Miss Eliza Harkort has spent years perfecting the art of never expecting a temporary joy to last. Lord Andrew Mure has built his entire life on the unyielding freedom to leave. But when a quiet, accidental meeting under an ancient Scottish willow turns into a deliberate choice to seek each other out day after day, their carefully guarded rules begin to fracture. When the season ends and coincidence can no longer bring them together, will they finally find the courage to ask each other to stay?
The wind coming off the Scottish loch carried the distinct, merciful quality of silence. Miss Eliza Harkort left the crunch of the gravel promenade behind her, grateful that her aunt, Mrs. Margaret Ellison, was pleasantly occupied with three other ladies of the Braemar house party. Eliza did not dislike the company of the Duke's guests, but she possessed a well-practiced understanding of when to excuse herself before the endless social pleasantries grew exhausting.
She followed the gentle slope of the lawn toward the water, her eyes fixed on the sweeping branches of an ancient willow tree. It offered a perfect vantage point: visible enough from the main paths to remain entirely respectable, yet far enough away to ensure a few minutes of absolute solitude.
As she stepped beneath the willow, she realized the shadowed space was already occupied.
Lord Andrew Mure, the younger brother of her host, stood near the trunk, looking out over the rippling loch. They had been formally introduced on her first evening, but surrounded by the constant motion of the Duke's family, they had not exchanged more than polite greetings.
He turned at the sound of her footsteps. For a moment, neither spoke, sharing the unspoken hesitation of two people who realized they had just ruined each other's quiet escape. Then the corner of his mouth lifted.
"I believe, Miss Harkort, I have finally found the only patch of land in Scotland where no one will ask me when I intend to settle somewhere."
Eliza paused, glancing back up the gentle slope. Through the gaps in the branches, the strolling figures of his relatives were clearly visible.
"If that was your aim, Lord Andrew, you have chosen an extraordinarily poor hiding place. They can see you perfectly well from the avenue."
He gave a low, genuine laugh. "A fatal error in my strategy, it seems. I shall have to rely on the hope that they are too tired to walk down the hill."
"I will not betray your position," she offered mildly.
"I appreciate your discretion."