Page 10 of The Laird’s Lost Wife

Daphne had given up assuring the old lady that she was not going to die. That fact had been a certainty for a matter of weeks now, and any day could be her last.

“Could I have a sip of water, my dear?”

Daphne leaped to her feet, pouring a generous cupful. Kneeling on the bed, careful not to disturb the old woman, she helped her drink a mouthful or two. When Lady Pilbury pushed it away, Daphne bit her lower lip and shook her head.

“A wee bit more, please. Ye daenae drink enough.”

“You are very solicitous, Daphne, thank you, but I’ve drunk enough.”

Deflated, Daphne set the cup beside Lady Pilbury’s untouched breakfast tray.

The old woman cleared her throat, plucking at the sheets. “I wonder, could you wander over to the window and look out along the drive? Just in case one of my sons arrives after all. I should hate for them to call and for us to miss them.”

Daphne’s heart ached. Both she and Lady Pilbury knew that her sons were not coming. She got up obediently, however, and padded over to the window. While she stared down an empty driveway, footsteps thudded up the stairs. A moment later, the door flew open with a crash, and a tiny, black-haired whirlwind soared into the room.

“Lady Pilbury, I had an extra scone from Cook!” the chaos squealed. “She said that I was allowed an extra sweet because I am sweet.”

Daphne whirled around. “Willow, please, I told ye to be quiet today. Lady Pilbury is ill!”

Willow skidded to a halt, but Lady Pilbury only chuckled, patting the side of her bed.

“Oh, you are too strict a mother, Daphne! You should not dampen little Willow’s spirits.”

“There is nothing in the world that could dampen her spirits,” Daphne mumbled, suppressing a smile.

The little girl clambered up beside Lady Pilbury, careful not to put too much weight on the old woman’s skeletal frame. She nestled her head on her shoulder, and Lady Pilbury closed her eyes, smoothing down Willow’s thick braids.

“She will be a beauty when she grows up,” she murmured. “Black hair, green eyes, and a spirit like that? Only five years old, and she already has the confidence of a man.”

Willow tilted her head. “Is that a good thing?”

“A very good thing,” Lady Pilbury assured her.

Willow sat up. “I have a secret.”

“I adore secrets!” Lady Pilbury exclaimed, clapping her hands.

Throwing a sheepish glance at her mother, Willow took out a small square of muslin. Wrapped inside it was half of a crumbly scone.

“Cook said that I was to eat it all and nae trail crumbs over the house,” Willow confessed. “But I wanted ye to have some, me lady.”

Lady Pilbury’s face softened. “What a generous girl. I will have a small pinch, and you and your mother must share the rest.”

She took a teeny, tiny pinch of the scone and slipped it into her mouth. Willow beamed, seemingly satisfied with that.

“Come, Daphne, you must sit on the bed, too. We’ll all sit together and be very comfortable. I may drift off to sleep, and if so, you must take Willow out.” Lady Pilbury caught Daphne’s eye.

“I could have a nap with ye,” Willow suggested.

Lady Pilbury smiled fondly at her. “That would be pleasant. Some other time, I think. You know, you and your mama have brought me great happiness. It is hard to believe that you have been here for so long!”

“I like it here,” Willow pronounced. “Cook is going to teach me how to bake bread and make cakes. I only wanted to learn how to make cakes, but she said I had to learn to bake bread too. I suppose that is fair.”

“One cannae live on cake alone,” Daphne agreed, catching Lady Pilbury’s eye and giving her a smile.

Life as a companion was better than she could have imagined. She’d thought it would be a kind of servitude, and perhaps for some, it might be. But Lady Pilbury was kind, interesting, clever, and more fun than Daphne could have imagined. Of course, their little village was remarkably quiet, and nothing ever happened, but perhaps that was for the best.

“You must miss Scotland a great deal, Daphne,” Lady Pilbury remarked suddenly.