Page 29 of To Wed an Heiress
All she’d accomplished by coming to Scotland was injuring Ruthie.
She slid from the bed and went to the door barefoot.
“Good morning, Miss Mercy,” Lily said, bobbing a curtsy. “It’s a fine day, it is. With a breeze blowing from the north, giving us a hint of the autumn.”
Mercy expected Lily to enter the room, but she stepped to the side and grabbed a large silver tray.
“Is that my breakfast?” Mercy asked, staring at the tray piled high with food.
“Cook and I didn’t know exactly what you wanted, miss, so we thought a little bit of everything was called for.”
Mercy closed the door behind the young maid and watched as she placed the tray on the small table beside the chair.
While Lily arranged everything, Mercy put on her wrapper.
“Tomorrow morning, miss, if you’ll tell me what time you’d like to get up, I can come and open the draperies for you. That way, you can greet the day with a beautiful view of Scotland itself.”
“Thank you,” Mercy said, a little overwhelmed by such a bright and bubbly manner first thing in the morning.
Usually, she and Ruthie merely nodded to each other until they were each sufficiently awake. She wasn’t an early riser, especially if she’d been to an event the evening before, but neither was she known to lay in bed until midmorning. Normally, the sounds of the household woke her.
“You really didn’t need to bring me a tray,” she said. “I can come down to breakfast tomorrow.”
“None of the family does, miss. The only meal they take together is dinner.”
How odd, but the practice might be a blessing. She wouldn’t need to undergo her grandmother’s scrutiny until this evening. Unless, of course, she was summoned beforehand. That was entirely possible. Ailsa liked to lecture.
After visiting the bathing chamber, she returned to the bedroom, sat, and tasted her Scottish breakfast. Blood pudding was something she would avoid in the future, but the scones were wonderful. The eggs were excellent, as well, along with the buttered toast. Cook made bread each Wednesday, she was told, and the butter was churned from cream from their own cows.
“Have you worked here long, Lily?” she asked as Lily bustled around the bed straightening the sheets and bedspread.
“The better part of three years, miss. Still, I’m the newest here.”
She finished eating while Lily flew through the room dusting all the surfaces and rearranging the items on the bureau, nightstand, and vanity, chattering all the while. Mercy answered all her questions as she ate.
Yes, New York was large and filled with people. No, she had never before visited Scotland. Yes, she thought the scenery was awe-inspiring. She’d never seen the like. No, she wasn’t chilly and didn’t need a fire lit.
When she was done with breakfast she thanked Lily for bringing the tray as well as straightening the room, but declined any help dressing.
Once the maid was gone she went to the armoire and selected a blue-striped silk dress with a snug bodice and puffed sleeves. Her grandmother couldn’t say that she was improperly attired. Except for hats. She hadn’t wanted to bring along her collection of hats—that would have been too much luggage. As it was, she had a trunk and three valises while Ruthie had only one small bag.
After dressing she worked on her hair. There was nothing she could do about the bandage, but she gathered the rest of her hair into a dark blue snood. She was just going to have to look odd for a little while.
At least the circles beneath her eyes weren’t as dark as they’d been yesterday. Plus, her face seemed to have a little more color.
She gave herself a final look in the pier glass, made a face, and opened the door, heading for the servants’ stairs, hoping she could remember which room was Ruthie’s. She found it on the second try, grateful that the first room had been empty of an occupant.
Ruthie called out for her to enter and when Mercy did she found the other woman sitting up in bed, her head tilted back against the headboard, eyes closed.
She blinked open her eyes and smiled wanly at Mercy.
“You’re in pain,” Mercy said.
She’d forgotten, until just this moment, to ask if the Macrorys owned a donkey and hoped Ruthie didn’t remember. She would rectify that oversight the minute she left the room.
“Just a little, Miss Mercy.”
“Were you able to sleep at all?”
