Page 30 of Romancing the Scot
“It’s not difficult getting turned about in this wing. Follow me, I’ll be happy to show you.”
Grace followed the woman’s energetic steps, recalling Jo’s comments about the dedication of the housekeeper. She never stopped from dawn to dusk.
“Did you find the dinner tray sent to your room lacking, mistress?”
“No! On the contrary, it was delicious. Please pass on my compliments to the cook.”
“But you only tasted a wee bit of the soup.” Mrs. Henson’s pinched face turned slightly and she looked out the corner of her eye at Grace. “The rest was untouched.”
More proof that she was being closely watched.
“I found the soup heavenly. The taste of almonds and cream was exquisite,” she said. “I would have loved to finish everything that was sent up, but I’m still following Dr. Namby’s directions about the need to start slowly. To be honest, I’m a bit timid about eating too much at one time.”
“Bah!” Mrs. Henson waved a hand in the air. “For all his airs, our doctor is just a country sawbones. He did his job, and you’re best done with him. Now you leave us to put some meat back on your bones, mistress.”
“I’ll eat more tomorrow,” Grace offered. “I promise you.”
“I’ll tell the cook. She’ll be pleased.”
The housekeeper opened a door, and Grace found herself standing on the threshold of a large room immersed in the darkness.
“Since his lordship prefers the large library on the first floor, we don’t often air this one unless Lady Aytoun is visiting. But the fire is laid. I’ll light it for you.”
“Do you think the countess would mind me using this room?” Grace asked. “If it’s a problem, I can—”
“Don’t give it a second thought, mistress,” the housekeeper said, cutting off her protest. “Her ladyship won’t be minding, at all. In fact, I’m certain she’d be delighted to know someone else is using it. That’s her nature. Great-hearted and kind, that’s what she is.”
The mother’s nature definitely had been passed down to the next generation, Grace thought. Jo and Hugh had both been very kind.
“I’ll have the room ready for you in a jiffy.”
Mrs. Henson lit the fire and then scurried around the library, lighting candles and tying back curtains. The sky beyond the windows was an artist’s palette of sunset colors.
Each wall was covered with books from floor to ceiling. A writing desk sat near the window and comfortable chairs and settees were scattered in corners. The rug, though elegant, showed the comfortable wear of frequent use. A display of painted fans and porcelain figurines sat on the fireplace mantle, and a great clock ticked away in a corner beside another door.
Grace’s gaze was drawn to a child’s rocking chair sitting beside a matching adult rocker. A collection of wooden blocks had been stacked on a low stool nearby. A covered basket sat between the chairs, and she sensed that it likely contained more children’s toys.
This room wasn’t the typically grand library of a large castle intended to impress. It was a place of comfort. Grace understood why the countess used it when she was here.
The housekeeper ran a finger across a table, discreetly checking for dust. The result appeared to pass inspection.
“Very well, mistress. Might I send up a wee tray for you? A bite of hot supper to tide you over, perhaps?”
“No. Thank you.” Grace smiled. “But I do promise to eat better tomorrow. You’ll see.”
Satisfied, she started for the door. “You can use the bell, if you’ll be needing anything.”
“I do have a question, Mrs. Henson. Is there a child at Baronsford?” she asked, motioning toward the blocks and the small chair.
The housekeeper’s forehead furrowed. “Aye. Well, there used to be. But no more. A great tragedy for all of us.”
Before Grace could pursue the topic, the housekeeper bustled from the room.
* * *
Eight dined with them tonight. Their neighbor Squire Lennox, Walter and Violet Truscott, the vicar and his wife, and three members of the Melrose Village council. This was the way of dinners at Baronsford whenever Jo was here. She extended invitations to anyone and everyone who had a connection with the family. No one was slighted or forgotten, and no one was invited more than once in a fortnight. This suited Hugh perfectly. When his sister wasn’t here, he rarely had company in for dinner and even more rarely accepted invitations to dine out. Truscott and Violet, of course, were an exception.
Tonight’s dinner should have been no different from any other night, and yet it wasverydifferent. Their guests had exchanged pleasant conversation around the table. The women had retired to the drawing room for a short time. Discussions had focused on politics, the economy, and the most recent accident at the Leadhills mine. And all the while, Hugh’s thoughts had focused on Grace.
