An American in Scotland

by Karen Ranney

  She stared at Mabel, wondering where she’d gotten the idea that she was widowed. She really should explain before any more time elapsed, but perhaps explanations could wait. The soup smelled so very wonderful and it had been days since she’d eaten.

  Hunger, always a beast temporarily at bay, roared up and overpowered any other thought.

  She folded down the sheet and took the tray with eagerness. She began to eat, savoring each spoonful.

  The journey to Scotland had been filled with guilt, the food she’d acquired the cheapest she could find. But this meal, unexpected and free, tasted better than anything she’d eaten in months.

  “It’s Rose,” she said, taking a bite of bread.

  Mabel was a wonderful cook. When she’d told her as much, the woman smiled brightly.

  “Rose it is, then, although with that hair of yours it should be Red, I’m thinking.”

  “My brothers always said that,” Rose said, continuing to eat. She was so hungry she could have eaten the pattern off the bowl.

  The soup was glorious, as wonderful as Mabel had portrayed it, with lots of cream and a pat of butter swimming in the middle of the potatoes and cheese. She ate the bread almost as fast, and when Mabel asked if she wanted seconds, she eagerly nodded.

  “You poor thing. How long has it been since you’ve eaten?” another voice asked after Mabel left the room.

  She turned to see an older woman at the door. She vaguely remembered seeing her before collapsing.

  “I’m Eleanor MacIain. I’m so very sorry that you fell ill on your way to visit with us.”

  It was more like not having proper food or the money to buy it, a comment she didn’t make to Eleanor.

  “I’ve been insufferably rude,” she said, before the older woman could continue. “Taking advantage of your hospitality without explaining. I’ve come from America with a business proposition for Duncan MacIain.”

  Eleanor nodded. “There’s time enough for that,” she said, stepping aside when Mabel entered the room again, this time bearing not only another bowl of soup but a piece of fruitcake.

  “Once you’re rested and fed is time enough. Besides, you’re family. You’re our American cousin. It’s a delight to have you here. What a pity our En­glish cousins couldn’t have extended their visit. We would have had all three branches of the family reunited at once.”

  She smiled brightly at Rose, who had no choice but to return the smile. At the same time, she felt like a cheat, someone who was taking this lovely woman’s hospitality under false pretenses.

  Would Duncan understand when she explained?

  Chapter 2

  By the morning of the third day, Rose felt wonderful. Why wouldn’t she? She’d been treated like a princess, a very welcome guest in this lovely home.

  Every hour on the hour, it seemed, Mabel was bringing her another treat: a piece of fruitcake or a cup of chocolate or an entire plate of ginger cookies. The guilt she felt at not being able to share them with her niece or the others at Glengarden lasted only a few minutes. What she was doing here would ensure that all of them would eat in the future.

  She felt well enough to leave the comfortable bed and dress. Only once did she get dizzy, when she was bending over to tie her shoes.

  Lily caught her and chided her for even that small act. The maid had become as protective of her as Mabel, checking in with her a few times a day, making sure she didn’t need anything. Eleanor was as solicitous. All the women acted as if she were an invalid. She wasn’t. She’d just been exhausted and nearly starving. Thanks to their kindness, she was neither now.

  Lily, however, was having nothing of it. “You’ll be falling in a faint next, and leaving Mabel and me to pick you up.”

  “I promise I shan’t,” she said. “But I’m all slept out, Lily.”

  “Could you eat a bit?”

  That question was always answered with an affirmative yes. After weeks of not knowing when her next meal would be, she wasn’t about to turn down food.

  Lily was a thin slip of a thing with a large mouth that seemed to overwhelm the rest of her face. She was almost always smiling, which was contagious; you couldn’t help but smile in return. Her white apron must have been changed several times a day. It was always spotless, as was the cap she wore, although her bushy brown hair escaped it in a joyous fashion.

  Rose’s hand was taken and she was spirited down the hall, where they turned left and descended a steep set of stairs.

  They passed a lovely small parlor, entered another hallway, through a dining room, but instead of entering a kitchen they went down another corridor before finding themselves in another parlor, this one larger.

  This house was strangely laid out, a comment she didn’t make aloud. She was in no position to criticize the Scottish MacIains’ home, but it surprised her that it was so small in comparison to Glengarden. Not only that, but it didn’t seem to have any consistent design, making her wonder if it had been added onto over the years.

  Finally, she found herself in a large kitchen with windows open to the bright spring day and directed to a round table where Mabel was sitting.

  “You’re up and about, then. How lovely. The missus is at one of her meetings or she’d be happy as well to see you.”

  “Her meetings?”

  Curiosity was only a desirable trait in mousers and physicians, Rose. She could hear Susanna’s words now. Susanna MacIain was the matriarch of the American MacIains and had definite rules about southern womanhood, none of which she followed very well.

  She was, after all, from New York. A New Yorker, according to Susanna, had no breeding.

  “Aye. She works to help the poor, she does,” Mabel said now, pulling out a chair for her. “She’s forever doing good work, is the missus. A kinder, sweeter person you’ll never meet.”

