Page 50 of Ghost of the Ton

Maisie trailed off and her color deepened as she met Mia’s gaze. Doubtless she had warmed Hamish’s bed several times and knew him more intimately than Mia ever would. Men were not expected to keep themselves chaste for the marriage bed. As soon as they reached adulthood, they took mistresses and entered brothels. Hamish would have done the same.

Why, then, did a little needle of pain stab Mia’s heart at the notion?

“He’s not called me to his bed since he went to London,” Maisie said, again as if she’d read Mia’s mind. “He was different when he returned—quieter, more serious, as if he carried a burden. And though he turned me away even when I offered a tumble for free, he took me into his arms and…” She shook her head. “No matter. Too many men hide their hearts in an attempt to be strong. But strength lies in listening to our hearts and responding to them.” She turned to Mia and gave her a bright smile. “If I can give them a little strength by letting them speak to their hearts at night, then I’ll die a happy woman.”

And a lonely one.

“Perhaps we’re not so different,” Mia said.

“How could ye be likened to a hure?”

“We both wish to ease the pain of others,” Mia said. “Perhaps a doctor is no different to a…a lady of the night.”

“Lady of the night? Ha!” Maisie let out a peal of laughter. “I’ve never been called that before, But I like it. Maisie MacLennan, Lady of the Night.” She straightened her stance, then dipped into a curtsy. “Lady of the Night, at yer service, Lady MacLennan.”

Mia allowed herself a laugh, then startled as a knock came on the door. A male voice called out, but the flicker of hope in her heart died almost as soon as it flared. The voice was deeper and rougher than the voice she’d been longing to hear.

“Is anyone there?”

Maisie’s eyes gleamed with delight. She patted her hair, then ran her hands over her skirts as if to smooth them, before she untied the apron and dropped it on the table.

There was no need to ask to whom the voice belonged.

Mia called out, and a man appeared. He was enormous—his thick-set frame filled the doorway—and he had to bend his head to fit into the frame.

“Do come in,” Mia said.

He nodded and entered. He had an unruly mop of dark-red hair tamed only a little by his hat, and a thick beard that brushed against his chest. A pair of bright sapphire eyes settled first on Maisie, then he shifted his gaze to Mia. His lips curled into a grin, then with his free hand he removed his hat.

“Rory MacLennan, at yer service, Yer Ladyship. I hope I’m not intruding, though I see ye’re not in want of company if ye’ve got the lovely Maisie.”

“Be off with ye, Rory, and take yer nonsense with ye,” Maisie said.

“You’re very welcome, Mr. MacLennan,” Mia replied.

“Call me Rory, lass, or ye’ll be up to yer armpits in MacLennans.” He lifted his left hand. “I’ve brought ye these.”

Suspended from his hand was a dead bird, its feathers a rich reddish-brown color flecked with flashes of green and blue, and a fish, with silver-gray skin and a pink tone to its underbelly. The fish seemed to stare at Mia, its eyes bright and clear, as if it were still alive. And perhaps it had been moments earlier.

“Ye’ll need to hang the grouse for a day or two before ye can eat it, but the fish ye can eat anytime. I caught it this morning.”

“What do you mean—hang?” Mia said.

“Och, Rory,” Maisie said. “Ladies from London aren’t used to such things. Mia, can ye cook?”

“Yes, but I’ve never had to hang something before I cook it.”

“I’ll see to it, lass, if ye’d permit me,” Rory said. “Old Ma MacLennan used to hang her game out by the back door. Best place for it, as it’ll get ripe if ye hang it inside, and few can weather the stench.”

“It doesn’t sound very appealing,” Mia said.

“Ye cannae beat the flavor of a well-hung grouse, lass. Have ye not eaten grouse?”

Mia shook her head.

“Then ye’re in for a rare treat, isn’t she, Maisie?” Rory said. “And there’s none so fine as Glenblath salmon, but ye must treat it with respect and cook it properly.”

“Rory!” Maisie said. “Dinnae speak to the lass so. She’s not used to ye.”