Page 24 of Ghost of the Ton

“It does matter, lass,” Eilidh said. “On some days, my body pains me so much that I’d be willing to try anything. My son offered to send for Dr. Chisholm again as soon as his marriage to Miss Young was…” She colored and sighed. “Well, that’s not something we can consider now.”

“Then let me atone for your not having the funds for an Edinburgh physician,” Mia said.

“There’s nothing to atone for,” came the reply, “but I would hear what ye might suggest.”

Mia glanced at the window, from which a thin beam of sunlight strained across the air, picking up swirling dust motes.

“First,” she said, “I’d recommend plenty of sunlight and fresh air. Though the winter months are generally darker, even a little sunlight on a daily basis can ease the ache in your bones. As to milk—do you dislike it in your tea?”

“I like it, but Dr. Chisholm suggested I take my tea plain, for my health.”

“I would resume taking milk,” Mia said.

“Will that lessen my pain?”

“Over time, if taken regularly, it will lessen the cause of your pain. And if I can find the right herbs and plants, I can make you an infusion to lessen the pain, and a salve to massage into your hands.”

“I dinnae know…” Eilidh sighed.

“At least let me try,” Mia said. “I’ll treat anyone here who needs it if there’s no physician available. I’m not afraid of hard work.”

“Aye, lass, I can see that,” came the reply. “Though it’s not the done thing for the Lady of Glenblath to—”

“I think we both know, Lady MacLennan,” Mia said, “that in every aspect that matters, I am not, and never will be, the true lady of this estate. But I would find fulfilment and happiness in making myself useful in the best way that I know how.”

Eilidh smiled. “I must say, ye speak very determinedly and have such unusual ideas for a young lady from London.”

Mia returned the smile. “Perhaps that’s due to my not being a lady,” she said, “at least not in any way that matters. In the eyes of those who matter, a doctor’s daughter is nobody.”

“Ye’re not nobody,” Eilidh said, “not to me or my son.”

Mia’s heart fluttered at the reference to…

My husband.

As if her mind sought to torment her further, his voice, deep and rich, filtered into her senses, at first caressing her with its musical tones, before growing harder, the rich warmth turning to cold anger.

“Damn it all to fuck!”

Eilidh stiffened, her gaze fixed on the door.

Then another voice spoke.

“Ha! Brother, it serves ye right for being such an arse.”

“Be quiet, Iona, or ye’ll feel the back of my hand on yer arse.”

“Ye wouldnae dare! Ye’re a weakling, Hamish MacLennan.”

“And ye’re a hellion!”

Footsteps drew near and stopped outside the door.

“Go to yer room, Iona,” the first voice said. “I cannae stand the sight of ye.”

“Better that than the sight of yer wife. I may be a hellion, but at least I’m not saddled with a pockmarked witch!”

“That’s my misfortune to bear, sister, but take care, lest ye find yerself with an equally undesirable man for a husband. There’s plenty hereabouts who’d take ye off my hands, and it’d save me a lot of trouble.”