Charlotte fiddled with her gloves and tried to convince herself that she would be happy if only Alec could mend his relationship with God. That seeing him healed in that capacity would be enough for her.

  But the ache in her chest said otherwise.

  The swell of hope she’d felt at seeing him told her she was too far in to pull away without being hurt. So did the stab of pain that radiated through her even now, when he made no effort to acknowledge her presence.

  “We are His,” Reverend Lewis went on. “Nothing we say or do can change that. The only choice we can truly make is how much distance we put between us and God. The Lord would have us draw near to Him. He would have us pray without ceasing, plead with Him. Pour out our hearts to Him. If we allow Him to, He can be our refuge. A place to turn during our deepest sorrows and greatest trials.”

  Charlotte allowed the beauty of the reverend’s words to sweep over her. Allowed those poignant truths to penetrate her heart, the promise that the Lord could wash away even the sorrow of future loss. If Alec broke her heart, God would heal it, just as he’d done in the painful months following her retreat from London.

  Alec didn’t move during the whole of the sermon. He didn’t shift, didn’t raise his head. It was impossible not to wonder whether he was listening, what he was thinking and feeling.

  With each minute that passed, Charlotte grew more tense. She continued to fiddle with her gloves. She interlaced her fingers and then pulled them apart. She traced the stitches on her cloak. Finally, as Reverend Lewis closed his sermon, Harriet slapped Charlotte’s knee. “Stop fidgeting!” she hissed.

  Alec glanced at her then, but she couldn’t face him. With her head facing forward, her hands resting in her lap, Charlotte held herself so still she might have been mistaken for a statue.

  At last, it was over. The low rumble of voices filled the chapel. People began to rise. Charlotte didn’t move a muscle until Liam and Alec had exited the pew, and when she did, she made sure Harriet was right beside her. Alice and Martin had their eyes on Alec as they exited the pew, their faces beaming. Liam’s attention was fixed on his parents.

  “Now, now,” Alec warned. “Don’t make a scene, or I’ll not come again.”

  “Very well. I’ll just make polite conversation, then,” Alice said, a teasing gleam in her eyes. “Wasn’t that a lovely sermon? Reverend Lewis truly outdid himself. What was your favorite part, Alec?”

  “The part when he said amen and stepped down,” Alec said without missing a beat. “Those pews are even smaller than I remembered.”

  Charlotte’s lips twitched.

  “Oh, you!” Alice slapped him with her fan, laughing. “Tell me you don’t have any appointments this afternoon. You can ride over and join us for dinner.” She looked at him so eagerly, Charlotte would be impressed if Alec managed to turn her down.

  He glanced down the aisle at the hoard of people, women chatting, children dodging in and out, men herding their families toward the back doors. “If I can manage to make it out of the church without anyone engaging my services today, I’ll join you for dinner.”

  Alice raised her brows, seemingly calculating the chances of that possibility. “I believe,” she said, a mischievous glint in her eyes, “there’s another door just this way.”

  Alec still hadn’t looked at her. In fact, Charlotte might have said he was pointedly looking everywhere but at her. She let out a little sigh. The thought of enduring an entire evening this way was almost too much to bear.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Alec walked with brisk strides, as if he could outpace his thoughts. He’d spent the last hour feeling as if he were being hit by a battering ram. The assault had been two-pronged, with Charlotte on one side of him and the impassioned reverend on the other. With Charlotte, there was nothing to be done but ignore the curl of attraction that hovered in his belly whenever she was near.

  Against God, at least, he had better defenses. It had been easy to batten them down by recalling every prayer he’d ever uttered that had gone unanswered. He had a long list of grievances, and he’d laid them all at God’s feet.

  Those grievances had made it easy to dismiss the reverend’s assurance that the Lord could be a refuge, a place to turn during sorrows and trials. He’d believed that once. After his father’s death, as a boy of just eleven, everyone had told him to have faith. In response Alec had prayed more fervently. Been more diligent in memorizing passages of scripture. Tried to live the precepts taught on Sundays.

