Chapter Fifteen #3
Silence fell, save for the crackling of the fire.
Perhaps he should fill the void with a remark on the weather, or how pretty her gown was—ladies were supposed to enjoy such conversations.
But the woman sitting opposite, her face glowing in the firelight, had no need for such inanities.
She was no ordinary Society lady. She was intelligent and independent, and not afraid to speak her mind on a subject about which she was passionate.
Yet she was also comfortable in the silence, not feeling the need to fill it with meaningless remarks.
Then he smiled to himself. How many times had he dreamed of this moment—of the simple pleasure of spending an afternoon beside the fireplace, in silence, with his wife?
And here he was—spending an afternoon beside a fireplace. In silence.
With his wife.
He met her gaze and lifted her teacup to her lips, and he caught a shy smile. When he mirrored the gesture, lifting his own cup, he realized that the tea had grown cold.
He set his cup aside and leaned forward, and a flare of hope flickered in her eyes. But before he could speak, the door was knocked upon and she startled, her cup rattling on its saucer. She rose and smoothed down the front of her gown.
“That will be Lady MacLennan.”
She exited the parlor and returned with his mother.
“Would you like some tea”—Euphramia glanced at Hamish—“Your Ladyship?”
“There’s no need to stand on ceremony before my boy,” Ma said. “I’ve told ye to call me Eilidh, lass, and I insist on ye complying. And yes, I would like some tea, but perhaps later?”
“Of course, Eilidh,” Euphramia said. “How are your hands today?”
“My right hand is less swollen, I believe, but the left was giving me some pain last night.”
“Let me see.”
Euphramia gestured to the seat she’d vacated and Hamish’s mother took it. Then she kneeled beside Ma, took both her hands in hers, and inspected them.
“Yes, the joints on the left hand look redder than they did on your last visit. Have you been doing anything unusual?”
Ma shook her head. “Only a little knitting. I confess I spent a little more time at it than I’d anticipated, but it’s the first time I’ve been able to knit without pain.”
Euphramia nodded. “I see. Do you still have enough of the heather liniment?”
Ma nodded.
“Good, well, keep applying that.” Euphramia turned her hazel eyes to Hamish. “Will you make sure your mother applies it three times a day?”
“I can apply it myself, lass,” Ma said, smiling.
Euphramia continued to inspect Ma’s hands, running her fingertips along the joints.
“I have some willow bark for the pain,” she said, “if Mrs. McBride can make a tea with it. But I’d like to get hold of some ginger root.
Its warming properties are excellent for easing joint pain, if you don’t mind your hands smelling of ginger. Does Mrs. McBride have any?”
Ma shook her head. “I’ve never known her to have any. Isn’t it terribly expensive?”
“I could write and ask Dr. McIver for some,” Euphramia said.
Hamish glanced up at the shelves. “What about the laudanum?” he said.
“I wouldn’t recommend it,” Euphramia replied. “Your mother’s condition is chronic, and laudanum is not appropriate for long-term treatment because it gives rise to dependency.”
“But—”
“Och, let the lass do her job, will ye, Hamish?” Ma said with a huff. “Ye wouldnae interrupt Dr. Chisholm, would ye?”
“No, but—”
“No, but what?” Ma said. “Because he’s a man?
Mia here has done more to ease my pain in a fortnight than Dr. Chisholm did over three years—and at no expense.
Ye’re making the place look untidy, sitting there with that witless expression on yer face.
Haven’t ye got wood to chop or tenants to shout at? ”
Why did she have to speak to him as if he were a wayward child—and in front of Euphramia?
Hamish heard a sound that resembled a snort. He looked up to see Euphramia trying to hide a smile.
He rose and bowed. “Very well,” he said. “A man knows when he’s not wanted.”
Euphramia narrowed her eyes and looked away.
Curse it! He’d done it again.
But, as he’d watched her, happy to kneel on the floor unlike any lady he’d met, and the tender care with which she treated his mother, he’d come to realize that she was not unwanted.
“I’ll leave ye in peace,” he said. “But Ma…”
“Aye?” his mother said sharply, fixing her gaze on him.
