Page 16 of To Wed an Heiress
She didn’t know which question to answer first, but it wasn’t necessary to talk at all as she was being warmly embraced.
A moment later, Elizabeth pulled back and studied her.
Her aunt was ten years younger than her mother, but all the Burns women looked alike. In fact, they were so close in appearance it was like seeing a younger version of Fenella Rutherford in Elizabeth. Both women had dark brown hair, deep brown eyes, and fine features in an oval face.
Mercy was shocked at the change in her aunt. The last time they’d seen each other, five years ago, her aunt had had a sparkle about her, an enthusiasm that seemed dampened now, no doubt because of the privations she’d suffered in the war. Or it could have been simply grief that had aged her. The black dress she wore was no doubt in honor of her fiancé.
“I was so sorry to hear about Thomas,” Mercy said.
He’d been a tall, robust, and handsome man with a deep voice and a laugh that made others want to join in. The world—Elizabeth’s world—must be different without Thomas in it.
Elizabeth only nodded, her wan smile acknowledging Mercy’s words.
“What are you doing here?” Elizabeth asked.
She’d forgotten about her aunt’s voice. Her accent was of North Carolina, just like her mother’s was occasionally when she was either tired or moved in some way. Her grandmother, or seanmhair as Mercy had been taught to call her, spoke with an accent made up of a Scottish lilt combined with a North Carolina cadence she’d acquired after living in America for the past forty years.
“We’d heard that you moved to Scotland,” she said.
She would talk about the valise of greenbacks later. It didn’t seem appropriate to discuss money right at the moment.
“Mother was concerned that you were all right.”
“And she sent you here to ensure our well-being, is that it?” Elizabeth asked, her voice filled with doubt.
“In a way.”
Elizabeth frowned at her, but the expression was fleeting.
“Now tell me what has happened to you. McNaughton said you came here in a Caitheart carriage. Is that true? And why do you look as if you’ve been coshed on the head? And that poor girl? What has happened to her?”
Ruthie had stood at Elizabeth’s entrance, but Mercy waved her back down.
“This is Ruthie,” Mercy said, going to the other woman’s side. “She and I traveled together from New York. We had a bit of an accident this morning and our carriage was damaged. Ruthie suffered a broken arm.”
“What on earth happened?”
She gave her aunt an expurgated version of events. She couldn’t eliminate the flying machine entirely, but when she explained how the accident happened, her aunt pressed her lips together and looked exactly like Mercy’s mother when she was incensed and at a loss for words.
She didn’t have any doubt that news of their adventure would be transmitted to New York, as soon as the postal service could deliver the letter. If her aunt didn’t write her mother, her grandmother surely would.
“Mr. Caitheart doesn’t seem to have a great deal of fondness for the family, Aunt Elizabeth.”
“That’s all right. We don’t like him any more than he likes us. Most of the time we can ignore each other.” She sighed. “It seems as if, by moving here, we’ve only traded one war for another. But never mind that. Come, we will get both of you settled. I’ll give the housekeeper instructions to prepare a room for both of you. In the meantime, McNaughton is very good at handling injuries. Could he look at your arm?” That last question was addressed to Ruthie who nodded in response.
Mercy wasn’t in the position to refuse.
A few minutes later Ruthie had her arm examined by the butler in a room off the kitchen. He frowned a good bit, then announced that Lennox’s handiwork was acceptable and that Ruthie’s arm lacked only time to heal correctly.
As for herself, she was subjected to McNaughton’s look of disapproval once more as he poked and prodded her head. Finally, he sat back, announcing that she needed a bandage until the wound had a chance to heal.
He wrapped a wide linen bandage around her head, frowned, then looked to Mrs. West, the housekeeper.
“Have you any hairpins?” he asked, his tone almost polite.
The housekeeper nodded, opened a drawer, then handed him a few hairpins. Evidently, Mrs. West was prepared for every contingency. McNaughton fixed the end of the bandage to Mercy’s hair, gouging her scalp as he did. She thought he was finished, but he kept wrapping the linen around her head until half her forehead was obscured.
When he was finally done, the butler frowned at her once more, accepted Aunt Elizabeth’s thanks with a small smile, and left the room without saying a word to her.