  She knew that firsthand. Anyone else might have tossed her out the door the first day. Eleanor Mac­Iain had tucked her up in bed and ensured she was cared for.

  Mabel and Lily were as sweet and kind. The only person she hadn’t seen after that first night was Duncan. He was the one person who hadn’t come to her room, but then it wouldn’t have been proper, would it? Still, she’d come all this way to meet with him. Besides, she needed to know if her hunger had made her foolish. Was he truly as handsome as she remembered?

  Time was not her friend, and she’d taken three days that she didn’t have. She needed to finish her errand and return to Glengarden as soon as possible.

  “I need to see Mr. MacIain. Do you know when he normally returns from work?”

  “He sometimes comes home for lunch,” Mabel said. “Not all the time, but most days.”

  Rose consulted her brooch watch. Eleven-­thirty. Would he be able to meet with her this afternoon? Or would he want to delay until this evening? She needed to speak to him as soon as possible.

  If he didn’t say yes, she would be faced with returning to Nassau empty-­handed.

  Her stomach abruptly rumbled, loud enough for Lily and Mabel to hear.

  She felt her face warm. It was the smell of Mabel’s scones cooking, no doubt, that prompted her hunger.

  “They’re almost done,” Mabel said, smiling.

  Lily grabbed another cup from the sideboard as Mabel went to the oven.

  Rose tried not to look as eager for the scones as she was. She’d already eaten breakfast and she was ready for lunch. The aroma was more than tantalizing. She felt as if she were being led by the nose to the stove.

  “If he doesn’t come home for lunch, what time will he come home tonight?” She really did need to talk to him, as quickly as possible.

  Mabel placed the tray of lightly browned scones, plump with raisins and smelling of spices, on the table. No human being could possibly resist them. When Mabel gave her two on a plate and Lily poured her some tea, she thanked both women.
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  She folded her gloved hands around the hot cup. She hadn’t accustomed herself to the strong tea she was served at every occasion, but perhaps it was an acquired taste. Another comment she wouldn’t make. She was a guest in this house and was grateful for anything she was given.

  Two teaspoons of sugar—­another luxury—­made it bearable. Coming to England, to Scotland, meant reacquainting herself with all the creature comforts that had been lacking at Glengarden for a while: sugar, endless food, and the comfort of caring ­people.

  Bruce had believed in waking at dawn, and it was a habit the entire household had assumed. She was grateful that the Scottish MacIains didn’t wake at five, but an hour or two later.

  Nor was that the only difference in the two branches. This home was run so much more informally. She’d heard Eleanor call out more than once and overheard laughter coming from the kitchen. The servants seemed almost members of the family.

  At Glengarden, no one helped each other. The slaves were there to do their bidding. At least, that had been true until January.

  She reached for her fork, trying to pace herself, but it was nearly impossible. The smell of the pastry was beckoning her. The first mouthful made her close her eyes in bliss.

  “Mabel makes the best scones in Scotland,” Lily said.

  She opened her eyes to find both women smiling at her.

  “It’s truly wonderful. It’s like biting into heaven.”

  Mabel’s laugh swirled around the room and incited her own smile.

  “I’ll remember that as being the best compliment I’ve ever received, Rose MacIain, and I’ll be thanking you for it.”

  For the next several minutes the only thing she did was concentrate on eating.

  “I knew I smelled scones,” a voice called out. “It’s almost like following a trail, Mabel, all the way from Hillshead.”

  A woman stopped into the kitchen doorway and stared.

  Her face was triangular, ending in a pointed chin. Her eyes, a soft blue, possessed a dark circle surrounding the iris, as if to accentuate the shade. She reminded Rose of someone, and in that instant she knew who the woman was: Glynis, Eleanor’s daughter.

  “You must be our American cousin,” Glynis said.

  Before she could prepare herself, the other woman came to the table, leaned over and gave her a hug.

  “You’re Rose, am I right?”

  She nodded.

  “I’m Glynis and I’ve been waiting to meet you. I’m so glad you’re up and about. Now you can come to Hillshead to visit. We’ll have high tea. It’s a practice we’ve been doing for about a year now. It’s an excuse to drink whiskey in the afternoon and have all sorts of fattening foods. Nothing like Mabel’s scones, however. You dear, you knew I was starving for them, didn’t you?”

  With that, she gave Mabel a hug before taking the empty chair.

  “How is Dora?” asked Glynis.

  Rose sat there, eating her scone, trying to process the whirlwind that was Glynis. She’d heard of her, of course. Both Mabel and Lily had been forthcoming. Glynis had been married and widowed before marrying Lennox, the love of her life, and now lived in the big house on the hill.

  “She’s fine. The little one looks to have the colic, though. The missus told her to stay home and tend to him.”

  “While she still pays Dora, of course.”

  Both Mabel and Lily nodded.

  “You’ll find my mother is the most generous person in the world,” Glynis said, turning to her.

  “Who’s Dora?” Rose asked.

  When will you demonstrate any breeding, Rose?

  Susanna was an ocean away yet she was still being troublesome.

  “Dora works for us and helps Lily. She had a baby not too long ago, but the poor dear hasn’t had an easy go of it.”

  Rose had the feeling she was one of Eleanor MacIain’s charity cases, too.

