Page 52 of To Wed an Heiress
She glanced at Elizabeth again to find her aunt studying her.
“He is at that,” Mercy said. “But I don’t understand why you refer to him so often at dinner. As if he’s some hideous and horrible person. I’ve never found him to be so.”
“As you said, Mercy, you’ll be gone from here soon enough and life will return to what it has always been.”
“Are you living the life you want, Aunt Elizabeth? Here, in Scotland? Is this where you wish to be?”
Elizabeth was staring at the hedges again, but this time she looked like her thoughts were far away from Scotland and perhaps years distant.
“I’m sorry,” Mercy said. “That’s not a question I should have asked.”
Mercy reached over and placed her hand atop her aunt’s. She wanted to say how sorry she was, how much she wished that Elizabeth hadn’t had to endure the pain of losing the man she loved. Instead she remained silent because there were times when words seemed useless.
Robert had installed a telescope between the merlons on the tower’s top. Lennox had covered it with an oiled tarp years ago, more out of respect for his brother than to protect the equipment. Now he put down the lantern and removed the tarp, shaking it over the edge to get the dust off before dropping it at the base of the telescope.
He’d never been a romantic like Robert. He’d never felt about a woman the way Robert had Mary, or been willing to make a fool of himself for love. Living at Duddingston had probably been as lonely for Robert as it was for him. Whenever Lennox had thoughts about such things, he buried himself in his work. To do otherwise would be foolish.
When he’d first seen the telescope, he’d known why Robert had put it here. Not to see the stars or the scenery. No, he’d probably somehow communicated with Mary. Maybe by lantern light or some other type of signal.
Now here he was, doing something almost as idiotic.
He tilted the telescope toward Macrory House, looked through the eyepiece, and tried to focus it. All he could see was fog, as if the lenses needed to be cleaned. He tried a half dozen more times before he finally gave up and put the tarp back. If he wanted to continue to be as foolish, he would have to disassemble the telescope and clean it thoroughly.
That wasn’t going to happen. Robert might have been lovelorn, but he wasn’t.
It was almost midnight. On a normal Highland summer night it wouldn’t yet be full dark, as if the land was reluctant to surrender the day. Tonight the sky was black with rolling clouds. Loch Arn was no more than an inky stain without moonlight reflecting on the water.
The air smelled clean, mixed with the scent of dusty stone. Somewhere, a bird called, no doubt announcing that a storm was coming.
He might be the only person awake for miles. The only one whose thoughts reached out far beyond his own body. Had Robert felt like this? Had his older brother willed Mary to light a lamp, to stand in front of her window, to wait for his signal?
He gently pressed his hand against his upper arm. He could almost feel Mercy’s touch on his skin. Or hear her indrawn breath when he’d flinched. He’d wanted to remain immobile for her sake, but her stitching had been more painful than he’d anticipated. He’d no doubt caused her as much discomfort. He’d ask her the next time she came.
A warning voice whispered in his ear. Perhaps it wouldn’t be wise to see her again. The better course would be to send word to Mercy that McNaughton should remove her stitches. The man could do a good enough job. Perhaps he should also tell her that there was no reason for her to ever return to Duddingston Castle.
The sooner she went back to America, the better.
For whom? How strange that the question was uttered in a voice that sounded too much like Robert.
Chapter Twenty-Four
“You’re up early, Miss Mercy,” the housekeeper said, looking up from her small desk in the office next to the kitchen. “Shall I ring for your breakfast?”
“Thank you, no, Mrs. West. I’m not hungry. Perhaps just a cup of coffee.”
Mrs. West stood. “Of course. Let me get it for you myself. Shall I bring it to the family dining room?”
“That’s not necessary. Perhaps I could sit with you for a few minutes?”
The older woman smiled and nodded toward the chair beside the desk.
She quite liked Mrs. West. First of all, she reminded her, not unexpectedly, of Irene. Secondly, the woman was possessed of an incredible practical nature, no doubt because of her position. Thirdly, she was exceedingly kind, evident in the way she treated her staff. No one was ever subjected to criticism in front of another person. She didn’t demean the people who worked at Macrory House. Even her conversation was carefully directed toward the good in a situation or a person. She was filled with compliments about the two new maids she’d recently hired. Or the young stable boy who’d prevented a fire because he’d been paying attention one night.
Mercy sat, folded her hands, and tried to maintain an aura of calm. Ever since yesterday, she’d been thinking about her conversation with her aunt. The longer she mulled over Elizabeth’s words, the more annoyed she became. She was tired of everyone trying to mold her into a perfect person. She wasn’t one. Nor did she have the least desire to be.
Coming to Scotland had been an act of rebellion, shocking and unusual for her. Being here in the housekeeper’s office was another rebellious act and would, no doubt, annoy her grandmother and aunt.
Wait until they learned what she was going to do next.