  But three short years later, when Alec was on the cusp of manhood, his grandfather had passed. He’d received the same platitudes. Martin had once told Alec that no matter how it felt, he would never be alone.

  And still he’d believed it.

  Until the night he’d found Nellie dead on the floor. He’d begged God for another chance. Begged to make things right with her. Begged until he’d gone hoarse and there was nothing left to ask for. Come dawn Nellie was still cold and stiff in his arms.

  That was when he’d known God didn’t care. God had no interest in him or his desires. And Alec refused to seek comfort in a Being who refused to answer when Alec needed Him most.

  His thoughts wandered to Charlotte. He’d had fewer defenses against her and less practice pushing her away. A problem, to be sure. Because he hadn’t imagined the hint of expectation that had hovered in the air between them today.

  Without conscious permission, his thoughts had drifted back over every one of their meetings. When they’d been introduced at Martin’s welcoming reception and Alec had all but snubbed her. The insulting words she’d overheard. The next morning when her fire had fanned to life in defense of Harriet and she’d curtly dismissed his advice. Their argument over coal-mining conditions and slavery. Her demands that he save the injured pig. Working alongside her as he’d stitched up the swine and reset its leg. Her early-morning visits with a bucket of slops and conversations he’d found himself enjoying against his will.

  His surprise that rainy morning, when he’d come home to find Charlotte curled up in his chair. Her bare feet. The potent thrall of watching her make coffee and the brush of her fingers as she’d handed him his cup. And then her kiss. A searing, scalding memory that still lingered on his lips.

  But he couldn’t forget the moment he’d pulled back. The surprise on Charlotte’s face, followed quickly by hurt. In his years of schooling, he’d been trained to look for injury.

  And he’d wounded her.

  Given his past, he wasn’t certain he trusted himself not to do it again.

  Alec shoved his hands into his pockets. The dirt path beneath his feet was one he’d traveled so many times, rote memory guided him home. His thoughts darted this way and that, hope endlessly looping them in different directions.

  But in the end, the verdict remained the same.

  If he let things develop any further between him and Charlotte, the inevitable conclusion was marriage. Which was . . . impossible. Just the thought of such a tie made him break out in a cold sweat. The failure of his first marriage was, in no small part, due to his own shortcomings. Who could say he was a different man than the one who had failed so abysmally then?

  And that wasn’t the only reason he was hesitant to give rise to any expectation on Charlotte’s part. He was a doctor in Pittsburgh, she a peeress in Scotland. Their lives were set on different paths, intersecting only temporarily. Even if he entertained so ludicrous a thought as to believe they might have a future . . . what then? Would he give up his life here? Would she cut ties with all she held dear back home?

  There was no way forward. Charlotte, with her soft heart and hopeful gray eyes, might not see it, but he did. And he was duty bound to put a stop to it.

  But when he was ushered into the Maganns’ drawing room later that day, only to realize Charlotte was its only other occupant, he wavered.

  She sat on the sofa, facing away from him, her posture elegant, her gaze wandering the wall of portraits to her right. He took in every detail as he approached—the pale-blue silk gown that caressed her every curve making Alec’s gaze linger, the mass of curls that brushed her nape, the cock of her head when she heard his footsteps on the rug. She turned and met his gaze, her eyes the color of the mist-covered Allegheny mountains.

  Alec drank in the sight of her.

  A faint blush pinked her cheeks. “I’m usually the last one. To come for dinner, I mean. But tonight I confess I—”

  Just what she planned to confess he didn’t know, because Martin’s entrance stopped her short.

  He crossed the room with his cane, reaching out his free hand to pat Alec on the back. “Alec! Such a pleasure to have you. And on a Sunday, no less. Alice will be down shortly. Something about a missing button.” He turned and greeted Charlotte with a smile. “My dear, how are you this evening?”

