Page 49 of To Wed an Heiress
“I take it that you’ve had another misadventure,” he said, his stare encompassing her damp hair. At least he couldn’t see the state of her corset or shift.
The servant who’d opened the door helped Ruthie from the carriage.
All four of them mounted the steps, entering the reception room just as they had a week earlier.
“I believe the family wishes to speak with you, Miss Rutherford.”
“Why?”
“The carriage was spotted on the approach to the house, miss. There are questions as to where you’ve been and why you’ve returned in the Caitheart vehicle again.”
She sighed inwardly, wishing there was an end to this idiotic feud. The two families were fighting because of people who were long dead. Wouldn’t their deaths have been cause enough for them to band together?
“They’re waiting for you in the family parlor, Miss Rutherford.”
She couldn’t help but wonder how much pleasure McNaughton received from the idea that she was about to be lectured.
Mercy turned and addressed Ruthie. “Thank you, Ruthie,” she said. “Will you go and rest now?”
“You don’t want me to go with you, Miss Mercy?”
Mercy shook her head. “No. There’s no need for you to be there. I really want you to go rest.”
Ruthie nodded.
Mercy turned and looked at McNaughton. “I’m not certain where the family parlor is. Can you give me directions?”
He looked down his narrow nose at her, gave her a grim smile—the kind undertakers must surely wear—and said, “If you’ll follow me, Miss Rutherford, I will take you there.”
She had no choice but to trail along in McNaughton’s wake. A few minutes later she was grateful that she’d done so, because she was certain she would never have found the room without help.
The butler stood aside, opened one of the double doors, and bowed slightly. The glint in his eyes, however, was anything but obsequious. He was thoroughly enjoying her discomfort.
“The family parlor, Miss Rutherford,” he intoned.
She was surprised that he didn’t announce her in that same officious voice. Mercy took a few steps inside the room and was assaulted by the color blue. The sofa and two flanking chairs were upholstered in blue silk. The curtains on the four north-facing windows were made of the same fabric. The room would be naturally dark, given that several trees had been allowed to grow close to the house, but the color scheme made it seem even gloomier.
The whole family was there: her grandmother, Great-Uncle Douglas, Flora, and Aunt Elizabeth. Only Elizabeth smiled at her, an expression that seemed filled with pity. Flora was wide-eyed and no doubt grateful that she wasn’t the person being watched so carefully. As far as Ailsa and Douglas, she doubted if even Mount Olympus had had such strict and cold judges.
There wasn’t anywhere for her to sit, unless she chose the opposite side of the room where four chairs and a gaming table had been set up in front of the fireplace. She chose to stand in front of the sofa where Douglas and her grandmother sat, grateful that a wide rectangular table was between her and her older relatives.
When she was a child, her grandmother had slapped her on occasion, claiming that Mercy had misbehaved. The infractions had been so small that she’d never remembered them, only the punishment. Mercy didn’t have any doubt that Ailsa would resort to such behavior now if she was annoyed enough. The past four years might have aged Seanmhair, but she was neither frail nor feeble.
Mercy’s shift was nearly dry, but it was itching. She wanted to go change her clothes, bathe, and consider the events of the morning. Instead, she stood before her relatives in an impromptu tribunal.
They must truly be angry to venture out of their rooms before dinner.
The irritation Mercy felt was a slow-burning thing, a tiny fire lit by a solitary, rebellious thought. Who were they to pass judgment on her?
“What have you done now, Hortense?” Ailsa asked. “I never thought to see the day when my own granddaughter behaved with such shocking lack of decorum.”
“You evidently have no care for the family’s wishes,” Douglas said. “Or you would not be in that man’s company.”
“Is it because he’s an earl?” Flora’s eyes were wide, her cheeks pink. “Americans quite like titles, I hear. He hasn’t any money, however.”
“That doesn’t mean anything,” Douglas said. “A man is who he is. Not a title he inherited.”
“Is that why you’re sniffing after him?” Ailsa said.
