Michael couldn’t hold back on returning to Britain any longer, it was bound to happen at some point.

So many moons ago, his decision was encouraged by giving you—the Countess of Kilmartin—space after the argument between you two. The pressure of taking his now late cousin’s place as Earl of Kilmartin was exasperating.

A month was all it took for him to reach his limits. In the process of focusing on his new duties—endlessly signing documents, the new ceremonies, having to endure being called ‘my lord’—he no longer had the energy to offer proper words of comfort when you sought his company.

He felt bad, truly. The only thing that gave him a sense of comfort was that you weren’t physically injured after enduring the loss of John and your miscarriage.

It did take a lot of thought before he went about setting sail for India, he needed a peace of mind, a break from the overwhelming duties as Earl. It felt like John’s spirit was fading away as he remained in the role.

It took a month before Michael got around to sending a letter, even after it all, he still couldn’t let go of the feelings he had for you. The ones he nearly ridded himself with guilt to try and get rid of them out of respect for his cousin, clearly that failed.

After three years in the warm climate of India, he had to return home.

While India had given him a purpose, to allow him to do something for himself—showing him a balance he hadn’t known of, that was when he booked a suite on the next ship back to England.

Upon reaching the Kilmartin House, he immediately went to its library knowing the fire would be lit.

There, he stood as the fire burned in the grate, warming his hands. The sound of the door opening caught his attention, he turned and he was met with the sight of you.

Michael’s expression softened but it was only so long he could go without speaking or else he’d just keep staring at you like so.

He cleared his throat, “What are you doing here?” he inquired, taking a step forward. “I assumed you’d still be in Scotland.”