Page 79 of The Last Debutante
Charity blinked. She put aside her glass and leaned forward. “I’m all ears.”
“He’d been shot.” Daria told Charity what had happened then. That Mamie had returned to the cottage and claimed she’d found the poor man. That she didn’t know who he was but had saved him. She told Charity that Mamie had seemed anxious and erratic, and really, a bit mad, but that she’d attributed it to the devastation of finding the man in such a state.
“The man was thelaird?” Charity asked, her eyes lighting with delight. “Goodness, Daria! What an education for you!”
“Quite,” Daria said.
“That causes my heart to race—”
“Mine as well.”
“Well? Go on!”
Daria told her how it appeared that Mamie was not trying to save the poor man’s life, but perhaps trying to hasten his end. “She’s mad,” Daria said flatly.
“Or hiding something,” Charity offered.
“That’s precisely what Jamie said,” Daria said thoughtfully.
“Is that indeed whatJamiesaid?” Charity echoed, nudging Daria with her shoulder.
Daria frowned at Charity. “Your imagination is working far too hard. Every person you see here is a Campbell. It’s impossible to distinguish them if one does not use given names.”
“Or ‘my lord,’” Charity said with a shrug.
“Not lord.Laird—” Daria sighed. “May we please return to the reason I am held for ransom?”
“Yes, please do,” Charity said.
Daria told Charity how Mamie had finally admitted that she’d shot Jamie, but quite by accident, and Jamie had accused her of stealing from his addled uncle Hamish. She related how Mamie had adamantly denied it but finally admitted that perhaps she did indeed owe the Campbells money, but she did not have it. Then Jamie had threatened to have the authorities brought round, but had settled on the ransom instead, and brought her here.
“Perhaps she’s gone barmy from living in solitude, do you suppose?” Charity asked.
“I don’t know,” Daria said morosely. “But something is very wrong with her. No one here will believe it, of course.”
“At the very least, Jamie Campbell sounds to be a chivalrous man. That is, taking debutantes for ransom aside.” Charity smiled coyly.
“He is,” Daria agreed. “He’s really been very kind, considering what my grandmother has done to him.”
Charity put her arm around Daria. “Don’t fret, darling. Your parents are on their way, and I am here to help you. Now then, tell me what happened after you came to this charmingly rustic castle.”
Daria thought back to the days she’d been here. “Nothing, really. I taught them to waltz.”
Charity’s face lit with a rare smile. “Towaltz?”
“They were not the least bit familiar with it!” She told Charity about the dancing, and how she’d demanded a suitable occupation and made a match for the blacksmith. She told her about Peter, and how eager the lad was to learn. She talked about Geordie, about Bethia and Duffson. About the muffins the cook made her, the dogs who followed her, the children who sang songs about spring.
Charity was rapt, listening to every word, smiling at some things, frowning at others. When Daria had told her everything, Charity studied her for a moment. “You’ve not said a word about the laird.”
Daria averted her gaze. “What is there to say?” She stood up, moving to the sideboard. “He’s to be married soon.”
“Is he? That’s unsettling, as I think you’ve come to esteem him,” Charity said.
“That’s not it at all, Charity,” Daria said impatiently. “You’ve misunderstood me completely.” But maybe it was impossible for anyone to understand her. The Daria who had set foot on that ship so many weeks ago was nowhere to be found.
“I hope I have,” Charity said. Surprised, Daria glanced at her friend. “While he may be a man to be respected and esteemed, he is a Scotsman yet.”
Why did the hair on the back of Daria’s neck stand up? She turned slowly around to face her friend. “What are you trying to say?”