“Would ye be so kind as to bring my wife back with ye, when ye’re finished? She’s agreed to dine with us.”
My wife…
He heard a small intake of breath and looked at Euphramia to see her staring at him, lips parted. She exchanged a glance with his mother, then rose to her feet, brushing dust off her skirts.
“I-I think perhaps it’s best if I remain here,” she said. “I still have some venison left, and it may not last another day. And Maisie said she might pay me a visit. Yes—that’s it, Maisie’s visiting. I’ve no wish to disappoint her.”
Hamish’s mother took her hand. “Are ye sure, lass?”
Euphramia glanced at Hamish, then nodded. The light in her eyes had gone.
“B-but,” she said, a tremor in her voice, “I should like to call on you tomorrow, that is, if you’re still amenable to letting me have some paper and a pen.”
“Of course, lass,” Hamish said, “but—”
“And,” she continued, fixing her gaze at Hamish’s feet, “I should like to write to Dr. McIver as soon as possible. He’s unaware that I’ll be leaving here, and I wish to continue my studies with him when I return home.”
Hamish flinched inwardly.
Home. She did not think of Glenblath as her home—not even the little cottage that she’d taken such pains to make so comfortable and welcoming.
“Surely there’s no need for—” his mother began, but Euphramia interrupted, her voice tight.
“I think there’s every need, Eilidh,” she said, her voice wavering. “I must think of my future.”
Hamish opened his mouth to protest and his mother frowned at him and shook her head. Then she patted Euphramia’s hand.
“Of course, my dear. We’ll do anything ye want. Won’t we, Hamish?”
Hamish couldn’t do anything but nod. What had caused Euphramia’s transformation?
“Now, leave us, son, so Mia can treat me,” Ma said.
Euphramia tidied up the teacups and took the tray into the kitchen.
“Go!” his mother snapped. “Go before ye upset her further.”
“What have I done?”
“Keep yer voice down!” she whispered harshly. “Men! Ye can never say or do what is right.”
“I invited her to dine with us, Ma—what more did ye want?”
“Aye, but did ye have to refer to her as yer wife?”
Fuck. Was that it?
“Did I?” he whispered.
“Just then, when ye invited her to dine.”
“Well—isn’t she my wife?”
“Aye,” she said. “The wife ye dinnae want. The wife ye’re intending to turn away as soon as ye can afford to rid yerself of her.”
He shook his head. “I cannae understand ye, Ma. First ye want me to call her my wife, then ye admonish me for doing so.”
“If ye cannae work it out for yerself, then ye dinnae deserve an explanation,” Ma said. “Hush! She’s coming back.”
The door opened and Euphramia appeared, a pile of blankets and a pillow in her arms. What the devil was she going to do with those?
“Hurry along, son,” his mother said, rising. “I’ve no wish for ye to intrude on this.”
He eyed the blanket and pillow, but said nothing. Then he bowed to Euphramia. “Thank ye for the tea.”
“You’re welcome,” she said stiffly. Then she set the blankets on the chest of drawers, plucked one from the top of the pile, and laid it out on the table.
“Go!” Ma said, shooing him as she might a particularly persistent and annoying cockerel.
Considering himself thoroughly dismissed, Hamish exited the cottage, closing the door behind him.
But he couldn’t resist peering through the window to watch the women unobserved.
Euphramia was placing a pillow at one end of the table on top of the blanket she’d covered it with.
Then she led his mother toward the table and helped her to climb on top.
What in the name of the devil’s tits was she doing?
When she began to undo the buttons securing Ma’s gown at the back, he let out a low cry of surprise. Euphramia stiffened and turned toward the window.
Shit.
Hamish slipped sideways and crouched low, his heart thumping in his ears.
He glanced up to see the soft orange glow from the window that stretched across the air, forming a pattern in the ground.
Then a shadow appeared and he held his breath.
Would she berate him for spying? But she merely drew the curtains, shutting out the light save for a thin sliver of orange broken by the ferns on the ground.
After waiting a few heartbeats, he retreated to the path and made his way back to the castle.