a wink, and she ducked her chin sheepishly.

“A strapping gentleman such as yourself? No missus?” She shot him a skeptical glance from beneath her lashes, her eyebrows creeping up her forehead. “I am shocked.”

The tops of his cheekbones tinted a deep scarlet against his pale skin. He lacked the typical tan he had during the warmer months. And lacked quite a few freckles. She missed them. Which was a completely nonsensical thought.

“Havnae found the right lass yet,” he said gruffly, gaze dropping to where he was kicking a loose stone with the toe of his boot.

She studied him, and he shifted under her scrutiny, like he could feel it even though he wasn’t looking at her. A smile pulled at her lips. Well, I never.

“Why, Mr. Campbell, waiting to marry for love? I’d never have taken you for a romantic.”

The big, burly Scotsman was nothing more than a hard, handsome exterior hiding a center as soft and sweet as a honey cake.

His gaze slowly lifted until it locked with hers. Her pulse stuttered to a stop in her veins. Steel-blue irises turned stormy and glowed with something unreadable. Something tangible.

“Hopeless,” he murmured, his gaze never leaving hers. “A hopeless romantic.”

Her fingers fisted the fabric of her coat, desperate to hold on to something, ground herself with something.

Because the force of that stare was burning through her, incinerating.

And the way he spoke, low and soft and just for her—like his words were a confession, had embers sparking to life in her chest.

“It’s admirable,” she whispered. “If you have the opportunity.”

He winged a brow, a silent entreaty to elaborate.

“To wish to marry for love. I think that’s admirable. And enviable.”

His dark brows furrowed nearly imperceptibly, and his lips silently curved around her last word. Enviable .

The heady glimmer that had consumed his blue eyes clouded over, and his gaze flitted back and forth between her eyes.

Searching. He wouldn’t know. No one did.

Freddy and she were particular about that fact.

They were as discreet as possible about their arrangement.

Presented a united front. For the children.

But…eventually, she would have to tell someone.

When she finally built up the courage to take a lover. Her lover would have to know.

And Lydia thought, just maybe, she was ready to take that step.

She had thrown herself—not just head-first, but every piece of herself—into being a mother, raising her children.

And she hadn’t even entertained the thought of taking a lover before she had fulfilled her obligation to Freddy.

But he had his heir and spare, her lovely boys.

And he’d also granted her a daughter. A sacrifice she didn’t take lightly because she knew how hard it was for him to be with her in that way.

She glanced at her children, soft giggles and bleats drifting over to them.

Felicity cradled a lamb in her lap, holding a bottle as it suckled greedily.

Felix sat next to her, a second lamb nestled in his lap, the dashing young groom demonstrating how to feed the small white ball of fluff.

The groom smiled at Felix, and her son’s cheeks bloomed crimson, and he ducked his chin.

Lydia wrinkled her nose. She’d never seen Felix blush so thoroughly before. Her attention snapped to Fitzwilliam—who had just toppled over, his overly exuberant lamb having just bounded into him. Fitzwilliam scrambled to his feet and took off after his charge.

She bit back a smile. The children were growing up. Becoming less dependent. Her heart warmed and ached at the same time.

And Lydia…was starting to realize how much she had lost herself while being a mother. As her children grew more independent, she realized she didn’t truly know who she was without them. Who Lydia Jennings was. Perhaps she was ready to find that woman now. The woman hidden inside herself.

She flicked her gaze back to Mr. Campbell.

And that woman had always been utterly enraptured by the man before her.