roll down Miss Kathy's cheek. Ailsa was only six, but she was old enough to know what that meant. She was old enough to know sorrow. It was the same feeling she felt clenching at her own little heart, shrinking it in her chest.
They stood in silence as the fire blazed on, and the attempts to rescue everything she'd ever known slowly failed. A few minutes later, something changed in the air. Ailsa didn't know what it was, but something was different.
A fireman approached them. He was even more covered in soot and ash than the girls and Miss Kathy, and his face was ruddy red from being near the flames. He had lovely blue eyes, though, and he seemed youngish for an adult. Ailsa decided she could trust him.
"Ye're the governess, aye?" the fireman asked in a broad Scots accent. Obviously, he hadn't had any elocution lessons. "May I speak with ye for a minute, Miss?"
"Of course," Kathy replied. She gently lowered Davina to the ground. "Ailsa, dear, look after your sister, won't you?"
Ailsa's tummy hurt, but she did as she was asked. Davina sat on the cold, muddy ground, still sobbing wildly about her missing doll. Ailsa walked over to her baby sister and put her arms around her. “It'll be all right,” she whispered. “Hush now.”
“Will it?” Davina asked. “Truly?”
Ailsa bit her lip, tears flooding her eyes once more. She wanted to promise, but, how could she? What promise could she give that wasn't empty? Her Mummy had always taught her not to lie, after all.
Soon, Miss Kathy walked back over to them. The governess was crying steadily now, her face red, not even bothering to try to hide it. As soon as she reached the girls, she knelt in the mud next to them, no care in the world for what a mess it made of her dress.
“Come here, darlings,” she sobbed, pulling both children into her lovely warm embrace.
After a moment, Ailsa said in a whisper, “Are they gone?”
Miss Kathy just nodded. Davina didn't understand, not really, but Ailsa felt the whole world around her shatter. Her manor. Her home. Her toys, clothes, and books.
Our mummy and our daddy. Gone forever.
The three of them cried. Even little Davina, who didn't know better, seemed devastated. The flames finally started to die down in the background, and quietly Ailsa sniffed and said, “What do we do now, Miss Kathy?”
“I don't know, love,” Miss Kathy replied. It hurt, but it was one of the things Ailsa loved most about her – she could always trust Miss Kathy to be honest and treat her like a grown-up. “I don't know what we'll do. But, girls, I promise I'll always be with you.”
Ailsa started to cry again, clinging tightly to the governess. There might not be any blood there, but now she understood the truth. Uncles, aunts, and grandparents might be alive – but apart from Davina, at that moment, Kathy was the only family she had left.
Chapter 1
The Funeral
It had been a long, long time since Richard Johnson, Duke of Beresford, had felt comfortable in Scotland. He was a Londoner born and bred, but he'd enjoyed visiting the Highlands with his parents and brother in his youth. That was before Isla, of course. Before the day Richard had lost his heart.
"That all seems so petty now, doesn't it?” he asked his friend, as the two of them walked away from the larger crowd of mourners at the joint funeral for Richard's brother and his wife. “It seems so stupid that I let my love for a woman tear me away from my brother – and from Isla. She deserved my friendship still.” Richard's friend, Stephen Thompson, the Earl of Gordon, stood out in most crowds. With his dark, tree-bark colored skin and wild curly hair, which he only managed to tame by tying it back, he did not fit in with the upper classes’ generally white populace. Yet, he seemed to feel much more comfortable in the current situation than Richard himself.
The pair had escaped from the barrage of well-wishers and mourners – and gossips, Richard supposed – giving the duke a little breathing space for a moment. They stood by the loch on the edge of the property's grounds, listening to the water lapping and bringing back memories, both welcome and unwelcome.
Stephen put a hand on Richard's shoulder. The earl was less afraid than many to show affection to his friends. Perhaps he was so used to his