Summerset chuckled. “You have his character well. It is all I can do to drag him out into the world so as not to molder away in his home. Though I suppose that task now falls to Lady Dunkeld.”
Sin shifted, his chair creaking. “And what about you, Duke? I was curious to see you here tonight. I would have thought after the attempt on your life that you would avoid society for a time. Or at least until you return to London.”
“I return tomorrow.” Beaumont leaned back in his seat. “The case has been made that my position as trustee would be one better fulfilled by a Scotsman. Someone who is more familiar with the economy of Scotland. I am inclined to agree.”
Winnifred caught Sin’s glance. Did the duke agree before or after the assassination attempt? If it was so easy to scare away the English, this rebellion had a good chance of succeeding.
“We’re sorry to see you go,” Lord Abercairn said. “We need more level heads around here.”
Beaumont raised his glass in their host’s direction. “With men like you and Dunkeld, I leave Scotland in good hands.”
Lord Abercairn sighed. “With emotions running so high, even the best of men will be hard-pressed to maintain control. Next session of Parliament there will have to be a discussion about how to handle this. Perhaps some more concessions to appease the populace of Scotland.”
Summerset swirled his wine in his glass. “And what concessions will you offer when a man is actually killed? Appeasement is the coward’s way; you may delay the consequences but you will still have to face them in the end.”
Abercairn turned red. “How—”
His wife interrupted him. “Perhaps the duke could carry a message back to London for you.” Lady Abercairn smiled at Winnifred, an attempt to relieve the tension, no doubt, but the expression left Winnifred cold. It was like watching a lion smile before going in for the kill. “I’m sure your family is anxious to hear news from you.”
Winnifred shook her head. “I correspond regularly with my father. No additional notes need to be taken to him.”
“And your mother?” Lady Abercairn tilted her head. “Does she not like to hear from her daughter?”
Winnifred’s lungs squeezed. It was a common inquiry, nothing that should cause her instinct to flee to spring to life.
But it did.
“My wife’s mother is no longer with us,” Sin said.
“Oh, that’s right. Lady Newton mentioned as much in her last correspondence.” Lady Abercairn turned back to her plate.
“Lady Newton wrote to you about me?” Winnifred dug through her memories but she was sure she had never met the woman.
“The daughter of a gardener marrying a marquess was the most interesting thing to happen in the ton this season.” Lady Abercairn shrugged. “There has been much discussion of you. And she did mention your mother.” A delicate frown turned her lips down. “I can’t recall what she wrote, however.”
Winnifred pushed her plate away. Of course, there would be gossip. By marrying her, Sin might have nipped the scandal in the bud, but the circumstances would still be discussed. Chewed over like Banquo did on a bone.
“Her father is a botanist,” Sin said stiffly.
Lady Abercairn ignored him and turned to Lady Margaret. “Did you hear the dreadful news about poor Mrs. Milligan’s mother? Gone quite mad, the dear thing. And now Charlotte is worried for her children, and herself, of course.”
A headache began to pound behind Winnifred’s right eye.
Lady Margaret made a noncommittal sound.
“You study medicine, don’t you, Mr. Masson?” Lady Abercairn’s words sounded as though from a tunnel. They echoed around Winnifred’s mind, becoming fainter and fainter.
Mr. Masson’s response was but a low buzz. “I’ve been a physician for three years now, so yes, I’d say so.”
“Does dear Mrs. Milligan have cause for concern?” Lady Abercairn asked. “Madness is passed from parent to child, is it not?”
Winnifred wanted to stand, to leave the room, but her legs wouldn’t cooperate. The sounds of the room would hush, and then burst into a loud crescendo, every clank of a fork a piercing shout, every sip of wine like nails on her brain. Her stomach twisted, and she pressed a hand to her mouth.
“It can be, yes.” Mr. Masson’s mouth kept moving, but his words became as muffled as Winnifred’s thoughts.
“So sad.” Lady Abercairn’s voice refused to be muted. “And— Oh!” She set her knife and fork down. “I’ve just remembered what Lady Newton wrote.” She reached over to Winnifred and patted her hand. “Of course, just becauseyourmother went insane is no reason to fear that you will suffer the same malady.”
The room fell silent again, and Winnifred knew it wasn’t only in her head. Had Lady Abercairn written a play, she couldn’t have come up with a more dramatic statement.
