Page 108 of For a Scot's Heart Only
“Please, bring that abomination you’re wearing to my shop,” she said. “I’m sure Margaret and I can transform it.”
Cecelia clutched her night-robe. “Not a chance.”
Cecelia adored the robe, a playful gift from Mr. Sloane. It had been his shot across the bow as it were. Once she’d accepted it, the one-time government man was unceasing in his pursuit of Cecelia—luring her with late-night meetings, popping up in her favoritehaunts, and defending her before London’s staunch anti-Jacobite magistrate.
Mr. Sloane even read a romantic novel to her in bed.What man did that?
A determined one.
The result was a deep, abiding passion.
“Is this what happens to a woman when she falls in love?” Mary asked. “She loses her fashion sense?”
“I doubt it.”
“And what happened to your bedchamber?” Mary twisted in the chair, skeptical. “Everything’s in pristine order.”
“It’s Alexander. He likes things tidy.”
Mary unwound herself and found Cecelia sipping beef tea, content.
“Never thought I’d see the day when Cecelia MacDonald happily accommodates a man’s preferences.”
Cecelia stared at nothing in particular, dreamy eyed and soft with her lips unpainted, which was a startling change. The woman always had a miniature pot of carmine on hand.
“It’s love. There’s nothing like it. A force to knock you down and soften brittle hearts. It seeps into the cracked places we all try to hide and blesses us with something better.” Her gaze sought Mary’s. “Why wouldn’t I want this?”
“Of course. Why wouldn’t you?” But Mary didn’t sound convinced.
She looked into the fire. All this talk of love and hearts and cracked places was enough to drive a woman mad. She was happy for Cecelia. Truly. But this was how visits of late were going. Talk of unnerving changes revolving around love, babes, or Alexander.
Mary wanted to cry out,Canwe stop the starry-eyed pronouncements and get on with business?She wisely kept her mouth shut.
Cecelia set down her beef tea and reached for her. “I’ve stunning news.”
“Bigger than announcing you are with child?”
“Very close.” Cecelia’s braid swung forward in the dramatic pause. “Alexander is presently inspecting a house on South Audley Street.”
“Why?”
“Because it could be our future home, you ninny. I want to see it, but I won’t go out in public until I can hold down something more substantial than beef tea.”
Envy took tiny bites of Mary’s soul. She couldn’t deny it.
“A new home... how wonderful.”
“My cottage is fine for Alexander, Jenny, and me but”—Cecelia sat back and put a loving hand on her non-existent belly—“everything changes once our little one arrives.”
“I suppose it would.”
Cecelia picked up her mug. “You know, I always thought Margaret would be the first of our number to have a child.”
“Why Margaret?”
“She’s a natural at caring for others, and the most nurturing of our humble league, aside from Aunt Flora.”
Mary could barely breathe for the sharp pain climbing through her. Why did hearing Cecelia’s unvarnished assessment hurt?