  Alec felt a twinge of disappointment at the missed opportunity with Charlotte, but it was for the best. Within a few minutes Tavish and Liam had joined them. Alice came last, her movements harried. “Apologies to all of you for my tardiness. Cook will have my head if we don’t go into dinner at once.”

  Martin took Alice’s arm and escorted her in, and Alec fell into step beside Tavish.

  He was relieved when he and Charlotte were seated at opposite ends of the table. He needed time and space to collect himself, to remind himself of the futility of a future between them. For tonight, he would turn his efforts to Martin and Alice. He’d hurt them these past years, and he intended to try to make it up to them.

  The two of them seemed to sense that something in Alec had changed, because during dinner they were at ease in a way he’d forgotten they were capable of. As if they’d finally stopped tiptoeing around him. Martin was less cautious when he posed a question to Alec. Liam teased him without fear of kindling his ire. Alice laughed and smiled more, her demeanor carefree.

  The once-familiar rhythm of their dinners slowly returned as he waded back into a world he’d been absent from for so long. He had to remind himself to relax. Not to frown. To fully listen and not let his mind wander to his research. Or Charlotte.

  But surrounded by the Maganns, the transition wasn’t as daunting as he’d imagined. He could feel what his presence meant to them, and it made him want to try, despite the unsettling newness of it all.

  Charlotte’s furtive glances had an entirely different effect, filling his stomach with forbidden warmth. It took concentrated effort to keep his attention from her.

  For the entirety of the meal, conversation flowed easily, and although Alec didn’t speak much, he allowed the camaraderie at the table to filter through him, a reminder of something that had once been second nature to him. Martin and Alice were at their best tonight, telling stories and making everyone laugh, their ebullience contagious.

  After the final course, Alice set down her wine glass and cleared her throat. “Alec, you’ll forgive me for telling this story, but I cannot help myself. Tavish and Charlotte simply must hear it.”

  He stifled a groan.

  She grinned. “It is one of my favorite stories from Alec’s childhood. He was always big for his age, but he had such a tender heart.” She set a hand on his sleeve. “And he always had us laughing because he took everything so literally. He couldn’t have been older than three or four this one year, when in the weeks leading up to Christmas, he announced that he’d be getting each of us a piece of gold. We wondered what he could mean by it. Had he found some shiny rocks? Or mistaken something colored yellow for gold? We had no idea.”

  Charlotte and Tavish, who’d never heard the story before, sat forward as they anxiously awaited the story’s conclusion.

  Alice looked quite pleased with herself. “Imagine our surprise when on Christmas morning, we were each given . . . a piece of coal!”

  “Coal?” Charlotte repeated.

  “Coal.” Alice nodded, smiling. “Poor Alec was terribly upset when we were more confused than awed by his gift.”

  Charlotte glanced at Alec. “But however could he have mistaken coal for . . . gold?”

  In reply Alice laughed her full-hearted laugh. “Apparently, Alec had overheard his father telling one of his customers that coal was a blacksmith’s gold. And Alec took that, as I told you before, very literally.”

  Martin chimed in. “We spent most of Christmas morning laughing. Your grandfather, especially, found it amusing. He kept making jokes about how Pittsburgh was a national treasure because of all the gold in these hills.”

  Alec heaved a sigh, letting them know what a trial it was to hear this story repeated once again. He turned to Tavish. “The worst part of the whole story is that it became a Christmas tradition. Now every year everyone receives a lump of coal on Christmas morning. And at the end of the day, everyone thinks it’s a great joke and gives their piece to me, even though I’m no longer a blacksmith.”

  In truth, Alec had always found comfort in the reliability of the tradition, especially after his father and grandfather had passed on. But for the past three years, he’d excluded himself from Christmas celebrations. Only now was he realizing how much he’d missed it.

  “On a cold year, coal is better than gold,” Tavish said. “Back home, we always burned peat because we couldn’t afford coal. Charlotte and I used tae take turns feeding it tae the fire.”

