Page 7 of Redemption for the Baron

A downstairs maid appeared from the same place as Mrs. Simmons.

“My lady.” She dipped a quick curtsey as she handed Bridget a towel, then proceeded to clean the floor with the other one she had in her hand.

Marjory took Bridget’s arm with an easy familiarity, though a fleeting hesitation passed over her features. If Bridget had not known her so well, she might not have noticed it at all.

“You must be exhausted. I’ll have a tray of hot tea with supper brought up to your room. You rest. We can talk in the morning.” They climbed the staircase. “I’m so glad you’re finally here.”

“Thank you, Marjory. It’s good to see you.” Bridget’s smile came without effort. Despite her reservations, she was genuinely happy to see her friend. “It seems the weather followed me all the way.”

“It will be relatively dry by the morning. I think you’ll enjoy being in Sommer-by-the-Sea more than London.” Marjory leaned in with a conspiratorial glint in her eye. “I certainly do. You’ll find country house parties far less… rigid than London soirees and galas.”

Marjory chatted animatedly about the preparations for the weekend’s events.

“The ballroom has never looked lovelier,” Marjory said, adjusting the drape of her sleeve as she spoke. “The chandeliers have been polished until they sparkle, and I had the house staff bring in extra candelabras.”

Bridget smiled faintly as she listened to Marjory continue, her voice bubbling with enthusiasm.

“I had the staff arrange the drawing room differently this time,” Marjory went on. “Last year’s gathering was far too cramped, and I cannot bear to see another guest practically wedged into the corner with no hope of escape. And the flowers, oh, Bridget, you must see them! Fresh from the hothouse, in the most stunning arrangements. Roses, lilies, even a few exotic blooms for the ballroom. I thought we would use flowers from our garden as centerpieces for the dining table.”

Bridget chuckled as they reached the landing, where the scent of baking pastries drifted from the kitchens below.

“The menu is set,” Marjory continued. “Pheasant, trout, roasted lamb with that spiced glaze everyone raved about last year. And the desserts! I told the cook to prepare an array, but I suspect the lemon tarts will vanish first. They always do.”

“You’ve certainly thought of everything,” Bridget said, taking in the energy in Marjory’s voice.

“I had to,” Marjory replied, smoothing her skirt as they walked toward the parlor. “The guest list is not as simple as it was last year. There are more, shall we say, strong personalities attending this time.”

Bridget nodded, but her mind had begun to drift. The evening’s events still clung to her thoughts, refusing to be dismissed.

She could still see him, those steady blue eyes, the quiet authority in his stance. The way he’d looked at her… as if he saw more than a stranger on the roadside. As if she wasn’t merely passing through his day.

“Bridget? You’ve gone quiet.”

Bridget’s heart did a somersault at the sound of her name. For a fleeting moment, she felt as if she’d been caught practicing with her small blade, something her mother forbade her to do.

Marjory placed her hand on Bridget’s arm. “You seem a bit distracted.”

“I’m fine, just a bit more tired than I thought.” Bridget forced a smile, though her mind was elsewhere. The man’s determination and quiet strength had left an impression on her, one she couldn’t easily dismiss. The memory hovered, uninvited and unshakable.

“There’s still much to be done,” Marjory continued. “I’d welcome your company as I make the final arrangements.”

“Of course,” Bridget replied, grateful for something else to focus on.

Marjory led her up the sweeping staircase, the mahogany banister smooth beneath her hand. At the top, they arrived at the landing, a circular space adorned with a plush rug and a vase of fresh roses atop a marble pedestal. “Your room is just down this hall.” Marjory gestured to the left.

“Thank you for understanding my late arrival.”

Marjory gave her a knowing look, a hint of mischief in her eyes.

“Well, it’s not every day a Scottish lass turns up at my door looking like a drowned rat. Now, let’s get you settled.”

She exhaled, and the tightness in her chest eased. Relief, unexpected, but welcome, settled over her. Marjory’s teasing grounded her, pulling her back from where her thoughts had strayed.

“Here we are.” Marjory opened the door. “Now, get yourself warm and settled. We shall speak in the morning.”

Bridget hesitated at the threshold. “I would ask you to have tea—”

Marjory’s expression shifted, a flicker of sorrow crossing her face. “Perhaps tomorrow,” she said softly. “There are a few things I need to take care of tonight with Mark.”

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