Violently.
Miss Lockhart elbowed Rhianna who stood next to her, dark curls tumbling over a lavender dress. His daughter stepped forward and performed a perfect curtsy. “Mr. Russell, Mr. Campbell, Father,” she addressed them all kindly. “Good afternoon.”
Liam reached for his daughter, then noted the soot on his hands and staining the cuffs of his shirt and kilt, and thought better of it. “Ye look like a fine grown lass today, nighean.”
Philomena Lockhart had begun to turn his wild wee daughter into a lady. She never ceased to impress him.
Goddammit.
Russell sidled closer to the governess, a solicitous smile affixed beneath his beard. “So, Miss Lockhart, what were ye saying about the peat making compost?”
“Well, Mr. Mackenzie—”
“We’re most of us ‘Mr. Mackenzie’ around here. Call me Russell.” He offered her his arm and the charismatic smile that had gotten him many prettier lasses than he deserved.
“Then you must call me Mena.” She took Russell’s offered arm and drifted with him toward the crates of moss in the yard.
Mena.
Liam had to clench his teeth to stop himself from testing the name out loud. The word was soft and round, lovely and feminine. Just like everything else about her.
The sight of her clean, soft hands resting on the sleeve of Russell’s grubby work clothes set a shimmer of antipathy through him.
Abandoning his post at the open fire to Campbell, Liam followed them over to the crates. “A governess, a carriage mechanic, and now an agriculturalist? Is there aught ye doona do, Miss Lockhart?” he challenged.
She met his antagonism with a modest smile that deepened the distracting dimple next to her lush lips. “I’m no agriculturalist, but my father did have me practice my reading from an American publication entitled The Farmer’s Almanac. While I don’t remember everything I read, I do recall that often American barley farmers would import Scottish peat moss to fertilize their fields and help stave off the blight.”
“She’s ever so clever, isna she, Father?” Rhianna exclaimed solicitously.
“Ever so.” Liam nodded, though his features tightened. “But she forgets our Scottish soil is already full of peat, and thereby adding too much can create a buildup of ammonia.”
“There is that,” Russell ceded, sliding Mena an apologetic look and patting her hand with his. “But it was a good idea, especially for a lass.”
Liam noted, with no small amount of pleasure, that Mena gently but resolutely extricated herself from Russell’s arm. Apparently, she’d had enough of his masculine supremacy.
“I have it on good authority that the extra ammonia is easily balanced with an agent like sodium bicarbonate,” she observed. “Which is not at all expensive, and you can order such a substance from most any alchemical farming supply these days and it’s shipped by train. It might put you a few days behind, but the money you would save on wasting the moss would be worth it to the operation. Not to mention the benefits you’d reap next year with abundant crops.”
A stunned silence followed her declaration in which she seemed to take great pleasure. However, instead of saying something smug, which he’d fully expected her to do, she turned to Andrew, and dismissed them altogether.
“This all looks so exciting.” She addressed Andrew with a cheeky smile. “I’ll bet you’re enjoying working with your father rather than conjugating your French verbs.”
Andrew shrugged, turning to address his sister. “What are ye doing down here?”
“I wanted to see what this is all about,” Rhianna insisted. “It isna fair that only ye get to work at the distillery.”
Russell chuffed Rhianna under the chin. “The lad is going to inherit Ravencroft someday. He needs to learn the business. Ye’ll move into yer husband’s house, so there’s no need to worry yer pretty head about the dirty work done here.”
Russell’s words chafed Liam, even before he saw the governess surreptitiously reach for his daughter before Rhianna gave words to her mutinous look.
Liam could see that Mena’s conciliatory smile was of the practiced variety, and didn’t reach her eyes. “That might be so, sir, but I am of the opinion that it does all individuals credit to understand the operation that is responsible for their livelihood, be they lads or lasses.”
Liam’s eyes crinkled with amusement at his people’s colloquialisms spoken in her unmistakably crisp British tongue. He also had to admit that this particular lass had a point.
All eyes looked to him for his blessing or refusal, but Liam could only feel one gaze, in particular, and all the hope contained within its verdant luminosity.
“Russell,” he said, finally coming to a decision. “Gavin is in with the stills. Take Rhianna to him. She can start there.”
Rhianna’s pleased and victorious smile warmed him. “Oh, thank you, Father!” She moved to embrace him, then seemed to remember how dirty he was. “Come, Miss Lockhart.”
“Miss Lockhart will remain here.” Liam enjoyed the drain of color from her face. “I need a word.”
“Yes, Father.” Rhianna bounced away, scrambling after Russell.
“Can I go now?” Andrew asked.
Liam glanced at him sharply. “Nay, ye canna go, there is work yet to be done, and ye doona quit until it’s finished.”
“Ye’re quitting.” Andrew threw his arm out toward Campbell. “And this is the cooper’s work, not ours.”