Chapter 12
MARY
The Scottish Baby Shower
(Or How to Bruise Aunt Isobel’s Ego)
My phone vibrates.
KEIRA
Emergency meeting at the castle. 2 p.m. Be there.
I stare at the message, frowning.
In my cousin’s vocabulary, emergency meeting can mean anything from Maggie pulled another stunt to I need a second opinion on curtain colors.
I text back:
MARY
What kind of emergency?
KEIRA
The kind that requires your immediate presence.
Very helpful. Thanks.
With a sigh, I glance at my watch. I still have two appointments this afternoon: a border collie with probable gastritis and a cat who hasn’t eaten in three days.
My patients come first.
I text Keira to tell her that, then put my phone on silent.
Jamison opens the door before I even knock.
“Good afternoon, Miss Mary. They’re waiting for you in the sitting room.”
“They?”
“Mrs. Keira and Mrs. Emma.”
Naively, I’d assumed Keira actually wanted to see me, but apparently this is a three-woman conspiracy.
I cross the entrance hall toward the sitting room and push the door open without knocking.
Keira and Emma are sitting on the couch, surrounded by what looks like wedding catalogs, American magazines, and an open laptop on the coffee table.
“Finally!” Keira exclaims the second she sees me. “We were starting to think you weren’t coming.”
She jumps to her feet and grabs my arm.
“I had appointments,” I reply. “A depressed cat and a dog with stomach problems. Sorry if that doesn’t count as an emergency in your world.”
Emma gestures toward an armchair.
“Hey, Mary. Sit down.”
“We have a problem!” Keira blurts dramatically as she collapses back onto the couch.
I roll my eyes.
“Obviously.”
I settle into the armchair across from them and cross my legs.
“So? What is it this time? Maggie wants to marry off Hamish? Ragnar bit someone?”
Keira shakes her head.
“We want to throw a baby shower for Jane.”
I stare at them, waiting for the rest.
Nothing comes.
“And?”
“And Mom is absolutely refusing,” Keira adds.
“Ah.”
I sink deeper into the chair while eyeing the plate of freshly baked scones on the table.
“Let me guess: Isobel thinks it’s vulgar, American, and against every sacred Scottish tradition she inherited from her own mother.”
Emma nods.
“Almost word for word. She says back in her day, people waited until the baby was born before celebrating anything. That it’s tempting fate. And that Jane should adapt to Scottish customs now that she lives here.”
“Jane is seven months pregnant,” I say calmly. “And she’s American. Baby showers matter to her, don’t they?”
Keira practically explodes.
“That’s exactly what I told her! But she refuses to listen. She says if we give in now, soon everyone will want baby showers and Scottish traditions will disappear.”
I suppress a smile.
“Your mother has always had a flair for drama.”
I lean forward and grab a scone, taking a large bite without ceremony.
“Mary, this is serious. Jane hasn’t said anything, but I know she’d love a baby shower. Her family’s in America. She can’t fly home for one. We’re all she has here.”
Emma leans toward me.
“We need you to convince Isobel. Or at least help us find a compromise.”
“Why me?”
“Because you’re the only person willing to stand up to her without risking being disowned,” Keira says with a crooked smile.
Fair point.
Isobel has always considered me “too independent for my own good,” which in her mind basically means I’m a lost cause anyway.
Might as well use it to my advantage.
“Okay. Where is she?”
Keira checks her watch and grimaces.
“Here. She’ll be here any minute…”
A few moments later, the door swings open dramatically.
Isobel walks in with her chin lifted and the expression of a deeply offended queen.
“Keira, I certainly hope you’ve abandoned this ridiculous idea of—”
She stops when she sees me.
“Mary. I didn’t realize you were here.”
“Surprise,” I say cheerfully.
Isobel shuts the door behind her and turns toward her daughter.
“If you dragged me here to convince me to organize a baby shower, you’re wasting your time, Keira.”
“Mom,” Keira begins patiently, “Jane is American. This matters to her.”
“Jane lives in Scotland now,” Isobel replies firmly. “She needs to adapt to our customs.”
Emma attempts diplomacy.
“We could do something small. Just family. Nothing extravagant.”
Isobel folds her arms.
“In my day, people waited until the birth. We didn’t tempt fate by celebrating before the baby arrived safely.”
I decide to step in.
“Jane’s seven months pregnant. Fate’s already been tempted, hasn’t it?”
Isobel turns toward me, eyes flashing.
“This isn’t funny, Mary.”
“I’m not joking. She’s been carrying the baby for seven months. If something terrible was going to happen because of a celebration, it already would have. A baby shower now won’t change anything.”
“It’s a matter of principle.”
“No. It’s a matter of tradition. And traditions evolve.”
Isobel opens her mouth to argue, but a familiar voice cuts through the room from the doorway.
“What exactly is going on in here?”
Maggie.
Of course.
She strides into the sitting room with the confidence of a woman who already knows she’s about to settle the argument. Her gaze sweeps over all of us before she lowers herself into the main armchair like a judge taking her seat on the bench.
“Would someone like to explain why people are shouting in my castle?”
