Page 101 of The Scottish Duke
“That’s because I was foolish. I didn’t know I’d be so reviled. But I had no other choice.”
They each remained silent.
“Thank you,” she said a few minutes later. “For the box. It’s the most wonderful present you could have ever given me. Other than Robbie, of course.”
Their son snuffled in his sleep, a reminder of the bond they shared.
“I don’t want you moving to another room,” he said.
She didn’t have an answer for that, either.
“Sleep,” he said softly in her ear.
She smiled again, patted his hand, and allowed herself to do just that.
“You’ll wear out the carpet, Mary,” Thomas said, taking a sip of his whiskey as he watched the woman pace Blackhall’s library.
He could, as the expression went, tune his pipes to Mary’s wailing about Alex’s marriage. She had been complaining about it for months now, and it wasn’t getting easier to stomach.
He really should go back to London. He’d created his own identity there. He was the Earl of Montrassey. No one knew him as the uncle of the current Duke of Kinross, nicely sliced out of any hope for the dukedom by an almost illegitimate infant.
“Look at it from my angle, Mary. If I can condone the marriage, with all its ramifications, then surely you can.”
She stopped her pacing long enough to send him a fulminating glance. “She’s a maid, Thomas. Do you condone someone like that being the Duchess of Kinross?”
“It doesn’t matter what I think, Mary. Nor does your opinion matter one whit in this instance. She is the Duchess of Kinross and nothing you or I could say will change that.”
“He should never have married her,” she said.
He silenced his first response. Alex could never have marriedher, which he knew was her secret hope and wish. She’d had the bad luck to be Ruth’s sister. However, if she hadn’t been Ruth’s sister, she’d never have come to Blackhall in the first place.
He’d often thought they’d all have been better off if she hadn’t.
Mary was a chattering little bird, as he’d occasionally thought of her. She gathered up information the way a nesting female collected twigs, fitting all the divergent pieces together to create a story here, a story there. Then she sat on a branch or, in her case, a chair in the parlor, and shared what she knew with anyone who was unfortunate enough to pass by. Maid or footman, housekeeper or the Dowager Duchess, it mattered not. Mary spread her tales.
One of her favorite sources of information was her own maid, Barbara, a rather scrawny female with an unfortunately long nose and thinning hair graying at the temples. Whenever he encountered her, he had the impression that the words she spoke had no resemblance to what she was thinking. Even her “Good morning, your lordship” was laced with a tone that made him think she was wishing him to perdition. No, the disgust in her gaze was tangible enough to feel.
Barbara was the perfect foil for Matthews, another obsequious servant at Blackhall. The two of them were like adders, slithering through the corridors and rooms of the castle, striking at any poor little mouselike creatures they discovered.
He disliked them both, and wasn’t altogether fond of Mary, either.
None of his hints had fallen on fertile ground so far. She was still pacing and still grumbling.
He’d come into the massive library to procure a book, something to occupy his mind, only to be waylaid by Mary. The woman was still pacing and still grumbling, unwilling to accept a fait accompli. Alex had married again.
Sooner or later she had to acknowledge that fact.
Granted, the marriage had been startling, but he didn’t reveal the depth of his surprise to Mary.
Alex didn’t trust the world, and why should he? He’d been shown exactly what could happen in life at an early age. No wonder the boy had shuttered himself off from emotion, from feeling. If Lorna had broken open Alex’s self-imposed cocoon, then he’d salute her.
Mary, however, was having none of that. In the true fashion of others of her ilk, she only saw the world through the prism of her own feelings. What she wanted was paramount. What she felt or thought was more important than what anyone else could possibly feel or think.
She was excessively tiresome in her selfishness. Not to mention excessively boring.
“She brightens him, Mary,” he said.
Anything he said would simply bounce off the woman, so why not barrage her with the truth? He’d seen the change in Alex himself over the months. His nephew had been infuriated, curious, angry, and then bemused. He’d been bested without even knowing he was in a contest of wills.
