Page 77 of The Texan Duke
She blinked several times, brought back to the moment by Mrs. Ferguson’s comment. She couldn’t possibly tell the woman what the duchess had said. No, that burden was going to have to remain hers alone.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “I was woolgathering, I’m afraid.”
“Oh, my dear Elsbeth, of course you were. Have you decided what you’re going to do?”
It took a second for Elsbeth to realize that Mrs. Ferguson wasn’t talking about the duchess’s command, but of her plans for the future.
“I’ve been thinking of getting a cottage,” she said. “Or perhaps a property in Inverness. I could hire a companion or at least a servant or two.”
Mrs. Ferguson sat back in her chair, the balm forgotten, her eyes wide as she regarded Elsbeth.
“You would set up your own establishment? What a daring thing to do.”
Hardly daring when it was the only option left to her. She only smiled in response.
“I do wish he’d chosen a better season than winter,” Mrs. Ferguson said.
“I think he’s just in a hurry to return home,” Elsbeth said. “He must miss Texas very much, and after the events of today, I can’t blame him.”
The housekeeper began massaging her hands once more. “Could it not have been the ghillie? He or one of his men could have mistaken the duke for a deer. He does have a distinctive coat.”
She stared into the fire, considering the housekeeper’s words. It was possible that someone had thought Connor might be an animal, especially if they had only seen glimpses of him through the ruined arches and windows of Castle McCraight.
Hamish Robertson, the ghillie, and his sons were responsible for the game and fish on the vast acreage of the estate. They didn’t live in close proximity to Castle McCraight. The ghillie himself lived in a two-story cottage on the other side of the glen. He wouldn’t have known about the shooting unless someone had sent a servant to inform him. Had anyone done so? Would Mr. Kirby have thought of such a thing?
“I’ll send word to Hamish tomorrow,” she told Mrs. Ferguson.
The elder woman nodded. “It might be wise,” she said. “What is thought to be a malicious act often turns out to be a simple mistake.”
She couldn’t say why she thought the shooting was more than a mistake, but she put those thoughts away to consider later and spoke about less consequential things with the housekeeper. The price of flour had gone up again. Linette, one of the maids they’d recently hired, was homesick. Perhaps a conversation with Mrs. Ferguson would be in order. Most of the younger girls felt better after speaking with the older woman. She took on the role of being a second mother to many of the maids.
Elsbeth said good-night, and went down to her own rooms, the same ones she’d occupied since she was eight. More than once, the duke had offered to have them refurbished for her or suggested she might want a larger suite, one of those in the northern wing with the rest of the family. She’d always thanked him, but told him no, she was fine where she was. That hadn’t been a falsehood. Her sitting room, bedroom, and bathing chamber had become home over the years, a refuge, a place to go and close the door against the world.
She did so now, wishing she could wall off all the emotions she was feeling as easily.
Chapter 24
Sam knew, quite well, that Connor wasn’t the only one trailing after a woman like a puppy, but he couldn’t help himself. Rhona McCraight wasn’t the most beautiful creature he’d ever met, but there was something about the woman that called to him. Maybe it was the loneliness he sensed, an emotion she would probably deny if he brought it up.
He had thought this visit to Scotland would be boring and it probably would have been if not for Rhona. He found himself wanting to spend every hour with her, even if it meant her telling him all the rules of etiquette she was sure he didn’t know and, if truth be told, didn’t care about. But he liked listening to her speak and he liked the way her eyes lit up when she was amused.
If he’d had something else to do, he probably would have put it aside in order to visit with Rhona or follow her around Bealadair.
“I have to hand it to you Scots,” he said now as they entered the ballroom. “You sure know how to build houses. You trap a lot of the outside in, while we Texans leave the outside out.”
She glanced up at him.
“You have the oddest way of saying things, Sam.”
He smiled at her use of his name. That was a battle he’d already won. Nor was he offended by her comment. She said it with a twinkle in her eyes, which meant that she was teasing him.
Another milestone.
He saw Elsbeth on the other side of the room, talking with one of the carpenters. According to Rhona, they were enlarging the stage for the musicians arriving from Inverness.
This ball was important, since it was the main topic of Rhona’s conversation. The Welcoming of the Laird was a tradition, and evidently tradition was very important to the Scots.
There’d been nothing traditional about his life. No history he wanted to repeat. Born in New Orleans as the only child of a woman who made her living in ways that didn’t bear mentioning in polite society, he’d never known the identity of his father. He’d wanted more for himself, and his mother’s greatest gift to him had been her optimism that he could achieve it.
