Page 40 of Ghost of the Ton

“No,” she said. “Everything I own is in my valise, and I can carry that. I require no help from you. In any case, it’s best if I learn to live independently, to prepare for my future life.”

Guilt flickered in his eyes and he opened his mouth to reply. Mia held her breath, awaiting his response. Would he admonish her insolence? Or express regret at her leaving?

Instead, he brushed his hand across his forehead as if alleviating a headache, then bowed and exited the room.

“Forgive my impertinence, Eilidh,” Mia said.

“There’s naught to forgive, lass,” came the reply. “At least, not on yer part. While my daughter has much growing up to do, it’s my son who has the most to learn. Ye could teach him.”

“For what purpose?”

Eilidh leaned forward and took her hand. “Ye dinnae have to agree to this,” she said. “My son married ye willing—that must count for something. Glenblath can survive if ye stay. We’ve weathered worse, and have no need for some fine London lady’s dowry. Ye could be happy here.”

Mia glanced at the window and the view of the landscape—the sweeping foothills dotted with lines of fir trees and the mountain towering over all benevolently, like a giant sentinel.

“Perhaps,” she said quietly, “but not with him.”

“Can ye not forgive him?” Eilidh said.

“There’s nothing to forgive,” Mia replied. “He’s not said anything that I haven’t heard from others. I endured far worse on the journey here. But I cannot forget the expression in his eyes in the chapel when he realized who I was.” She caught her breath, stifling the sob swelling in her throat. “I would rather be alone than live with someone who looks at me the way he did—someone who said that it would have been better if I’d died.”

Eilidh caressed the back of Mia’s hand, running her fingertips across the pockmarks, with no sign of revulsion or horror, merely kindness and compassion.

“Such a pity,” she whispered.

“That I’m scarred by pockmarks?” Mia said. “There’s no need to pity me.”

“No, lass, I meant it’s a pity that my son cannae see beyond the scars to the lovely young woman that ye are. But—and though I love him dearly, I shall say this—it’s his loss, and not yers. It is him I pity.”

Eilidh blinked, moisture gleaming in her eyes. Then she gave a bright smile.

“Now, lass, we must get to work if Riverview Cottage is to be made ready for ye. Let me take ye there and ye can take a look at it. But if ye dinnae like it, ye only have to say and I’ll find ye somewhere else.”

“You’re too kind,” Mia said.

“Nay, it’s ye who are kind. And while ye’re at Glenblath, we must make sure that ye’re as happy as ye can make ye—even if not as happy as ye deserve.”

Eilidh took Mia’s hand and together they exited the breakfast room. Though she’d not known her own mother, Mia had often dreamed of what it might be like to have a mother’s love. In Eilidh she’d caught a glimpse of that love. But it was a love that would be denied her.

Some other woman—a richer, prettier woman—would be granted that particular gift.

Chapter Thirteen

After spending the morning with Murdoch, touring the estate to oversee some of the repairs—repairs that would have to cease now that Miss Young’s dowry was not forthcoming—Hamish returned to the castle, the stench of peat, hard toil, and sweat in his nostrils. His deerhound trotting at his heels, he headed straight for the dining hall, where luncheon was already laid out—joints of venison and beef glistening on platters, and a huge game pie decorated with thistles and sprigs of heather.

Devil’s ballocks—as if he needed reminding of the wedding that had been interrupted, the celebratory feast that had not taken place! All that food—and the expense of procuring and preparing it. And for what? For nothing.

His mother sat at the dining table—he could almost have believed that she’d not moved since breakfast. Of his sister there was no sign. And…

He glanced at the place at the opposite end of the table. Since his da’s passing, after Hamish took over the mantle of laird, the lady’s place had been empty, Ma now choosing to sit at the side. But now, a place had been set, with a plate, knife and fork, and wine glass.

Yet it was unoccupied.

Good. He had no desire to set eyes on her again.

Ye’re a fool, Hamish MacLennan. Ye were hoping she’d be here.

Ignoring the voice whispering in his mind, Hamish gestured to the dog at his heels. “Get to yer place beside the fire, Monarch,” he growled.