Mrs. Beaton laughed heartily. “Ye’ll never truly be a Scot if ye cannae eat our traditional food.”
“I prefer British food,” Elinor said. “Fortunately, you are an excellent cook and prepared those dishes perfectly.”
“Now, ye can stop with yer flattery,” Mrs. Beaton said, placing a slice of freshly baked bread on a plate. “How did Mr. Dandridge fare?”
“Not much better than me, I’m afraid,” Elinor responded.
Mrs. Beaton walked the plate over to the table and set it down. “Poor man. He must be starvin’,” she remarked. “I heard he acted like abampotover house spiders.”
Elinor shrugged. “I do not fault him for that. House spiders can grow to be rather massive, especially here in Scotland. And do not even get me started on how fast they are or how you can hear a thud when they drop down from the ceiling.”
“Should I make Mr. Dandridge a typical Scottish breakfast or should we go easy on him in the mornin’?” Mrs. Beaton asked.
Her aunt stepped into the room, the white sheet draped over her arm. “I am thinking sliced haggis would be an excellent breakfast tomorrow for our guest.”
Mrs. Beaton wiped her hands on the apron that hung around her neck. “Ye do realize that some folks actually enjoy haggis.”
“I know, but we are trying to get Mr. Dandridge to leave, and quickly,” Elinor said. “Once he realizes that Scotland is not to his liking, he will return home.”
“Very well, but I will be servin’ bread for breakfast, as well. I dinnae want the man tae starve,” Mrs. Beaton responded.
Her aunt settled into the chair next to Elinor. “I think Mr. Dandridge is used to me in the sheet now.”
“Does that mean you are going to finally take it off and converse with us?” Elinor asked.
“Perhaps, but I do think I need to up the stakes,” her aunt replied. “What do you think about me playing the bagpipes?”
Elinor’s brow furrowed. “You don’t play the bagpipes.”
“Precisely,” her aunt replied with a mischievous smile. “What if I started to learn? We have a bagpipe set in the music room.”
“I think that is a terrible idea,” Elinor said.
Her aunt clasped her hands together. “I knew you would love it.”
“No, I said it was aterribleidea,” Elinor corrected. “Are you even listening to me?”
“I am, but I have already made up my mind. When Mr. Dandridge comes to call tomorrow, I shall impress him with my skills,” her aunt said with a satisfied nod.
Elinor huffed. “You have no skills.”
Her aunt feigned outrage. “I will have you know that my great-grandfather played the bagpipes.”
“That doesn’t mean you would be good at playing the bagpipes,” Elinor remarked. “Besides, I am taking him to visit Gwendolyn tomorrow. I do say that is punishment enough for one day.”
With a bob of her head, her aunt said, “You make a good point.” She promptly rose. “I am going to bed. It is late and I am tired.”
Elinor eyed her aunt suspiciously. “You are plotting something, aren’t you?”
“It is best that you don’t know,” her aunt said with a wink. “Goodnight.”
As her aunt hurried up the steps, Mrs. Beaton smiled and remarked, “Yer aunt is always up to somethin’,” she said.
Elinor rose. “She is,” she agreed. “I think I will go select a book from the library to read this evening.”
“Dinnae forget yer bread,” Mrs. Beaton said, gesturing to the slice still on the table.
Elinor picked up the bread and headed up the stairs. As she walked down the corridor, Mr. Dandridge stepped out of the dining room and she ran right into him, smushing her bread in the process.
