Page 92 of The Devil of Clan Sinclair
“We never said anything bad about you, your ladyship. We all felt sorry for you. You were so afraid of everything.”
She nodded, unable to deny those truths.
“I daresay that this journey to Scotland and the one before it were the most courageous things you’ve ever done.”
How odd to see the look of approval on Hannah’s face.
“You don’t think he means to give up Elliot,” she said.
“No, your ladyship.” After a moment she spoke again. “He’s changed Elliot’s name. He’s calling him Alistair.”
She nodded. Another comment for which she didn’t have a response.
“And Elliot? He looks well?”
“Very well, your ladyship.” Hannah smiled. “He seemed to like being in his father’s arms.”
Virginia looked down at the floor, watching the raindrops hit the mud.
“Shall I alert Hosking?” Hannah asked.
Surprised, Virginia glanced at her. “Why?”
“To prepare the carriage for the return to London.”
“If you feel you must return, Hannah, I can’t forbid you from doing so. But I’m not leaving Drumvagen without my child.”
Hannah looked at her wide-eyed. As well she might, because in her timid mouse way, Virginia had just declared war on Macrath Sinclair.
Chapter 23
For the first week after arriving in Scotland, Virginia slept most of the time. As she began to recuperate, two thoughts played in her mind: How could she convince Macrath to relinquish her child, and had Lawrence truly done that to her?
Had he paid Paul to bed her? Or was it Paul’s idea? What was the influence Paul had over Lawrence? All these months, they’d thought it was the opposite, that Lawrence had been the Machiavellian one. Now she wondered if they’d been wrong all this time.
She couldn’t go back and remake the past. If she could, she’d save dear Eudora. She’d certainly find a way to prevent her own marriage to Lawrence.
Macrath steadfastly ignored her, refusing to visit the cottage. Brianag checked on her daily, but the housekeeper was taciturn and about as communicative as a stone.
During the second week, Virginia started making battle plans.
First, she had to regain her strength. Every morning she practiced lifting a bucket of water with her right arm, then her left. She bent and stretched, intent on conquering the dizziness she occasionally experienced. As she perched on the edge of the cot, she lifted one leg then the other until she could feel her muscles pull, then trudged through the cottage until she was steadier on her feet.
A few days ago she’d asked Hannah for a mirror, and the maid had come back to the cottage with a small hand mirror. Before she looked, however, she asked Hannah for the truth.
“Is it bad?” she asked.
“No, your ladyship,” Hannah said, studying her. “There are a few marks on your forehead and two near your right eye, but that’s all. Your arms and shoulders took the brunt of it.”
She nodded, having seen the scars there.
Courage seemed far away as she lifted the hand mirror, only to see it tremble in her grip. She lowered it, sat there composing herself.
She had never thought she was beautiful. A few scars would not alter her appearance.
Resolutely, she raised the mirror again and stared at her reflection.
How strange. The color was the same, but there was a world of knowledge in her eyes. She blinked at herself. What other changes would she find?
