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introduction to our Highland weather, Mr. Kensington.”
    Kensington followed her lead, and they made it through the meal by touching on London, Edinburgh, and the state of the roadways, as well as the rain. Still, it was nerve-racking picking a delicate way through the conversational pitfalls, avoiding anything that would highlight her aunt’s failing memory or their coming homeless state at the hands of Mr. Kensington. It did not help matters that supper consisted mostly of a strangely tasteless and watery mutton stew, along with a wedge of haggis, which Kensington gave a dubious look and set aside without tasting.
    When supper finally ended and the women rose to leave Mr. Kensington to his postmeal port, Isobel hung back for a moment after her aunt left the room. She had planned what she would say. But Kensington’s announcement at the beginning of the meal that he would soon be leaving Baillannan had changed the situation—or had at least changed her view of it. Now, as he stood politely, gazing at her with those oddly dark blue eyes, his brows raised the faintest bit in inquiry, she felt tongue-tied and awkward.
    “I wanted to ask you,” she began at last. “That is, when you said that you were returning to London, do you not mean to live at Baillannan?”
    “No.” He looked at her as if she had suggested he might live on the moon. “Of course not. I merely wanted—well, I’m not sure what. To see the place, I suppose.”
    “Then you will need someone to manage the estate for you, as I have the past several years for Andrew. Someone experienced and trustworthy.” She laid the groundwork for her appeal, knowing how difficult it would be to convince him that a woman could do the job.
    “No, wait.” Kensington held out his hand as if to stop her. “If you are leading up to suggesting a man you think would suit the position, I must tell you that I won’t need a manager. I intend to sell Baillannan.”
    “Oh.” Her stomach dropped. “I see.”
    “I am a city dweller, Miss Rose. And I find the trip a trifle long to visit with any frequency.”
    “I see.” It was hopeless, obviously, but she made another push. “If you kept Baillannan, the estate would provide you with income.”
    “Scarcely as much as one would receive in a sale. Andwhile I am sure that this friend of yours is an admirable person, there is the uncertainty that comes with letting another handle one’s accounts.”
    “Of course.” Isobel nodded, the brief spark of hope extinguished. She took a breath and began again. “I wanted to ask you . . . if you would be so kind . . . that is, I must make arrangements for my aunt and me to move. And the house is so, well, there are so many family things that I am sure you would wish me to remove. I fear it will take me a few days to get it all in order. I hoped— I would ask you the favor of remaining here until I have it settled.”
    “Naturally. Please, take as much time as you need.” He took a step toward her, then stopped and, with an awkwardness she had not seen before in him, said, “Miss Rose . . . I assure you, I did not know—that is, it was never my intent to turn you out of your home. I am truly sorry.”
    “Yes.” Isobel forced a smile. “So am I.”

J ack Kensington stared down at the meal laid out before him. The gray porridge in the large bowl was so thick he was sure it could have been used for glue. The plate beside it was loaded with several meats and two fried eggs, leaking their yellow yolks in an unappetizing way. The meats were fried, as well. One he recognized as the kind of indigestible-looking dark wedge he had avoided at supper the evening before—indeed, it could have been the same one, for all he knew. The other meat was in the shape of a sausage and had the color and consistency of a piece of charcoal. A smaller plate held a flat, roundish bread product.
    He had better leave here soon or he might starve to death. Deciding that the bread appeared