Page 15 of To Wed an Heiress
She gave Ruthie a chance to say her farewells in relative privacy as she grabbed her valise and reticule and followed McNaughton up the steps.
Chapter Seven
Mercy was led to an understated room with a circular table in the middle adorned with a bouquet of summer flowers. A large fireplace sat on the opposite wall. Other than a bench in front of the fireplace, there was no other place to sit.
McNaughton bowed slightly and removed himself, no doubt to alert her grandmother to her presence.
She placed the valise beside the bench and rubbed the marks on her left palm. Soon she would give it to her grandmother and be rid of it. She wouldn’t have to worry about the money anymore. Or carry the heavy thing everywhere she went.
There was no doubt of the artistry around her. The overmantels were friezes of female figures dressed in diaphanous garments. The ceiling was similarly carved with cherubs and angels. Two deep-set windows with a view of the drive were framed with burgundy curtains. Between the windows sat small tables, each topped with a tall mirror, their white frames carved with vines and small flowers.
As she waited for Ruthie she realized that she should have sent word somehow. She shouldn’t have assumed that her relatives—people she’d never met and only had a brief correspondence with over the years—were living in poverty.
At the very least she should have warned her grandmother. Ailsa was not a young woman and the journey from North Carolina had probably been a difficult one.
Ruthie entered the room and Mercy went to her side.
“Come and sit down,” she said. “You’ve had a tumultuous morning.”
Ruthie only nodded.
Her lack of speech coupled with the fact that she hadn’t uttered one of her superstitions since the accident was worrying Mercy. She wanted to say something uplifting, but nothing occurred to her. Was Ruthie in pain? Was that why she wasn’t acting herself? Or did her somber mood have something else at its root? Was it Connor?
It might be possible for Ruthie to see Connor again, but nothing would come of it. They weren’t going to remain in Scotland. There was no sense involving yourself in a romance with no future.
McNaughton entered the receiving room, bowed slightly, and asked, “May I offer you some refreshments, miss?”
At least the butler hadn’t said anything about their deplorable condition, although he was looking down his very long nose at both of them. According to the mirror she kept in her reticule, she had spots of blood on her white collar. Her hair was matted at the crown with dried blood and she no doubt smelled of whiskey.
Ruthie looked even worse with her bandaged arm and her pale face.
They needed beds, something to eat, and a warm welcome, not necessarily in that order. That was not a comment she was going to make to the butler, however.
“Thank you, no.”
“I’ve conveyed word to your grandmother that you are here,” McNaughton said.
That was all. He didn’t say anything further, leaving her to imagine their reception. Hopefully, her grandmother would appear soon. Otherwise, she had the feeling that they were going to be left here for hours.
Would they be turned away? If they were refused what would they do? They didn’t have a carriage. For that matter, they didn’t have a driver. From the conversation on the way here, Connor was going to see Mr. McAdams back to Inverness.
Perhaps she could borrow a carriage from the Macrorys to take her and Ruthie to Inverness as well. Except that she wasn’t altogether certain that Ruthie could make the trip until she had a chance to rest.
No, her relatives were just going to have to allow her to stay for a few days.
How odd that she’d never doubted her welcome. Perhaps she shouldn’t have made that assumption.
She wasn’t feeling all that affectionate toward the Scots right at the moment. Other than Connor and Mr. McAdams, she hadn’t met very many of them whose acquaintance she would like to pursue. Certainly not Lennox Caitheart. Or McNaughton who looked down his nose at them.
She doubted if the butler could have handled the events of the morning any better than they. In fact, McNaughton looked like the type of man who would quail in the face of adversity. Or blame his problems on some other person.
Or perhaps she was just out of sorts because she was tired and her head was aching.
“Mercy?”
She turned at the sound of her name to see her aunt Elizabeth striding toward her, her arms opening in a hug and her smile so welcoming that tears peppered Mercy’s eyes.
“When McNaughton said you were here, I couldn’t believe it. What are you doing in Scotland? But I’m so glad to see you. It’s been so very long. How is your mother? And your father? They are well, aren’t they?”
