where Sean lay, candles kept burning beside him. When it was time, the kistan—the laying of the body in the coffin—was held, and close friends were invited to attend. A penny was placed on each of Sean’s eyes and a plate of salt on his chest.
Jennifer had been one of the first to pay her respects. Gordon had forced himself to remain standing in the front room, but other than thanking her for coming, he didn’t speak.
When he did address her, he found it easier to stare at the far wall above her head, someplace where he didn’t have to look at her face, or see the expression in her eyes.
She’d been part of his life, even those five years when he hadn’t been physically near her. He’d wondered about her endlessly, allowing his daydreams to carry him into her life at Adaire Hall. Somehow, he was going to have to exorcize her, see her not as someone with whom he could share a future, but only someone he’d known in his past.
Harrison also showed up on the first day. No doubt because it was expected of him, or because Jennifer had lectured him on the duties of an earl. After sending a cursory glance in Sean’s direction, he announced his real reason for coming to the cottage.
“The new head gardener will be moving in soon. You’ll have to be quit of this place by the day after the funeral. You’re not going to give me any trouble about this, are you?”
Gordon had been able to rein in his emotions for most of the day, but it had been difficult, especially with Jennifer. The last thing he wanted was to be pushed to the edge of his restraint by Harrison’s words.
“Do you expect me to give you trouble? Why, do you think I want to fight for the right to live in the gardener’s cottage? Don’t be an ass. Or is that an impossible task, Harrison?”
Several people filed into the cottage and looked at the two of them curiously. Gordon didn’t care. Let the world hear what he thought.
“You’re an ass. You’ve been an ass as long as I’ve known you. When you were younger, you were a younger ass. Time has done nothing for your character, your demeanor, or your inability to get along with anyone. You look at the world as if it’s filled with people who are supposed to identify your every whim, then serve it. You don’t see people as they are. Half the time I don’t think you even know someone else is around. I’m genuinely surprised that you ever married. Perhaps your mother had something to say about that, wanting to see you settled before she died.”
“Don’t talk about my mother, you bastard.”
He was so tempted to tell Harrison the truth in that moment. However, he wasn’t about to give the other man either the upper hand or a warning. Instead, let him be blindsided by the court case.
“I’ve never been bothered by names, by the way. You can call me anything you want. I only give credence to those insults from people I respect. Believe me, you’re not among that exalted group. You won’t have any difficulty getting me to leave this accursed place.”
He turned on his heel and left the cottage. Anywhere was preferable to being around Harrison.
Something was wrong, and Jennifer didn’t know what it was.
She hadn’t seen Gordon for more than a few minutes since his father died. Some of that was understandable, because there were preparations that had to be made and Gordon needed to be part of those as Sean’s son.
Twice she’d tried to see him, but had been told that he couldn’t come to the cottage door. She saw him walking toward the loch one afternoon and almost caught up with him. She didn’t, because she knew he’d seen her, yet he made no effort to flag her down or try to capture her attention.
He was avoiding her, but she didn’t know why.
She had meals taken to the cottage. When Moira or Sally returned the trays, they made certain to thank Cook, but didn’t say if Gordon had eaten. She assumed he had, just one of many assumptions she had to make in the past few days.
Although she hadn’t been able to talk with him, she made the funeral arrangements, just as she would have if he’d given her permission. She’d had the chapel opened and aired out, feeling a little shame that there hadn’t been many