Page 37 of The Devil of Clan Sinclair
“In no time at all, your ladyship, you’ll be able to wear white on your collar and cuffs.”
Who made up all these rules? She was certain if she posed that question to Hannah the maid would be shocked, so she remained silent.
Virginia turned and faced the armoire, frowning at the sea of black silk. It seemed like she’d worn nothing but mourning for years. First, for her father, and now Lawrence.
Her father had been such a distant figure in her life, she could readily imagine him still alive. As far as Lawrence, how did she pretend to mourn a man she’d never truly known?
Hannah was still standing there, patiently waiting.
“I’m not feeling well,” she abruptly said. She turned and walked toward the bed. “I believe I’ll rest. I didn’t sleep well last night.” Her face flamed.
“You do look feverish, your ladyship,” Hannah said, concerned.
She perched on the edge of the mattress and nodded.
“I think I’ll spend most of the day sleeping. I’m fatigued from the events of the previous week.”
She was, after all, a new widow.
The maid closed the armoire door and came to stand at the foot of the bed.
“Would you like me to fetch you some tea, your ladyship?”
“No,” she said, lying back against the pillows. “I would just like to be alone. Consider yourself off duty today, Hannah. Perhaps you can make friends among the staff.”
The expression of surprise on Hannah’s face was so fleeting that Virginia almost didn’t catch it.
“You needn’t call on me for the rest of the day,” she said firmly. “I’ll ring when I need you again.”
There, she’d used such a direct and forceful tone that Hannah could not help but obey her. The maid nodded, stepping away from the bed and moving toward the door.
“If you’re certain, your ladyship,” she said, glancing back once more.
“I am,” Virginia said. “I’ll be sleeping the day away.”
A few minutes later she heard the sitting room door close.
In a flash she was off the bed and donning one of the hated black dresses. Granted, she could have done so more easily with Hannah’s help, but then how would she have explained her plans?
If she hurried, perhaps she might catch Macrath in his chambers. She pulled on the bellpull, hoping against hope that Hannah didn’t respond to her summons. The maid who appeared at the door five minutes later was a stranger. The poor girl was out of breath, a sign of how quickly she’d raced up the stairs.
Virginia pressed the note she’d written into the maid’s hand. “Would you convey this note to Mr. Sinclair?”
“Yes, your ladyship.” The girl dropped a curtsy and disappeared without another word, racing down the corridor.
Virginia closed the door and leaned against it. Was she being the most foolish woman alive?
If she was, it felt wonderful. This whole day, from now until dinnertime, when she was certain Hannah would come to check on her, was hers. For these hours she could do as she wished. She didn’t have to be Virginia Anderson, daughter of Harold Anderson or the Countess of Barrett, wife to Lawrence Traylor, the tenth Earl of Barrett.
The bright sunny morning called to her. The blue sky beckoned her to come and explore. Let the breeze play with her hair, make her eyes water. She’d inhale her fill of it, glorying in Scotland. She’d hold Macrath’s hand, feeling the calluses of his large fingers and knowing just how tender they could be on her skin.
She wanted to eat something Scottish again. She wanted to taste the salmon she didn’t properly appreciate last night. She wanted to hear bagpipes she’d only heard in a ceremony in London. She wanted to smell the flowers lining the road.
Give her a taste of this land of Macrath’s.
She studied her reflection. Her bright pink cheeks truly did look feverish. What explanation could she give for her sparkling eyes and her smile? A smile had never come so naturally to her face or been so difficult to subdue.
Braiding her hair was an easy task. She tucked her braid at the back of her head, pinning it tightly, then loosened a few tendrils at her temple.
