Page 14 of Ghost of the Ton

“The marks will fade in time, though they might never disappear completely…” Mrs. Ford’s voice trailed off as she lifted her gaze to Mia’s face. Then her eyes narrowed as if it pained her to have given offense, and Mia caught a flicker of pity in them.

She lifted her hand to her face, and Mrs. Ford caught her wrist.

“No, my dear. Leave it a week or two, when things have improved.”

Mia lowered her hand. “Fetch me a mirror, Mrs. Ford.”

“I don’t think that’s—”

“Please.”

A sheen of moisture gleamed in the nurse’s eyes. “Are you certain?”

Mia nodded. “I count myself fortunate to be alive,” she said. “I was never a beauty. My ambition was to become a doctor. As far as I’m aware, one doesn’t need to be beautiful to treat the sick.”

“Very well.”

Mrs. Ford rose and approached the chest of drawers. She opened the topmost drawer and pulled out something wrapped in a cloth. Then she unwrapped it to reveal a mirror the same size and shape as the mark on the wall, a thin chain suspended along the back. The mirror facing toward her chest, she approached the bed and paused, then placed it in Mia’s hands.

Aware of the pity in Mrs. Ford’s eyes, Mia turned the mirror, slowly, until her reflection came into view.

The face that looked back was thinner than when she’d last seen it. And paler. Perhaps that was why the marks that adorned her skin were so prominent. She turned her head to one side and back, taking in every sore, every scab. Almost as soon as her gaze fell upon each one, it burned and itched, and she fought the yearning to tear at them with her fingernails.

The resignation in the face threatened to dissolve, and Mia set the mirror aside before the first glimmer of despair became visible.

Mrs. Ford returned the mirror to the drawer, then pulled out a shawl and draped it over Mia’s shoulders.

“Right,” she said, in the manner of a general rallying troops on a battlefield, “I’ll go and see where that soup’s got to. Tilly’s such a chatter-mouth, I’ll wager she’s gossiping in the kitchens just now, telling them all about your recovery. But we can forgive her, can’t we? It’s not every day a patient recovers from smallpox. Oh, you cannot imagine how delighted Dr. McIver will be! He’ll want to visit you himself.”

Mia smiled at the older woman’s joy. “Thank you, Mrs. Ford.”

“It’s no trouble, Lady MacLennan.”

Mia’s stomach clenched at the woman’s address. “I-I beg pardon?”

“I said it’s no trouble, Your Ladyship.” Mrs. Ford dipped into a curtsy. “I’ll leave you in peace, now, and will send Tilly in with your soup.”

Before Mia could respond, Mrs. Ford exited the chamber, closing the door behind her.

Lady MacLennan…

A voice—the same voice that had faded in and out while she’d waited for Death to claim her—pushed itself to the forefront of Mia’s mind. Deep and rich, it echoed through her bones.

Thank ye, lass. I’ll not forget what ye did for me. And I’ll ensure that yer name will live on in the hearts and souls of the people of my home.

She lowered her gaze to her hands once more, and her breath hitched as she caught sight of the thin gold band at the base of the third finger of her left hand. She lifted her hand to get a closer look, turning it one way, then another. Then she clasped the ring between the thumb and forefinger of her right hand and rotated it. She closed her eyes, and two emerald pinpoints flickered in her mind—two bright eyes staring at her through a thin white muslin veil.

Sweet heaven!

Not only was she alive…

…she was married.

Chapter Six

Glenblath Chapel, Scotland, two months later

“You are already married…to me.”