Page 26 of To Wed an Heiress
“We’re happy to offer you hospitality until your maid heals, but I don’t want your parents to think that we approve of the situation.”
“Or of your journey here, Hortense,” her grandmother said. “In my day such a thing would have been scandalous enough to ruin a girl’s good name.”
“Have you nothing to say for yourself, then?” Douglas asked.
Mercy shook her head, uncertain what words would pacify the older man.
He scowled at her, an expression matched on her grandmother’s face. Elizabeth was still looking down at her lap, but Flora was staring at her with wide eyes. Perhaps everyone cowered before Uncle Douglas, but she was James Rutherford’s daughter. She didn’t cower before anyone.
“You’ve got a head on your shoulders, Flora,” he told his granddaughter. “I’ll not have you act the fool like this cousin of yours.”
“No, sir,” Flora said, smiling prettily.
She was to be seen as an example, then. Someone not to emulate. How very strange since she’d been exemplary most of her life. The sensation was almost heady. Mercy Rutherford, unbiddable, wicked, and recalcitrant.
The first course was served and she occupied herself with eating the fish soup and ignoring the side-eyed glances from her relatives. Conversation swirled around her, dealing with Lennox Caitheart, a new litter of puppies, and Flora’s upcoming visit to Edinburgh.
The feeling of being isolated was a new one, but not entirely unwelcome. At home, her parents hung on to her every word. Sometimes, she had the feeling that even her breathing was monitored both awake and asleep. Being ignored was almost a gift.
She wasn’t required to speak until dessert. She’d eaten all the other courses in complete silence. That had never before happened and it was such a novel experience that she thoroughly enjoyed it.
“Why haven’t you married, cousin?” Flora asked.
The question took her off guard. She glanced up to find everyone at the table looking at her.
“Is it normal for American women to be so old before they marry?”
Granted, she was a few years older than she might have been if the war hadn’t intruded. Still, she was hardly ancient.
No one seemed to think Flora’s question intrusive or rude. Even her grandmother looked merely curious. Not once did she send a censorious glance in Flora’s direction.
It was a strange sensation watching someone else being treated as she was at home, as if she was special and could do nothing wrong. Mercy couldn’t help but wonder what other people thought when viewing her parents’ behavior around her.
“I’m going to be married next spring,” she said. Even to her own ears her voice sounded dull and lacking in enthusiasm.
“Why so far away? If I was to be married, I’d be clamoring for my wedding to be held immediately.”
Mercy only smiled in response. She wasn’t going to mention the complicated arrangements, the hundreds of people involved in ensuring that the Rutherford-Hamilton wedding was the event of the season.
With any luck it wouldn’t happen.
Nor was she going to tell anyone how she felt about Gregory.
How odd to feel a spurt of kinship for Lennox Caitheart. They’d both earned the ire of the Macrorys, albeit for different reasons.
Chapter Thirteen
“What’s she like?” Irene asked.
“What is who like?”
“The Macrory girl. The new one from America. The one you nearly killed.”
Lennox looked up from his soup and stared at her across the table. She would have had a fit if she’d known that he’d treated Miss Gallagher on this same table this morning.
“Who told you that?”
No doubt it was Jean. The two sisters had a remarkable way of communicating. If anything important happened at Macrory House, Irene heard about it within the hour. He often suspected they had runners between the two homes. But her ability to ferret out knowledge wasn’t limited to Macrory House. Irene hadn’t been here this morning, but she already knew the details of what had happened.
