Page 34 of A Rogue to Cherish

Grant, on the other hand, seemed to think it was the perfect time to have a conversation. “Have you begun to use the journal?”

What would his mother think? She kept her eyes on her task and hoped the heat in her cheeks didn’t appear too apparent. “Yes, sir. I appreciate it very much.”

“And the pencils?”

“They are perfect.” She put the teapot down and stepped back.

“What of—”

His mother cleared her throat, her keen gaze moving from Wren to her son. There was a slight tightening around her mouth. “Grant, if you purchased the items for the lass, you should allow her to use them when she can. When it comes to journals and such, one must take one’s time.”

Although the woman’s comment was delivered in a light tone, Wren didn’t feel reassured.

“I am glad,” Grant replied, then continued, “I will fetch you on Sunday morning and take you home. I have business to do in that area.”

“There is no need, sir.” The beating of her heart was so hard, she could barely breathe.

“On a Sunday?” his mother gave him a questioning look. “What kind of business?”

Grant let out an audible breath. “It is not hard work, just speaking with someone.”

“Is there anything else you require, Mrs. Murray?”

His mother shook her head but said nothing, so Wren hurried back into the house.

Once in the kitchen, she paced from one end to the other. Thankfully, Mae was not there. In all probability, she was having a rest before she needed to make dinner preparations.

Wren went to the window to peer out at the garden. Grant and his mother were having an animated conversation, and she had a sinking feeling that it was about her. She knew his mother would never approve of their friendship, and although she was new to working in a household, she was sure a friendship between a man of his class and hers was most unheard of.

Why did Grant push things? Was it because he wanted to garner his mother’s attention, or because he liked to toy with others’ emotions? No matter what he said or did, Wren could not believe he was at all interested in a friendship with her. She had nothing to offer someone as highly educated and worldly—or wealthy—as him.

Footsteps sounded behind her, and Wren turned from the window. Mae entered and smiled at her. “I needed to rest in my room for a bit, but then I realized I am quite hungry. Have you eaten?” The woman went to the cupboard and rummaged for something to eat, bringing out a bit of ham and a half a loaf of bread, and some cheese. As she began cutting the bread, she looked over her shoulder at Wren. “Sit, Child. Let’s chat.”

Wren lowered herself onto a chair. She did need to discuss something, and right now Mae was the only person she knew at the Murrays. She hoped what she had to talk about wasn’t going to cause her problems, but the cook seemed like a kindly woman who would probably have good advice, much like Aunt Mariad. “I actually could use your advice. It’s about a…delicate situation.”

Mae brought the slices of bread, and the cheese and ham to the table on a cutting board.

She sat and continued to slice the food for them to prepare into sandwiches. “I see. What is it about?”

Wren took a deep breath. “It is about Mr. Murray. Not the elder Mr. Murray but the son, Grant.”

“He was such a delight when a bairn. Grown up to be a proper gentleman, he has.” Mae hesitated. “There is the matter of his roguish ways.” The woman shook her head. “Tell me what it is, lass.”

“I brought the tea to him, and Mrs. Murray. He informed me in front of her that he would fetch me on Sunday and take me home.” Wren covered her cheeks as they heated up again. “I declined the offer. Why would he say all that in front of his mother?”

“Oh.” Mae’s expression resembled Mrs. Murray’s, with a slight tightness around her mouth. “What kind of friendship is there between the two of you?”

“I-I have only seen him a few times. He has been kind since I met him. Do you not find it alarming that he would seek out a simple woman like me?”

Mae chuckled. “You are quite bonnie. So there is that. It could be he is attracted to you. Still, Child. Do not allow him any liberties. Men need limits, especially those who are used to women flocking to them.” She moved a few pieces of bread, some cheese, and ham onto a small plate and placed it in front of Wren.

“You wound me, dear Mae,” Grant said as he strolled in. He did not look wounded in the least.

The woman lifted her gaze to study Grant with a pensive expression. “I hear you planned to fetch the lass on Sunday,” she said to Wren’s mortification.

“It is too far for her to walk,” he replied to Mae with a grin. Then he focused on Wren. “Can I have a moment of your time?”

Wren looked to Mae, who motioned to the doorway with a silent expression, very clearly indicating she should tread carefully.