Page 25 of Return of the Scot
Giselle’s eyes widened slightly. “No.”
So the countess still looked down her nose at Jaime. “She will now.”
“And my ears will blister from her ranting, no doubt.” Giselle shifted in her seat, opened her mouth and closed it again. It was clear she had a question that she was not asking, and Jaime had a good idea what it was.
“Ye came here to ask me about the Duke of Sutherland.” It was a statement rather than a query, and the way Giselle blinked rapidly, Jaime knew she’d been right. She let out a long sigh. She wasn’t surprised and shouldn’t be disappointed. But she was.
“I’m sorry, Jaime. I know ye’ve likely been hounded by everyone else.”
“I have.” As well as the rumors in the papers.
“I was worried about ye. I remember what happened with Shanna, and well, are ye all right?”
Jaime was taken aback. She’d not expected that Giselle’s concern would be for her rather than what was happening.
“I’m fine. How do ye mean?”
Giselle had stopped the rapid blinking, the smile gone from her face, and she appeared to be concerned and interested. But not for gossip—as a friend. “Well, I know it must have been a surprise and brought up a lot of things I’m certain ye would have much rather kept buried.”
Like the duke himself. Her pride was still smarting from the way he’d set her out on his stoop and then slammed the door in her face. There’d been a crowd of people outside his gates, pretending they weren’t there on purpose to see what happened. Walking down the path to her carriage had felt like a walk of shame, with every pair of eyes on hers, trying to figure out exactly what had happened. They were left to their conclusions, which undoubtedly painted her in a most unflattering light. She could see the scandal sheets now: cartoons of her painted on her arse, skirts billowing up around her head outside the duke’s residence.
“Well, yes. But I will no’ blame the duke for not remaining dead.” Jaime said it as a jest, but it came out sounding a lot more bitter than she had planned.
Giselle’s smile faltered, and her expression of concern deepened. “Does Shanna know he’s back?”
“I’m no’ certain. She’s at Dunrobin.” Or that was where Jaime hoped she was. According to Lorne, her sister had not been there, and her messenger had yet to return. Where are ye, Shanna? “If she does no’ yet know, she will soon.” The emotion in her voice betrayed the stoic appearance she was trying to portray.
“Oh, Jaime. I’m so sorry. What a mess.”
Rather than comforting her, the pity in her friend’s voice made Jaime angry. She didn’t want anyone’s sympathy. Not now. Not ever. It only reminded her of the various ways the duke had humiliated her and her entire family. And when she’d thought him, and the disgrace he brought, finally buried—now everything was rising from the grave to swirl around her in a choking cloud of ash.
“Is that all, then?” Jaime said, finding some of the hardness that had cracked a moment ago and pasting it back in place. “I do no’ have time for frivolous visits. I’ve a company to run.”
Giselle appeared taken aback and hurt, and Jaime was instantly full of regret, but she couldn’t stop the deluge she’d started. So, she stood, just as MacInnes brought in their tea.
Her old friend, however, remained seated and offered the older butler a gentle smile. “Thank ye, MacInnes. I hope ye’ve been well.”
“Verra well, my lady.” MacInnes set the tea service down on the carved mahogany table and bowed. Cook’s currant scones looked decadent and smelled heavenly. Oh, she’d lied to Lorne about not wanting scones. She loved them.
When MacInnes left, Giselle turned her unwavering gaze on Jaime. “I know we’ve grown apart these past few years, but no’ for my lack of trying. Why do ye keep shutting me out?”
“Me, shut ye out?” Jaime didn’t try to hide her exasperation. “Your mother made it plain that we were no longer to be friends, and ye did no’ argue.”
Giselle stiffened and reached forward, pouring out the tea when Jaime failed to do so. She placed in the milk and sugar, remembering exactly how Jaime liked it. How could her friend act so calm in the face of Jaime’s discomfort?
“I take your silence as agreement.”
Giselle carefully stirred her tea and then lifted the cup to sip. “My mother is…difficult. And I did argue. Quite a lot. I even sent ye letters. But ye did no’ reply. And I took it upon myself this time to show up. My mother will have my head over it later. Enough people are milling about outside taking notes, it will likely be in the evening paper.”
“I never got any letters.” Jaime narrowed her eyes. “Ye need no’ lie.”
“I’m no’ lying. I sent dozens.” Giselle’s face flamed with color, and she set her cup down. “My God, do ye think my mother could have stolen my letters?”
Jaime shrugged. “I wouldn’t put it past her.”
“And all this time, I thought ye were shutting me out.”
“I’d never shut out a friend, Giselle.” Jaime sipped her tea to keep herself from groaning. “And now that we’ve reconnected, your mother will be certain to keep ye under lock and key.”
