THE NEXT DAY, Clarice returned from her morning errands to find Sir Cameron sitting on the low stone wall in front of her cottage, looking altogether too good for her comfort.
Beneath a jaunty brown hat, his hair ruffled in the breeze. Her husband’s hair had been a coarse gray, but Sir Cameron’s was a silky mixture of blonds and browns. As she pictured herself running her fingers through it, her hand tightened around Mary’s, and she realized she’d thought about him all the night and morning.
Whatever was happening to her? It had to stop.
Her daughter broke from her grasp and went skipping down the lane, straight into Sir Cameron’s arms. He stood and swung her in a wide circle, clearly delighting in her high-pitched squeal. Holding a basket heaped with strawberries, Clarice couldn’t help smiling as she came near.
It wasn’t stopping.
He settled Mary on one hip, his nose buried in her blond curls, and Clarice could tell he was enjoying her daughter’s sweet, childish scent. She’d never imagined a young man would appreciate a thing like that.
“I’ve a mind to go rowing on the river,” he told Clarice.
“Oh.” She looked down at the toes of her neat black shoes. “I hope you’ll enjoy yourself.”
“I meant with you,” he said, making her glance up.
His lopsided grin displayed those dimples that made a giggle want to bubble out of her. But Clarice Bradford didn’t giggle.
“And Mary, of course,” he added as he set her on her feet.
“I want to play with Anne,” Mary said. “I told her I would bring my doll over this morning. Mama made me a most lovely doll,” she told Sir Cameron.
“Why would you promise Anne such a thing?” Clarice started toward her door. “You knew that today you’re to salt and mold the butter.”
Mary trailed after her. “I forgot,” she said, her cheeks flushing pink. Cam sneezed as he followed them through the garden. “Please, Mama?” she asked as he shut the door behind them.
Cam would never have found it in him to deny the wee lass, but Clarice looked resolute. Mary turned to him, her eyes sparkling with mischief. “Would you mind very much taking Mama rowing without me? Only because I promised Anne.”
Was the little minx plotting to get him and Clarice alone together? “I’ll miss you,” he told Mary with a broad smile, “but nay, I wouldn’t mind. It’s important to keep your promises.”
“The butter—” Clarice began.
“I’ll do it later, Mama. I promise, like I promised Anne. She’s waiting.” Mary’s blue eyes begged. “Please?” she repeated.
Cameron saw Clarice’s features soften. “Very well. I’ll walk you to the cookshop.” She put the basket on the table. “But as for going rowing alone with Sir Cameron—”
“We’ll be out in the open for the world to see,” he rushed to reassure her. “There’s nothing unseemly about that.”
While Mary skipped to her trundle to fetch her doll, Clarice lifted an enormous pile of neatly folded and colorfully decorated throw blankets, holding them before her as though she hoped they were armor Cam couldn’t pierce.
“May I see one?” he asked.
“Certainly.” She lifted her chin from the top of the stack, and he took one and shook it out. “Crewel work,” she explained. “They fetch a pretty penny in London.”
“You’re very talented with a needle.” The designs were lovely. “Were you thinking to take them to London now?”
Musical laughter filled the room, lifting his heart. “I’ve never been to London. Martinson—the village blacksmith—he visits his sister there twice a year and sells them for me.” She replaced her chin on the pile. “I heard he’s leaving next week, so I thought to bring them by. The smithy is beside the cookshop.”
“Anne’s mama owns the cookshop,” Mary put in.
“Ah, I see.” Cameron followed them to the door. “Do you mind if I walk along with you? I could carry some for you.”
“As you wish.” Clarice visibly relaxed when he relieved her of more than half the pile. “But I’m not going rowing.”