  “I find the story endearing,” Charlotte said. “Alec must have been so disappointed to learn he was mistaken.”

  “He was,” Martin confirmed. “Until Leith showed him how the pieces of coal he’d given out for Christmas could be used to build a fire that could melt gold down and aid in the process of refining it.”

  “How sweet of him,” Charlotte said.

  “Leith was a gentle, patient father. He truly adored Alec.” Martin glanced at the clock. “Shall we adjourn to the drawing room?” Everyone agreed, and the group rose, soft chatter and footsteps moving toward the door.

  Alec pushed in his chair and turned to follow the others. Only as he reached the head of the table did he realize that Charlotte had taken her time smoothing her dress and adjusting her gloves as she waited for him. He felt both the tug of her presence and the need to distance himself. She reached his side, and they walked to the door together, a little ways behind the others.

  “Do you remember it?” Charlotte asked. “Your father showing you how to purify gold?”

  Alec nodded. “I do.” Though, he hadn’t thought of it in ages. “It was the first time my father ever let me inside the smithy. He set me on a barrel, far from the forge’s fire, and let me watch as he worked. I was mesmerized. And when we were finished, he gave me a small gold band he’d made for me, one that was too big to fit anywhere but on a chain I wore around my neck.”

  It was one of Alec’s most vivid memories. Alice had been off in her recounting; he must have been at least five or six to remember it so clearly. The firelight. The sweat on his father’s brow. The smell of hot iron, the sizzle of water as it cooled. His father’s voice, soft with a Scottish lilt, bestowing a life lesson. “I want ye tae remember how much coal we had tae feed the fire in order tae purify the gold tae make this wee ring. Like gold, all the most precious things in life require plenty of effort, Alec. Don’t forget that.”

  “Do you still have it?” Charlotte asked, bringing Alec back to the present.

  He nodded. “At home.” In a drawer in his bedside table. How long had it been since he’d looked at that ring? Pondered on his father’s wisdom? Too long.

  They turned down the hall, falling into step together. When they reached the door to the drawing room, they both paused, as if by mutual agreement. Every minute alone with Charlotte was torture for Alec and unfair to her, but resisting the pull between them was proving almost impossible.

  Charlotte’s gaze was discerning, her voice low. “You miss your father a great deal.”

  He gave the barest nod.

  “He must have been a very good man, to have raised someone like you.” She lifted her eyes and her gaze burned into him, a blaze he felt all the way down his middle. The huskiness in her voice strummed some inner chord in Alec, her ability to touch his heart and mind just as powerful as the physical pull between them. Deep hunger tugged him closer.

  His gaze dropped to her lips. How easy it would be to fall into this. But he’d fallen once before. And he wouldn’t . . . not again. If ever he allowed himself to explore a future with another woman, it would be a decision he made deliberately. A conscious choice.

  So he pulled back. Again.

  “I need to go.” His voice was shaky, unsteady. “I’ve given all . . . I can today. You’ll explain to the others?”

  Charlotte’s features were filled with nothing but kindness. She nodded. “Of course.”

  He almost wished she’d not been so understanding. That she’d shown a degree of frustration or pushed back on his reticence.

  Because if she’d given the slightest indication that she’d wanted him to, he might’ve stayed.

  Where she was concerned, he was helpless.

  A terrifying thought.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Tucked beneath the counterpane, a single candle burning on the bedside table, Charlotte opened her father’s journal. Disappointment rested heavy in her stomach. On this night, of all nights, she needed to believe in love and happy endings.

  Every moment with Alec tonight had been bittersweet. It was as if Charlotte had been given tickets to an exquisitely beautiful performance . . . not one of fanfare or grand gestures but of subtlety, where the tiniest details expressed more than Shakespeare’s most celebrated monologues. Watching Alec consciously choose to open himself up was something she would not soon forget.