The scent of roast venison curled around her. Loudly, her stomach let out a growl.
The servant girl smiled. “Ye will enjoy this meal that Cook prepared. She’s the best in town.” She set the tray down and moved the covered plate onto the table. “I also brought some tea. I thought ye might like some with your meal.”
“Thank you. You’re very kind.”
The girl dipped down into a curtsy. “I’m Flora. If ye need aught, please ask. I will be more than happy to bring it to ye.”
“This should be more than enough, Flora. Please tell your laird I am very thankful.”
With a smile, the girl exited, and Jocelyn rushed over to lock the door once again.
Laird. Did that mean he led a clan or something similar? Or was it the equivalent of Lord in England so he was a landowner? She wasn’t familiar with titles in Scotland.
As much as she wanted to stand there and ponder about the laird, the smells coming from the covered plate beckoned her, consuming her attention.
She lifted the cover, and her eyes widened at the delicious spread on the plate. Venison, crusty bread, roasted vegetables. The smells that filled the room were heavenly.
With an appetite that acted like she hadn’t eaten in days, Jocelyn ripped into the bread, dipping it into the sauce covering the venison. As soon as it hit her tongue, she moaned. Delicious was an understatement. Before she knew it, she’d cleared the plate and drunk two cups of tea. Underneath a smaller covered plate, she found a lemon curd tart. Savoring the delectable treat, she ate it in small bites, wanting it to last.
They weren’t lying when they said their cook was the best in town. Jocelyn believed she should be regaled to points farther. With such talent, she didn’t dare offer her cooking skills. She couldn’t hold a candle to the food she’d just eaten.
Her stomach full, she unpacked the few items in her travel bag. Most everything she owned was left behind at the house she’d shared with Victor. There just wasn’t enough space for her to carry more. She only took a couple gowns and some undergarments. All her gowns looked the same. Victor insisted that she only wore gray. It was drab and the color washed out her skin, making her look even more pale than she was.
But he didn’t care.
Her hand closed around the small leather-bound diary. It had belonged to her mother and was the only item she had to remind her of her parents. They’d passed a few years ago, and Victor had sold off their house, including everything inside.
She’d managed to sneak the diary out from her mother’s possessions without him knowing and had kept it hidden ever since. When she’d left, she’d made sure to grab it.
The entries were from when her mother was young. She loved to read through her mama’s thoughts about society. Her friends. Her family. When she met papa. The diary had offered Jocelyn comfort when things got too much to bear.
As she settled into bed, she read a few entries, her mother’s delicate handwriting bringing a smile to her face. Tucking the diary under her pillow when she was done, she snuffed the candle and snuggled into the thick duvet.
Within seconds, exhaustion took over and she was drifting off to a peaceful sleep.
