“Not exactly.” He rubbed the back of his neck as heat stole into his face. “It was that damned bonnie Prince Charlie and his private poison.”
His mother stopped chopping to point the knife in his direction. “I told ye no’ to imbibe.”
“You’ve told me many things over the years. I’m only now beginning to listen.”
She rolled her eyes and returned to her work. His cousins bustled around the kitchen trying to appear busy, but they were not very convincing with the way they kept staring in his and his mother’s direction. They were straining to catch every word.
He approached the butcher’s block where his mother stood and lowered his voice. “Would you like to know just what advice of yers I’ve decided to follow?”
His mother shrugged without looking up from her task. “Why should I care what ye do? Yer a grown man now. Ye dinna need a mother telling ye what to do.”
Now she was just being sulky and throwing his words back at him, but he wouldn’t rise to the bait. “True. I dinna need a mother ordering me about, but what about a wife?”
Her knife clattered against the butcher block. “A wife?”
A smile eased across his mouth. “Aye. A bonnie wife who knows her way around a kitchen. I am here to ask Mistress Gallagher to marry me.”
His mother gasped, her hands flying up to cover her mouth. She watched him warily as if uncertain she should believe him. His cousins abandoned their posts to join his mother at the butcher block. Finella slid her arm around his mother’s shoulders.
“You like Mistress Gallagher, do you no’, Mother?” He leaned forward, eager for her approval and a little anxious her silence meant she wouldn’t grant it.
Tears welled in her eyes and she dropped her hands from her mouth. “Fergus McTaggart, ye’ve made me so verra happy.”
She circled the butcher block to gather him in a hug. “This is the best Christmas gift any mother could receive, other than making me a grandmother by giving me a wee bairn to hold.”
He laughed and hugged his mother close. “We can discuss bairns some other time. Mistress Gallagher hasna accepted me yet.”
“She will if the lass has any sense, and Mistress Gallagher strikes me as a smart one. Have ye thought about how ye will ask her?”
“Is there more than one way? I will simply ask her.”
“Of course, there is more than one way,” his mother said. “There is the wrong way and the right way.”
His cousins slowly shook their heads as if pitying him. He frowned at all three women. “Weel, I’d prefer the right way.” He’d already botched his proposal once. This time he wanted Eddi to say yes. “Can you help me?”
His mother grinned. “Oh, we can help ye. And yer sister will want her say too.”
“I’ll go find her,” Finella said and dashed for the kitchen door.
He chuckled. He expected he was going to receive more advice than he could use, but he wouldn’t turn away help from the McTaggart women. Eddi wasn’t the only smart one at Aldmist Fell.
Edith sighedand allowed the heavy brocade curtains at her bedchamber window to drop back into place. Just as she’d expected, she hadn’t seen hide or hair of Mr. McTaggart since their parting last night. No doubt he’d been too foxed to remember his impulsive proposal when he woke this morning, or he remembered well enough and wished he’d minded his tongue better. Either way Edith wasn’t going to mope about feeling sorry for herself. She’d never truly believed his offer of marriage had been real.
Hoped, but not believed.
She sighed again, feeling like one of those maudlin heroines in the gothic novels Lady Thorne favored. The baroness invited Edith to browse the library at her leisure and choose any books she liked, but Edith was not an avid reader. She hadn’t finished the book Lady Thorne loaned her at the start of their stay at Aldmist Fell. It was senseless to hang onto it if she wasn’t going to read it, especially with Lady Thorne’s sister Pearl visiting. Edith had never seen anyone devour novels the way Pearl did.
Grabbing the book from her bedside table, Edith left her chambers and headed toward the library. As she neared Lavinia’s chambers, the sound of muffled sobs carried into the shadowed corridor. Edith froze outside the door. She didn’t like the idea of eavesdropping, but she couldn’t pretend she didn’t hear her friend crying. She strained to listen for Lord St. Ambrose’s deep voice providing comfort, but she heard no one besides Lavinia.
Tentatively she knocked on the door. When she received no reply and the crying continued, Edith eased open the door a crack. Lavinia was reclined on the bed, her face turned away from the door. Edith stole inside and closed the door behind her.
“Lavinia?”
“Edith.” She didn’t sit up or turn toward her. She simply cried harder, her body shuddering with each hiccuping sob.
Edith hurried around the bed, dropping the book on the marble top table. Her friend’s eyes were red and swollen, and her complexion was blotchy.
“Lavinia, what is wrong?”