Keira jumps in immediately.
“We want to organize a baby shower for Jane. Mom refuses.”
Maggie turns toward Isobel.
“Why?”
“You know perfectly well why. It’s American, flashy, and tasteless. We don’t do that in Scotland.”
The disgusted look on my aunt’s face nearly makes me laugh, but even if I am considered the black sheep of the family, I’m not about to make things worse, so I focus very seriously on eating my scone instead.
Maggie nods slowly.
“Jane is American.”
“She lives in Scotland now,” Isobel counters.
“She’s carrying the McGregor heir.”
A heavy silence falls over the room.
Isobel stiffens.
“Exactly. The McGregor heir deserves Scottish traditions to be respected.”
Maggie smiles.
The dangerous kind of smile that means she’s already made up her mind and no one on earth is changing it.
“We will organize a baby shower.”
Isobel pales.
“But—”
“A Scottish one, naturally.”
I bite back a grin.
Well played, Grandma.
Isobel barely manages to contain her outrage.
“This is indecent!”
Maggie rises with royal dignity.
“Jane is carrying the McGregor heir. She deserves to have that honored. But we’ll do it with class. A formal afternoon tea with a few discreet American touches. And we’ll incorporate Scottish traditions to balance everything.”
“What kind of traditions?” Emma asks curiously.
“We’ll give the baby a silver coin for luck. We’ll serve homemade shortbread. And we’ll avoid those ridiculous games they play in America.”
Keira opens her mouth to protest, then wisely changes her mind.
A compromise is better than nothing.
Isobel looks moments away from exploding, but Maggie gives her a look that clearly says: This discussion is over.
“Fine,” she finally says icily. “But I expect to be consulted on every detail.”
“Of course,” Maggie replies sweetly.
Isobel sweeps out of the room in a storm of rustling skirts and offended dignity.
The second the door shuts behind her, Keira, Emma, and I burst into laughter.
“She’s going to complain about this for an entire week,” Keira predicts between giggles.
“At least we won,” Emma replies.
Maggie watches us with a satisfied smile.
“Good. Now let’s move on to more important matters. We have a baby shower to organize. Keira, take notes, would you?”
Our grandmother rises from her chair and begins pacing around the sitting room while dictating instructions to my cousin.
“Date: two weeks from now. Location: the grand salon. Guests: family only. Theme: elegant but warm.”
Keira types furiously on her laptop.
“Can we have cake?” she asks.
“A tasteful cake. Not one of those American monstrosities covered in excessive frosting and plastic decorations.”
“Games?” Emma asks.
Maggie grimaces.
“One or two. Discreet ones. Nothing involving guessing the size of Jane’s stomach or tasting baby food.”
I nod approvingly.
Honestly, that sounds pretty reasonable.
We spend the next twenty minutes planning details: menu, decorations, guest list. Keira takes notes with military precision.
Then, just as I start considering an escape route, Keira turns toward me with a smile far too innocent to be trusted.
“Now that we’ve settled that... let’s talk about you and Finn.”
I freeze.
“There’s nothing to discuss.”
Emma laughs.
“Duncan Fraser disagrees.”
“Duncan Fraser should mind his own business,” I mutter.
Keira scoots closer, eyes sparkling.
“He says you looked like a real couple. That Finn was smiling. That he looked at you with... what was it, Emma?”
“A deeply unsettling intensity,” Emma replies smugly.
I roll my eyes.
“Duncan Fraser is a hopeless romantic who sees love stories everywhere.”
“So you deny everything?” Keira asks.
“I deny that there’s anything important going on.”
“But you had dinner together.”
“Yes.”
“At the pub.”
“Yes.”
“In public.”
“That is generally how pub dining works, Keira. Publicly.”
Maggie watches the exchange with a tiny smile but says nothing.
Which is somehow even more concerning than if she’d made a comment.
Keira refuses to let it go.
“So is it serious between you two?”
“No. Well... we’re getting to know each other. That’s all.”
“You’re seeing him again?”
I shrug with carefully practiced indifference while secretly feeling completely satisfied with how things are unfolding.
Our plan is working perfectly.
“That wasn’t a date,” I say evasively.
Emma and Keira exchange a knowing look.
“She’s blushing,” Emma points out.
“I am not.”
“You are. You’re as red as a tomato.”
To stay in character, I jump to my feet abruptly.
“Well, if we’re done here, I have appointments to catch up on.”
Keira laughs.
“She’s fleeing.”
“She’s definitely fleeing,” Emma agrees.
“I am not fleeing. I have patients waiting for me.”
“Sure, sure,” Keira says in a tone that clearly means she doesn’t believe me for a second.
I head for the door, but before I leave, I catch Maggie watching me with an unreadable smile.
She says nothing.
Which is somehow even more unsettling.
I leave the castle and climb into my car.
The plan is working.
The whole village is talking about us. My family is convinced there’s already something happening between Finn and me. Duncan Fraser is apparently going around telling anyone who’ll listen that we’re “made for each other.”
Mission accomplished.
So why do I suddenly feel nervous?