Page 26 of Ruined By the Ruthless Highlander
Marian smiled to herself.
Indeed.
Mrs. MacBride had prepared a truly remarkable breakfast that morning, and Marian had sent a maid to request her presence at the table to offer a compliment in person, but she never came.
Now I know why.
“Well then,” Mrs. Campbell said after a minute of silence. “I should leave ye to enjoy yer tea.”
“No—” Marian’s voice came out sharper than intended. She paused, softening her tone. “Pardon me… I’d like you to stay.Join me.” She hesitated again, watching the housekeeper’s face before adding, “Please. It is quite saddening to have tea alone.”
Mrs. Campbell’s lips curled into a smile. “Very well, me Lady,” she agreed, picking up a cup for herself. “But ye daenae strike me as the type to sit sad.”
Marian smiled, but it did not quite reach her eyes.
She watched as the housekeeper poured herself some tea, the quiet clink of porcelain filling the room as steam curled between them once more. Her mind drifted, and Glen Carrick faded, only to be replaced by the drawing room back in London.
Her father used to love tea as much as she did. He often used the free time between his duties as a lord to sit with her, and it never seemed to bother him that it was considered a ladies’ activity.
After his passing, Marian had not dared to have tea alone for fear of missing him. She was not about to start now.
“You should learn to be stronger,”she imagined her mother’s voice in her head.“You are soft-hearted, just like your father. And that is of no use to this family.”
Mrs. Campbell dropped her cup with a small clatter, snapping her back to the present.
“Are you all right, me Lady?” she asked, her eyes filled with concern as she noticed Marian’s trembling hands.
Marian sighed, setting down her cup beside the plate of carefully arranged bannocks that must have been brought in while she was lost in thought.
Her fingers curled into the edge of her sleeve, and she hesitated before reaching in to pull out a folded letter, the parchment creased from frequent handling. She looked at it, saying nothing for a moment.
Mrs. Campbell stared at her in silence until, finally, she unfolded the paper with deliberate slowness.
“This…” she began, her voice barely above a whisper. “This was meant to be my freedom.” She raised her chin, a wry smile forming on her lips. “It is a deed. An inheritance.”
She scoffed lightly at the last word.
“I traveled north because of it. Three weeks in the rain. Just to find a place that I could finally call home.”
Her fingers tightened around the edges of the letter, trembling more than they had earlier.
“It should mean something…” She looked at Mrs. Campbell as though she expected an answer. “Should it not?”
Mrs. Campbell said nothing. She only watched her with an unreadable expression. Marian dropped her gaze, folding the letter and tucking it back into her sleeve.
“You must pardon me,” she said quietly, her heart sinking when the housekeeper’s chair scraped across the stone floor.
She had barely had time to look up again before Mrs. Campbell reached across the table and pulled her into a firm embrace.
Marian froze. She had not expected the hug.
Her shoulders tensed in shock, but Mrs. Campbell’s warmth spread through her just as quickly as the hug had come on, and she relaxed, leaning into it more until she felt better.
Soon, the matter of her inheritance faded from her mind, and her stomach growled.
She swallowed. Her gaze slowly shifted to the plate of bannocks that had filled the room with their delicious aroma, and she immediately noticed a difference.
What has happened?
