“I am only tired of sitting,” Pearl said.
With her chestnut hair and soft features, she looked nothing like her elegant older sisters, more adorable than stunning. She took Edith’s hands in hers.
“What a pleasure it is to meet you at last. Lavinia has been on pins and needles the entire journey in anticipation of seeing you again.”
“Pins and needles?” Edith’s gaze shot toward her friend. It wasn’t like Lavinia to be anxious about anything.
Lavinia gave an almost imperceptible shrug as she returned to her seat. “Helena was just telling us that Gracie has an eventful stay planned for us: ice skating, caroling—”
“And roasting chestnuts,” Gracie interjected.
Lavinia smiled indulgently at her and patted her lap. “We shall have a wonderful holiday with you in charge, dearest. Now, do come here so I may snuggle with you.”
The young girl popped up from her seat and rushed to her sister, throwing her arms around her neck. “I’m happy you’ve come.”
“How could I stay away?”
As Gracie settled onto Lavinia’s lap, Pearl and Edith took their seats. They spent the next half-hour listening to Pearl share anecdotes from their journey from Haslemere, where Lord St. Ambrose and Lavinia had stopped to collect Pearl and her husband before continuing to Aldmist Fell.
Lavinia laughed at all the right moments and hugged Gracie or kissed her cheek from time to time, but the way her gaze darted toward the doorway every few minutes alerted Edith that her friend was not as carefree as she pretended. When the men joined them and Lavinia’s spine stiffened, it became clear something was amiss. Perhaps a lover’s quarrel between her and Lord St. Ambrose?
In Edith’s experience, the two typically agreed on everything except the question of marriage. Lord St. Ambrose was dogmatic about wanting Lavinia for his wife, yet Edith’s friend adamantly refused to comply with his wishes.
“One does not marry his mistress without great cost to his reputation and livelihood,” Lavinia often insisted.
Edith believed her friend underestimated Lord St. Ambrose. While he was gentle with Lavinia and her loved ones, he possessed an air of danger. Only a fool would court his displeasure.
When he looked at Lavinia, however, his face softened, and his hazel eyes shone with love. “Have you had enough time with your sisters?” he asked. “Perhaps you would like to rest before supper.”
She aimed a sleepy smile at him, dispelling any notion that they were out of sorts with one another. “It will never be enough time, but a short rest sounds lovely.”
Lady Thorne stood. “Allow me to show you to your rooms.”
Side by side, Pearl and Mr. Mason followed the baroness and her husband from the drawing room. Mr. Mason walked with a limp, supporting his weight with a cane, yet otherwise, one wouldn’t know he had lost a leg only a year ago.
Lavinia gathered Edith into another hug. “I’ve missed you,” she murmured. “We will talk more later.”
Edith returned her embrace before surrendering her to Lord St. Ambrose. He smiled. “It’s good to see you, Edith. You are looking well.”
She performed an awkward curtsey. “Thank you, milord.”
Once the guests retired to their assigned chambers, Edith returned to her room to finish scrubbing Mr. McTaggart’s shirt. She managed to remove the stain at last, though the garment had seen better days. In fact, a glance into his wardrobe had revealed that the few shirts he owned had all seen better days. It was a wonder he didn’t freeze to death in such threadbare garments.
She draped the shirt over the washstand to dry before turning her attention to her next task. The picnic hamper needed to be returned to the kitchen, and she wanted to thank Mrs. McTaggart for baking her favorite cake, especially since her son had ordered her to do it. The woman must have the patience of a saint, although Edith was wise enough not to speak ill of Mr. McTaggart. No mother liked to hear her son disparaged, even if she wished to box his ears herself on occasion.
Edith took the servants’ staircase instead of marching through the main pathways of the castle with the large hamper. As she reached the servants’ area, a voice blared out, causing her to jump.
She couldn’t understand a word the woman was shouting in Gaelic, but the tone was clear. She was in a temper.
“Finella! Finella McTaggart, you lazy girl! Get in ‘ere before I skin you alive.” A loud clatter came from the kitchen, and Edith hastily turned to go back upstairs. “Oh, it is just you, Sassenach.”
Edith cringed at the scorn in those words. Glancing over her shoulder, she discovered Mr. McTaggart’s mother red-faced, dusted in flour, and glowering in the corridor.
“I didn’t mean to disturb you, ma’am. I only meant to return the hamper and thank you for the delicious fare.”
The older woman’s mouth puckered. “Well, I have no time for gabble.” She stormed back into the kitchen.
“Gabble? Me?” Edith frowned, taken aback. She believed she was speaking perfectly clearly; after all, she had been told her King’s English was impeccable. Madam Montgomery catered to gentlemen and ensured her girls spoke properly, and Lavinia had continued to tutor Edith even after they had retired to Chelsea.