  “Well, what do you say?” Glynis asked.

  “About what?”

  “Coming to Hillshead for high tea tomorrow. Or our Scottish version of it. About three, long enough from lunch that you’ll be peckish, but not that long until dinner.”

  She might be on her way back to America by that time, or at least to London.

  “I don’t know if I’ll still be here,” she said.

  Mabel’s mouth dropped open. Lily’s eyes widened. Only Glynis seemed unaffected.

  “Of course you will,” Glynis said. “You’ve just gotten here. You can’t leave so suddenly. I want to talk to you about America and of course you must meet Lennox. My father and sister-­in-­law are the most delightful ­people and you can’t leave without getting to know them.”

  “I can’t?”

  “Absolutely not.”

  How did one refuse Glynis anything?

  “What do you think of Scotland, Rose?” Glynis asked as she refilled her cup from the pot in the middle of the table. “Or haven’t you had a chance to see anything of your homeland?”

  “It’s not actually my homeland,” she said. “My family is Irish.”

  Glynis smiled again. “I guessed that from your hair.”

  At least the woman didn’t use a disparaging tone or hurtful adjectives to describe it. What did you do when you were born with hair the color of flames? You couldn’t very well wear bonnets inside. Susanna had actually suggested she might try dyeing it black like all her dresses.

  “A gesture of mourning, my dear,” she said when Rose had looked agog at her.

  “I’m so sorry to hear you were a widow,” Glynis said.

  In her eyes was the same look of compassion she’d received from Eleanor MacIain. Both of them had been widows. Both of them had known sorrow. Neither of them deserved a lie.

  All of them, every single person in the MacIain household, had been more than kind to her. They’d taken her into their home and their family without a single thought. From the day she arrived in Scotland she’d felt welcomed, and all she’d given them in return had been falsehoods.

  The sound of the door opening made them all turn.

  “That’ll be Duncan for sure,” Mabel said.

  She was both suddenly relieved and absolutely terrified.

  Chapter 3

  Rose stood, brushing away the crumbs from her dress, waiting for him. Would he come into the kitchen? Or was he one of those men who insisted that he be waited on in the dining room?

  Suddenly, he was there in the doorway, making her heart do a dance like tiny feet jumping in her chest. What on earth was wrong with her? The tea, that’s what it was. It was really too strong. Her reaction had nothing to do with the fact that his face fascinated her, with his eyes drooping on the outer corners a little, making him look entirely too charming.

  He might be as vile as his American cousin.

  Dear God, anything but that. Please don’t let him be like Bruce. That fear had been with her all the way to Scotland.

  Yet neither Mabel nor Lily had ever indicated that he was anything but kind. Surely they would have said something.

  Mabel spoke before she could. “Miss Rose needs to talk with you, Duncan. Would you like to sit here? You can have your lunch and talk, too.”

  “I think in the parlor, Mabel. I’ll have a few of those scones for now.”

  “I’m glad I beat you to the kitchen,” Glynis said, smiling at her brother.

  He grinned back at her.

  “Are you trying to convince Mabel to come to Hillshead again? She won’t. I’ll make sure of it.” He turned to Mabel. “Marry me, Mabel, and live with me here forever.”

  Mabel’s face turned a hearty shade of red. “Go away with you now, Duncan MacIain. And scones are not enough for a meal and well you know it.”

  He only grinned, leaned over and kissed her cheek while stealing two scones in a napkin.

 
He motioned Rose to follow him and she did, grabbing another scone for herself, to Mabel’s delight.

  They retraced the path she and Lily had taken earlier through the maze of corridors and into the dining room and out of it to reach the parlor.

  A settee rested against the wall opposite a large window. Next to it was the chair, and between the two, a small round table equipped with a lamp. In front of the settee was a long rectangular table on which there was a stack of books. She wanted to examine their titles to discover what the Scottish MacIains liked to read.

  The parlor was small, an almost intimate room. As a widow, ­people wouldn’t look askance at her being alone in a room with a relative, even a distant one.

  What would they say if they knew that she and Duncan weren’t related at all, even by marriage? Or that she’d never married?

  The room was cozy, with worn but comfortable furniture. The view from the windows was of the enormous hill nearby and the house at the top of it.

  “Hillshead,” he said, catching her glance. “It’s my sister’s house now. Or hers and Lennox’s.”

  He indicated the settee and she sat, nibbling on the scone while he sat opposite her in the matching chair.

  For a few moments they ate in silence.

  “How are you feeling?” he asked after he’d finished and blotted his mouth with his napkin.

  “Wonderful,” she said. “So much better. Thank you for your hospitality. And your kindnesses.”

  “Is that what you wanted to talk to me about, Mrs. MacIain?”

  She shook her head, wondering how to begin. First, she should correct him as to her identity, but that wasn’t the most important part of this conversation.

  Besides, the lessons she’d learned in Nassau were still with her. There, the factors had argued with her about her ability to sell the cotton in her possession. She didn’t want the same problem with Duncan.

  “When you fainted, we looked in your reticule,” he said. “I apologize for the invasion of your privacy, but we were only trying to establish your identity.”