Page 32 of To Wed an Heiress
“And Mary didn’t want to remain a widow,” Mrs. West said. “Love changed them.”
The two sisters looked at each other.
Thankfully, they didn’t expect her to comment because Mrs. West handed her the bottle and gave her instructions as to its use.
“I wouldn’t leave it in her room, miss. People get confused when they’re in pain. She might take another dose before it’s time and that would be dangerous.”
Mercy nodded. “Thank you, Mrs. West. I’ll keep it with me.” She looked at both women. “Thank you for telling me the story, too.”
She was almost to the door when Irene spoke again.
“Douglas and Flora had each other, but Lennox lost the one man who’d been a rock and an example to him. When Robert died, I thought Lennox would never stop grieving. It’s only been in the past few months, with his airship, that he’s been more like himself. I think you would like him, miss, if you got to know him.”
Mercy only nodded. Lennox was blessed to have someone who believed in him the way Irene did. But he hadn’t sent Irene a nasty letter, one that irked Mercy the more she thought about it. She was going to dispense with the turban of bandages and perhaps her wound would heal faster.
He didn’t have to know that she’d taken his advice, however.
Chapter Fifteen
After spreading out the sail on the floor of the Clan Hall and examining it in minute detail, Lennox decided that it was better to err on the side of caution and replace it. He didn’t want to end up crashing on his next flight. It had been a small miracle that he hadn’t been injured last time.
Thoughts of his landing led to thoughts of her. He wished the woman would stay out of his head. He had more important things to think about.
“I don’t know what you wrote in your letter,” Irene said when she returned to Duddingston a week ago. “But it didn’t please her one bit.”
Maybe he should have taken out the part about Mercy’s vanity.
“Don’t worry, Irene. She won’t be here long enough to make an enemy out of her.”
Irene huffed. “She’s not leaving all that soon. She has a care for that Ruthie of hers. She hasn’t let the girl do a thing this past week. So Ruthie stays in her room except for a few hours when she comes down to the kitchen.”
“Where Jean solicits information from her,” he said.
Irene looked like she was considering various ways of answering his question. Her brow was furled and her lips pulled to the side. He almost rescinded the question when she spoke.
“Aye, she does, but Ruthie’s as loyal to Miss Mercy as Miss Mercy is to Ruthie. We’ve learned a bit about the house in New York, though. Ruthie called it a mansion and it sounds equal to or bigger than Macrory House.”
“So Miss Mercy is a wealthy American.”
She nodded. “That she is, but she doesn’t act it. I’ve never heard her talk about money like some do.”
Like Flora, for example, who knew how much each of her dresses cost and lost no time telling anyone who would listen.
Surprisingly, Irene hadn’t said a word about Mercy in the past week. The silence was unlike Irene who had a comment about almost anything, from the morning fog to his red eyes when he chose to work late into the night.
Summer in the Highlands encouraged you to stay awake longer. By the time it got dark it was early morning. Sometimes, he simply stayed awake, especially if he had an idea for a new wing or an invention or two.
He went ahead and wrote the seamstress in Inverness, ordering a new sail. The replacement wouldn’t be ready immediately, which meant that he had an opportunity to test out another design. This one was potentially more dangerous than his first airship. For that reason, he made copious notes. Connor could forward those on to the men with whom he communicated if anything happened to him.
This morning would be a perfect time to carry out the test of the new airship. That is, if he could get Connor’s attention.
The other day, when he and Irene had gotten into a spirited discussion about Irene’s claim that she needed another frying pan, Connor hadn’t injected a calming note into the conversation. Nor had he appeared to hear anything they said. Instead, he sat staring off into the distance—in the direction of Macrory House—with a lovelorn look on his face.
Lennox and Irene had stopped talking about the frying pan, the truce brought on more by their confusion over Connor’s behavior than any agreement. Yet Lennox knew he’d lose that battle eventually, like all the battles Irene championed. He was only a thrall in Irene’s kingdom. When he said as much to her, she only laughed, agreeing without a word spoken.
Whenever Irene returned from Macrory House Connor made a point of asking about Ruthie. Lennox had a suspicion that Irene was acting as a go-between for the young maid and Connor.
According to Irene, Ruthie was healing well. The pain she’d experienced in the first few days had disappeared. She would, no doubt, be pampered until it was time to remove the bandaging from her arm. Perhaps he should offer to do that. At least, then, he could be assured that it was done correctly. From what Irene had said, McNaughton had a habit of being ham-handed.
