“It is not a matter of thinking highly of him,” Elinor contended. “If he fails to marry by the Twelfth Night, then the horse farm is mine.”
“I understand your reasonings but be careful. You don’t want Mr. Dandridge to see what you are attempting to do,” her aunt cautioned.
Elinor leaned forward in her seat. “I promise I will be careful.”
“Good,” her aunt said. “I would hurry down to the kitchen and eat something before we adjourn for supper.”
Arching an eyebrow, Elinor asked, “Dare I ask why?”
“Mrs. Beaton is going to make a traditional Scottish meal and I do not think you will care for it,” her aunt responded.
“That isn’t fair. I normally enjoy Mrs. Beaton’s cooking.”
“Yes, but the soup this evening will be Sheep’s Head Broth,” her aunt said.
Elinor shrugged, trying to hide her apprehension. “That doesn’t seem so bad.”
Her aunt laughed. “Mrs. Beaton chose a large, fat, young sheep head from the blacksmith and soaked it for hours. Then, she removed the glassy part of the eyes and split the head with a cleaver…”
Putting her hand up to stop her aunt from speaking, Elinor said, “I am beginning to understand now.”
“It sounds terrible, but it is a favorite amongst the locals in the village,” her aunt shared.
“Dare I ask what is being served for the main course?” Elinor asked, her curiosity piqued.
Her aunt looked amused. “Roasted Fowl with Drappit Egg,” she replied. “It is a poached egg, but it is prepared in a lamb’s head. At least a lamb’s head is much smaller than a sheep’s.”
“Yes, how wonderful,” Elinor muttered.
Growing serious, her aunt reached into the folds of hergown and pulled out a letter. “You got a letter from your uncle.”
Elinor’s back grew rigid as she stared at the letter. “How did he find me?” she asked, feeling only dread.
“I don’t know, considering we were so careful,” her aunt replied. “Would you care to read it?”
“No,” came her blunt response, her tone leaving no room for argument.
Her aunt offered her a sympathetic look, her eyes softening. “Would you like me to read it, at least to see what he wants?”
“It doesn’t matter,” Elinor responded. “I already know what he wants, and I refuse to do it.”
“Perhaps he changed his mind,” her aunt suggested gently, though her expression conveyed doubt.
“My uncle is many things, but he is not one to change his mind. He is stubborn, almost to a fault,” Elinor insisted.
“It seems like you and he have something in common,” her aunt teased.
Elinor sighed. “I do not know how you can make jokes at a time like this,” she said. “My uncle has discovered where I am. What if he comes to retrieve me himself? I don’t think I could face him again.”
Her aunt slipped the letter back into the folds of her gown. “He won’t,” she replied. “Regardless, you have reached your majority. He can’t force you to do anything.”
“That doesn’t mean he won’t keep trying,” Elinor said. She knew her uncle’s tenacity all too well, and the thought of him pursuing her filled her with dread.
A knock came at the door, interrupting their conversation.
Her aunt rose swiftly and walked over to the wall, where she pressed a hidden latch, revealing a narrow servants’ corridor.
Once her aunt disappeared within, closing the wall behind her, Elinor ordered, “Enter.”
