Page 45 of To Wed an Heiress
“Thank you,” she said as he moved to close the door.
He only smiled in response, leaving her to fervently wish that he’d instantly forget about her petticoats.
Within a matter of minutes, Mercy was stripped of her damp garments.
“I didn’t think to pack a shift and another corset,” Ruthie said.
“At least my petticoats aren’t wet,” she said. “Besides, it doesn’t matter at this point. My hair is damp. They’ll know that something happened.”
“Did you really save his life, Miss Mercy? That’s what Connor said. I wouldn’t have been as brave.”
“I didn’t think,” Mercy said. “I just knew he needed help.” For a moment she relived the terror she’d felt as she watched Lennox’s airship slide beneath the waters of the loch. “Besides,” she added, “I think you’re very brave, Ruthie. You didn’t say a word when I told you that I wanted to come to Scotland. I couldn’t have made the journey without you.”
Ruthie’s cheeks blossomed with color.
“I think we made each other brave, Miss Mercy.”
There was enough truth in that statement that Mercy only smiled.
She wished she could dispense with her corset and damp shift, but there was nothing she could do about those. Ruthie helped her don the dry dress. Outwardly, she looked presentable, as long as her damp garments didn’t soak through the fabric.
She hadn’t brought a reticule, so that meant she didn’t have a comb available. Nor had Ruthie brought one, an oversight for which she apologized profusely.
“Never mind,” Mercy said. “I didn’t think this through. I forgot about my hair. I doubt I’ll be able to enter Macrory House without someone asking questions. Flora, if no one else.”
“You can tell them that you tumbled into the loch, although I think you should tell everyone what really happened, Miss Mercy. It’s nothing to be ashamed of.”
“I doubt the Macrorys would feel the same, Ruthie. I can just imagine my grandmother’s comments.”
She hadn’t said anything to Ruthie about Ailsa, but the other woman still gave her a sympathetic look.
“Is she a tyrant to the staff?” she asked.
“Your grandmother has her ways. That’s what Mrs. West says. The housekeeper has to rotate the maids assigned to her room. No one seems to fit.”
That’s exactly how she felt. As if she hadn’t fit. Her mother’s family wouldn’t approve of her actions regardless of the explanation. Nor would they be happy that she was once again arriving in the Caitheart carriage.
She was just going to have to handle one problem at a time.
Chapter Twenty-One
When they came down the stairs, Ruthie saw Connor and murmured some excuse for needing to speak to him, such a flimsy pretense that Mercy could have easily refused. Instead, she watched as Ruthie and Connor walked down the corridor together, each smiling at the other.
One day soon Ruthie’s heart would break. Would these moments be worth that pain? Mercy couldn’t answer that question. She’d never looked at a man the way Ruthie looked at Connor, as if he held all her happiness in his smile.
Irene was the only one in the kitchen when Mercy entered. Evidently, she’d been told about the accident because the older woman came to her, grabbed both of Mercy’s upper arms, and did a silent scrutiny from the top of her head down to her feet.
At least Irene hadn’t seen her petticoats.
“Are you sure you’re all right, then?” Irene asked. “Nothing broken?”
Mercy shook her head.
“Nothing cut?”
Mercy shook her head again.
“Fool man,” Irene said. “Thank you for saving him.”
