Chapter 29
The McGregor house was quiet the morning after the party.
Elspeth woke early, mostly because her mind was in turmoil the whole night.
But though she lay in bed till nearly nine, she was still the only person partaking of the breakfast on the sideboard at ten.
That was when a footman entered the room.
“Apologies for interrupting, ma’am, but there’s a message for you.” His tone clearly said that no message ought to be delivered before noon.
“Oh? Where is it?”
“It’s not written down,” he explained. “If you will come downstairs, ma’am. The messenger is waiting…”
“Yes, of course.”
She couldn’t fathom why they hadn’t simply written a note. In the hallway next to the kitchen, a towering man stood stiffly to one side. He looked more like a prizefighter than a footman.
“That’s him, ma’am,” her own footman muttered. “Said he’d speak only to you.”
She sighed and greeted the visitor. “I’m Elspeth McGregor. You have a message for me?”
The messenger looked nonplussed. “Um…”
Oh, dear. Had the footman roused the wrong daughter of the house? That would be embarrassing all round. “You do have a message for me, do you not? Are you in the right house? Who is your employer?”
“I work for Mr MacInnes, ma’am.”
“Ah.” Well, that explained the complete lack of respect for the unwritten rules of social discourse.
“The message is for Mrs MacInnes,” he went on.
“I’m afraid that’s me after all.”
He stood up straighter as he delivered his message. “I have instructions to convey you to Mr MacInnes’s townhome, along with whatever luggage you may care to bring with you, the rest to be sent for afterward.”
“Excuse me?”
The footman glanced at her, uncertain. “He said you would understand that it is for the best.”
“Ah,” she said again. No wonder Struan had sent this hulk to collect her. He’d probably been told to grab her and haul her away bodily if she made a fuss.
“Your message is clearly stated,” she said, smiling at the man. “If you will kindly wait while I just go put a few things in my bag and give a message to my maid.”
The footman nodded, apparently relieved, and she turned to go back upstairs, with no intention of coming back down.
She was seething. Struan was acting like a cad.
Yes, perhaps she’d succumbed to a bit of physical weakness last night.
But she’d already told him that it didn’t mean anything, and she certainly wasn’t going to leave her home for his.
A few moments of wildly passionate, mind-melting intercourse was no solution to their actual problem, which was that their marriage was a sham and a shambles, and she would not continue the charade.
Instead, she would write some instructions of her own, and the hulking footman could carry that back to his lord and master.
“Miss Elspeth!” Agnes said, hurrying up to meet her. “Is something going on?”
“I’m just writing a note to my husband. Come, you can take it downstairs once I finish. I’m barricading myself in my room once I’m done, lest that footman try to drag me out with him.”
Agnes looked like she was about to faint at the very idea.
In the small chamber that her father used as an office, she sat at the desk, which was covered in half-done letters and half-paid bills.
What a mess. She found an unused sheet of greenish paper and dipped the nearest pen into the inkwell.
She had better stationery in her own room two floors up, but she was damned if she’d walk up and down that many more flights just to waste it on him.
After scrawling her incredibly short note, she folded it and walked over to the table where they kept all the supplies for the post.
She jumped when a dark shape streaked over her slipper. “What was that?”
Agnes also gave a yelp, and spun about as she tried to stomp on the creature. “A mouse! Ugh!” She utterly failed to vanquish the rodent, but she did manage to catch her sleeve on the edge of the desk, sending items to the floor in a clatter. “Oh, no!”
“We never had mice before,” Elspeth said, bending to pick up some items. “What is this house coming to?”
The maid hastily gathered all the scattered papers. She handed the green one on the top to Ellie. “Here you are, ma’am.”
“Thank you.” Ellie quickly folded it into a smaller square, addressed it to Struan’s townhome, and dropped wax onto it. “Where’s that seal?” she asked, looking around. A brass seal always sat on the tabletop near the wax.
“Oh, I heard it clatter, ma’am. Let me look.” The maid got onto her knees, peering under the furniture. “Where did it go?” She shook the curtains, and continued to shuffle around the floor.
