“Thank you for your report, Mrs. McNeil. It was most enlightening. I shall consider it.”
“It isnae my place tae say it, but if ye dinnae mind a suggestion, milord—”
Theodore restrained the downward pull of his lips. Unlike his housekeeper in England who ran his household efficiently and rarely made an appearance anywhere outside of her domain, Mrs. McNeil was both outspoken and seemed to be present everywhere. She and Logan had managed the running of Broughleigh for years, and both had little use or regard for the behavior typically found in their English counterparts. Here, in the Highlands, things were simpler, free from the rules and conduct of the English aristocracy. Here a housekeeper might offer advice to the earl she served.
“What is it? Go on.” She would anyway, so he might as well act as if it was at his request.
“Ye might consider asking Miss Worthington tae stay on—nae doin’ the work she is now, of course. Sheisa proper lady. Anyone can see such in her speech and manners. But she might be a good companion for ye. She’s real pleasant and helpful at every turn. She has a way about her, almost anticipatin’ everyone’s needs. Half the time this week she’d a task completed before I’d asked it of her, like she knew my mind aforehand and went ahead and acted on it.”
Just what he needed—a spinster mind reader as hiscompanion. Was the staff feeling sorry for him, then? The poor, blind cripple whose fiancée had left him for another more whole man. “So, you’re telling me she is some sort of witch or psychic?”
“Nae, milord!” Mrs. McNeil sounded properly horrified. Even in this day and age, it was not good to be thought of as a witch in the Highlands.
“It’s only that she’s—observant and thoughtful. Kind.”
Someone to wheel him around and make sure he didn’t spill his tea. A nursemaid, she might have said.
“Hmm. I shall consider that as well.” He would do no such thing but redouble his efforts to get out of this chair sooner than the doctor’s prediction. “Thank you, Mrs. McNeil. That is all I require at this time.”
“Good day tae ye, milord.”
Theodore felt a shift in the air and imagined the swish of her skirts as she left the room. He waited only a minute or two before ringing for Logan. A visit with Miss Worthington herself might be the only way to sort out the contradictory information he’d received. He would ask why her relations thought so little of her. Surely, she would not be able to lie her way out of such a direct question. He might be unable to see her expressions at present, but he’d wager he would be able to hear truth or deception in her voice. And then, his curiosity satisfied, he would send her on her way, regardless of her answers. He’d no need of her help or companionship this summer.
MISS WORTHINGTON HUMMED as she worked. The snip of the kitchen shears kept time to the unusual tune, and Theodore imagined her kneeling between the rows, cutting herbs. Helistened a moment, safely hidden behind the hedge where Logan had deposited him earlier. Though it was galling to have to be carried downstairs and guided outside, it was the only solution for a trek outdoors—something Theodore felt very much in need of each day. Today that timed well with his errand to speak with Miss Worthington and send her packing.
But just now he hesitated, indulging in a rare moment of peace. His place behind the hedge was shaded, the fresh air soothing—made more so by the lilting notes carried to him on the afternoon breeze.
What did she have to hum about? Would silence not have been preferable while performing a monotonous chore? Or was the melody helping her cope with her present circumstances by carrying her far away, to some other place and time? Maybe he ought to try humming to endure his current monotony, waiting for his body and mind to heal and his life to begin again.
He might have stayed there indefinitely, listening and wondering, if not for the nagging of his conscience. It wasn’t good to spy like this—even if it was only with his ears. Besides, he’d come out here to get a distasteful task over with. Lingering behind a bush was cowardly.
Theodore cleared his throat and wheeled his chair down the path and around the hedge, careful to turn widely so it didn’t catch his chair.
As expected, the humming stopped abruptly. A spade or some other tool clattered on the stone walk.
“Milord. Good to see you out of doors today.”
“Would that I could say the same.” Theodore’s mouth twisted in irony as he touched the bandage covering his eyes.
“Oh! How thoughtless of me. I didn’t mean—”
“I was in jest,” Theodore said, surprised to find that he had been.A difficulty is always better endured when humor isapplied.Where had he heard that, and when? And why had he only recalled it now, after months of grumping through his trials? “I came to request your company on my afternoon walk—er, roll—through the gardens. Logan usually joins me, but today he is otherwise occupied.” He was setting up the walking bars that had been delivered this morning.God willing, I won’t need this chair much longer.
“I would be happy to join you on your walk, but first, may I run my basket into the kitchen? Cook is expecting these herbs.”
“Go on.” Theodore waved a hand in what he hoped was the direction of the kitchen.
Miss Worthington’s footsteps were quick and light as she hurried away, leading him to picture her as a slim, straight-backed spinster rather than one on the portly side. Only a few minutes passed before she returned.
“Cook said to tell you—” She hesitated.
“What?” Theodore asked, though he supposed he knew already. “She is displeased with me for taking you from her?”
“Ye-es. Though she used somewhat stronger words than that. Or at least I assume they were. I find it difficult to be entirely certain of what she says most of the time. Though the way she waved the knife she was holding and then pointed at me rather implied her meaning.”
Theodore’s mouth quirked at the image invoked by her words. “No doubt she did. She’ll have more to say to me when I tell her that you are done working in her kitchen.” He wheeled his chair around and started the way he had come.
Miss Worthington stepped up beside him, not attempting to guide his chair, he noted.Good. He’d have had words for her if she had. His arms were strong—stronger now from weeks of wheeling the chair—and he only needed someone to direct him occasionally.
