Scarlett’s brows shot up in disbelief. “Daenae tell me this was me braither’s doing.”
Edith nodded slightly, her smile widening at Scarlett’s astonishment as well as the beauty of the dress.
“The Laird has great taste,” Violet said from behind.
Edith’s smile grew even wider despite herself.
She had not spoken more than a few words to Aaron since their time together in the carriage. She had barely even looked at him over the past few days. And yet here she was, grinning from ear to ear over a dress he had had made for her weeks ago.
“I cannae believe it, truly,” Scarlett said. “’Tis surprising that the man kens a single thing about fashion beyond ‘nothing excessive.’”
Edith laughed at that.
Aaron had said those exact two words to the seamstress, but she was talented enough to create a stunning dress out of them, and quite frankly, she deserved all the praise he was now getting.
“I shall have ye ken that he said precisely that,” she admitted.
“Of course he did.” Scarlett shook her head fondly. “Me braither has the romantic instincts of a stubborn ox.”
Violet giggled from where she stood, and only then did Edith notice that she was holding a small bundle in her hands.
“What do ye have?” she asked curiously.
Violet stepped forward. “Wild lavender oil, me Lady,” she said, opening the carefully wrapped vials. “I pressed some of it last night, after ye asked.”
Edith smiled, taking the small glass vials from her, and the scent immediately filled the air between them.
“Thank ye, Violet,” she said. “Truly.”
“Will ye wear it today?” Violet asked.
Edith nodded. “Ye ken I wear it every day,” she said, still smiling. “It suits me.”
Her smile wavered slightly as a memory resurfaced. Aaron had said those words about her wild lavender bouquet—that it suited her.
She hesitated. “I thought… perhaps ye might put a vial in the Laird’s chamber as well.”
Only after the words left her mouth did she remember her best friend’s sharp senses.
Scarlett willnae let this pass without comment.
“Aye, me Lady.” Violet smiled. “I shall see to it before the festival begins.” She curtsied and slipped out of the room, with one of the vials cradled carefully in her hand, leaving Edith alone with Scarlett and the gown spread across the bed between them.
As soon as the door closed, Scarlett turned to her, a mischievous glint in her eyes.
“So,” she drawled, settling on the edge of the bed, her expression far too knowing for Edith’s comfort. “Ye wish for me braither’s chamber to smell of yer favorite scent.”
“’Tis only a kindness,” Edith said quickly. “He mentioned likin’ it once, and I thought…” she trailed off, suddenly uncertain how to finish without revealing more than she intended.
“Edith Woods,” Scarlett teased, her voice carrying the particular fondness she reserved for moments when she had caught herfriend in something undeniable. “Ye are tryin’ very hard to convince yerself this is nothin’.”
Edith’s cheeks warmed.
She busied herself with smoothing a nonexistent wrinkle from the gown to avoid Scarlett’s eyes. It was then that her best friend’s gaze drifted to the open notebook on her bedside table.
“What is that?” Scarlett asked, already reaching for it.
“Nay—” Edith moved too late.
