Page 77 of Lords, Ladies and Love

“Um… Mary…” Minerva eyed the pale gown set out on the bed for her. “I did not realise you had packed any gowns of colour.”

Mary’s cheeks reddened a little, and she pressed her hands together. “Well, I was just thinking how lovely you look in color. And it is hardly colorful at all. Just a little touch of pink. Your siblings have already stopped wearing mourning colors. You would not be expected to continue wearing them for so long for a grandparent.”

Biting down on her bottom lip, Minerva eyed the gown. Cream with tiny lines of pink, it was hardly extravagant or over the top. Mary was right, of course. Whilst it would be perfectly acceptable to continue wearing mourning clothes for some time were it her father or husband who had died, for her grandfather, she had been wearing grey for quite long enough. But Minerva had discovered she rather liked wearing grey. People did not pay attention to her, and she could worry less about drawing the focus of anyone untoward.

She considered the letter folded carefully in her purse. “Grandpapa would likely be annoyed with me for still wearing mourning colors.”

“That was my thought, my lady.” Mary beamed at her. “Let us get you dressed. I have already asked for breakfast to beprepared in the private dining room.” Mary paused, a hand to her stomach. A little sweat beaded on her brow, and she grimaced briefly.

“Are you well, Mary?” asked Minerva, touching her arm.

The lady’s maid smiled brightly. “Of course, my lady. I am just ready for food.”

Minerva nodded and washed and dressed with efficiency, trying not to think about how the pink in the dress probably brought out color in her cheeks and flattered her golden hair. Her mother and sister frequently told her how attractive she was. It was something she did not wish to be. Being beautiful meant people looked at you. However, she had made it this far into Scotland without drawing any attention. She was certain nothing unfortunate would happen because of wearing a mere touch of pink. She smiled to herself and glanced toward the ceiling.See, Grandpapa? I am braver already.

They had to walk through the taproom to get to the private dining room. Already full with people, she squeezed through the gaps between each chair and table. Most patrons were preoccupied with their meals, and the heady scent of cooked pork and buttered toast filled the overcrowded room. A few glanced her way as she pressed through the private room, so she kept her gaze lowered, aware of her heartbeat picking up its pace. She curled a hand until her fingernails bit into her palms, only releasing it when she reached the safety of the tiny room.

Glancing back at the crowded taproom, she grimaced. Any stares would just be that of curiosity, she knew that. Her kidnapping as a child had been unfortunate and horrific but hardly a common occurrence. No one would have any interest in her aside from a passing curiosity. Yet, as brave as she thought she was, she could still not bring herself to eat amongst every man and woman here.

By the time they finished their morning meal, the carriage was ready with their belongings loaded on the back. The driver smiled at her. “The weather looks fine today, my lady. We should have an easy journey. I’m told there is fine accommodation within six hours’ journey from here.”

“That is excellent news.” Minerva climbed into the carriage, followed by Mary, who settled opposite her. At least they knew there was a bed and some food at the end of the day. They would be coming off the main roads to make their way to this cottage to which her grandfather had sent her. The Cairngorms were mountainous, and none of them quite knew what the state of the roads would be like. Despite it being summer, there could well be plenty of snow and goodness knows what else. How easy the rest of the journey would be, Minerva did not know.

Mr. Johnson’s confidence proved correct, and they journeyed easily into the barren wilds of Scotland. Though Minerva had visited Scotland when she was a young girl, after the incident, she had refused to travel with her family so had always remained behind in London with the governess. Her memories of Scotland were fuzzy and vague.

Looking out of the window at the wilderness, she regretted she had been unable to make herself come here with her family. It was quite unlike England. The dirt road on which they travelled cut through an open valley where the vast expanse of the hills on either side made her feel insignificant. The hills were touched with shades of brown, green, and purple, all mingling to create a scenery unlike anything she had ever seen before—or at least that she could remember. Farther ahead, mountains jetted out of the horizon, their tips touched with white. If these mere hills made her seem small, she could not imagine how they would make her feel.

“Goodness, Mary, how beautiful it all is.”

Mary did not look out of the window and kept her gaze fixed upon some spot on the floor. That ashen cast tinged her skin again, and her eyes looked a little hollow.

“Mary?”

“Forgive me, my lady, I just…” She flopped forward, and Minerva had to leap to grab her and prevent her from injuring herself.

Minerva maneuvered herself onto the seat next to Mary and propped the woman against her chest. A touch to her brow told her that that slight sheen on her skin from earlier had turned into a full sweat. “Mary, whatever is wrong?”

“My stomach… I feel so sick… And tired. Forgive me, my lady.”

“There is nothing to forgive. You cannot help being sick.” Minerva eased Mary down, using her pelisse as a pillow for her head. The rocking motion of the carriage likely did not help with the nausea, but Mary closed her eyes gratefully.

Minerva tapped on the carriage roof and waited until the vehicle slowed before sticking her head out of the window. “Mary is unwell,” she told Mr. Johnson. “I suspect she needs rest.”

Mr. Johnson’s expression turned grim. “I think it unlikely we will find anywhere to stop, my lady. I cannot see anything for miles. We should travel on as best as we can. Perhaps we shall find accommodation sooner than we hoped.”

Minerva nodded. The only way they could help Mary at this point was to get somewhere where she could rest and have a little something to drink with haste. But as they journeyed on, Mary’s skin grew sodden with sweat. Minerva knelt on the floor of the carriage, dabbing her brow and holding her hand. Mary moaned and twisted on the seat. It was no good, she was becoming fevered.

Minerva bade the driver to stop once more and tried to offer Mary a little water, but in her fevered state, she would hardly take any. Minerva disembarked from the carriage and eyed the vast expanse of rolling hills and jagged mountains.

“There is a farmhouse there, is there not?” She pointed toward a building on the crest of a hill. The fields around it were scattered with white sheep.

Mr. Johnson squinted in the direction in which she pointed. “Yes, my lady, it looks to be a farm.”

“We should see if someone is home. I fear Mary will not survive much longer in the carriage. She needs a bed and proper rest.”

“As you will, my lady.”

Mr. Johnson made quick work of the journey to the farmhouse. Generous in proportion, the shutters surrounding each window were painted white, but the paint was swollen and flecked, presumably a victim of the wild weather that likely plagued this area.

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