“Never mind,” said Ellie. “The wax is already dry. Just take this downstairs to the waiting footman. Tell him it’s the only thing he’ll be escorting from this house.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Agnes got to her feet, shook off dust, and took the sealed letter, tucking it into a pocket in her apron.
Ellie remained in the room, looking over the disarray. There were half-completed letters and notes everywhere. How did her father accomplish anything when he couldn’t even keep his papers organized? No wonder he was terrible with money.
Automatically working to tidy it all, she saw another piece of identical green stationery lying askew on the blotter.
She put it at right angles, as she remembered it being before, and then put a small pink scrap on top, as it had been before.
She read the words on the scrap before she even realized what she was doing: it was the street direction for some gentleman she’d never heard of.
Mr Lister. Was he a creditor too? She looked away before she could see anything else.
It would never do for her father to know that she’d been using his things.
He’d accuse her of snooping. She picked up the last few items that had gotten swept off the desk in the wake of the mouse sighting and slipped out of the room before she was noticed.
And not a moment too soon. Her father was tromping down the stairs, calling for a footman to attend him. “I’ve errands to be run. Where is anybody in this house?”
In her own room, she flung herself on her bed, deeply annoyed at Struan.
So she had a moment of weakness last night.
It wasn’t as if she’d reversed her opinion on everything that had happened and now she was going to sink into his thrall again.
Why would she, especially since he had suddenly become so demanding, ordering her to his townhouse. A house she’d never even set foot into!
She almost heard Mairi’s voice in her head: He’s doing it because he can. He can do whatever he wants. He’s the man. You’re just the wife. The ornament. The bearer of his future children.
Ellie closed her eyes, putting a hand to her forehead. Lord, what if that moment last night was what made her fall pregnant at last? How ironic. Just when she’d declared herself done with him. He’d be insufferable if he thought a baby was involved.
But it was just the one time since she’d left the Highlands and his home and his bed.
It was unlikely that one brief encounter would result in her bearing a child.
Struan had been concerned he couldn’t have children at all, and he’d said it often took more than once.
Though of course they had done it far more than once at home.
But the last time was weeks ago. She’d know if…
Ellie’s thoughts suddenly stopped short and crashed. When had her courses last come? Definitely the one time before they’d first slept together, for she’d cursed the timing of her body, getting in the way of what she’d hoped would be the actual consummation.
But since then? Had she bled at all?
She groaned in frustration. She’d never been able to rely on her supposedly monthly courses arriving when they ought to.
She’d always envied Mairi’s certitude about her own.
I won’t go out today, Mairi had said more than once.
I’ve marked this Tuesday as the first day of you know. I shall be indisposed.
Ellie had usually been surprised when she saw her courses arrive, each time.
But counting back, going over each day at Struan’s home, she realized that after the first time, there hadn’t been another.
Still, that didn’t mean anything. She was irregular and always had been. She could wake up tomorrow and learn that her body was just the same as usual.
But it wasn’t really the same, was it? She’d been awfully sick on the passage back to Edinburgh, and frequently nauseous even after arriving home. She’d blamed her family, her upset mind, and the change in weather.
Maybe it wasn’t the weather.
What other symptoms did breeding women have?
She tried to think. Feeling sick to the stomach.
Yes. Weight gain? Yes, she’d definitely filled out.
She put it down to rich food and less housework.
But again, perhaps that was foolish. Oh, and her breasts.
They’d had also been so tender lately. She’d once heard a maid talking about that as a sign.
“Oh, Lord preserve me,” she whispered. How did one know such a thing for sure? Who could she talk to about it?
Ellie curled up onto the narrow bed, tears now streaming down her face.
She had not been prepared for this revelation, and she was ill equipped to deal with it.
What she wanted was to cry and scream, and throw herself into Struan’s arms. But tears were cheap, ladies did not scream, and she was no longer depending on Struan.
Why then did her whole heart ache for him now?
Perhaps it was because despite his utterly mercenary acquisition of her hand in marriage, and then his continuing silence on the truth of the matter, he was a person who—at least for a short time—she had found such a profound peace with.
He had literally saved her life once, and had indeed offered his name and his home and his life to her.