scandal by kissing him.
He was not going to affect her like that any longer.
“. . . Glasgow. The poor thing hasn’t been away from Hillshead.”
“Who?” she asked.
Eleanor frowned at her. “Weren’t you listening to a word I was saying, Glynis? Lucy Whittaker. She and her husband are Lennox’s houseguests. He’s asked me to show her Glasgow and I thought you could accompany us.”
Before she could demur, her mother added, “She might have questions about America.” Her mother patted her arm. “I really do want you to come.”
Before she could frame an excuse, Eleanor stood.
“I’ll be ready in a few minutes.”
“Now?”
Eleanor nodded. “I’ve already sent for the carriage.”
What a pity her brother couldn’t have made some economies there, too. Instead of two carriages, they only needed one to take him back and forth to the mill.
Yet if Eleanor didn’t have a vehicle for her own use, she probably would have taken Lucy Whittaker on a walking tour of Glasgow—and insist that she come with them.
Glynis stared at the book she’d abandoned. Suddenly, she wanted to read the story of a silly woman a lot more than she wanted to entertain Lennox’s houseguest.
Fifteen minutes later she was in the carriage attired in bonnet and gloves.
As they headed for Hillshead, she straightened her skirt, checked the toes of her shoes, loosened the cord of the reticule around her wrist, pulled at her gloves, and brushed an imaginary speck of dust from her bodice.
Anything but think of Lennox.
Her mother didn’t seem to notice her discomfort.
“The poor girl doesn’t know anyone in Scotland, save Lennox and her husband, of course. Mary is taking her father to Bute for the waters, so she will be alone all day. Why shouldn’t we extend a little Scottish hospitality and make a friend in the meantime?”
Of course her mother would care for the girl. Eleanor was kind to everyone. She’d no more disappoint Lennox than she would anyone coming to the door looking for food.
Her father had been the same. He hired people for the mill that others had fired. He instituted meetings for men in the grip of alcoholism, took up collections among his business friends to help children of his employees. They weren’t merely workers to him. Everyone at MacIain Mill was a member of a large extended family.
When her mother went inside to collect Mrs. Whittaker, Glynis remained in the carriage studying Hillshead.
The three-story house sprawled across the hilltop and was remarkable for the number of its white-framed windows. Despite the size of the house, there were only three people in the Cameron family: William, Lennox, and Mary. Speculation abounded as to the whereabouts of Olivia—Mrs. Cameron. All she knew was that Lennox and Mary’s mother had left Scotland when they were both children and hadn’t returned. Lennox never discussed his mother’s absence. Nor did she ever question him.
Hillshead required a great many servants. Seven people were employed in the kitchen alone. An army must be required to keep Hillshead dusted and swept, mopped and polished. Their own small staff of four had enough to do every day, and the MacIain house was one-twelfth the size of Hillshead.
The house seemed to have a personality, one not the least modest or unassuming. The red brick, contrasting pleasantly with the white windowsills and green hedges, was sharp at the corners and bright in color, as if proud of its newness. I’m not the clay of old cities and ancient homes, it seemed to say. I was newly kilned and set up only decades ago to reveal my owner’s wealth .
Only the front of Hillshead showed, not the two wings to the rear. A wooded area filled with huge oaks and tall pines bordered the property here and in the back of the house. As a girl she’d followed Duncan and Lennox into those deep woods to climb a few of the trees herself. The walkway wound from the road to the door, bordered by more hedges, trimmed so not one
He was not going to affect her like that any longer.
“. . . Glasgow. The poor thing hasn’t been away from Hillshead.”
“Who?” she asked.
Eleanor frowned at her. “Weren’t you listening to a word I was saying, Glynis? Lucy Whittaker. She and her husband are Lennox’s houseguests. He’s asked me to show her Glasgow and I thought you could accompany us.”
Before she could demur, her mother added, “She might have questions about America.” Her mother patted her arm. “I really do want you to come.”
Before she could frame an excuse, Eleanor stood.
“I’ll be ready in a few minutes.”
“Now?”
Eleanor nodded. “I’ve already sent for the carriage.”
What a pity her brother couldn’t have made some economies there, too. Instead of two carriages, they only needed one to take him back and forth to the mill.
Yet if Eleanor didn’t have a vehicle for her own use, she probably would have taken Lucy Whittaker on a walking tour of Glasgow—and insist that she come with them.
Glynis stared at the book she’d abandoned. Suddenly, she wanted to read the story of a silly woman a lot more than she wanted to entertain Lennox’s houseguest.
Fifteen minutes later she was in the carriage attired in bonnet and gloves.
As they headed for Hillshead, she straightened her skirt, checked the toes of her shoes, loosened the cord of the reticule around her wrist, pulled at her gloves, and brushed an imaginary speck of dust from her bodice.
Anything but think of Lennox.
Her mother didn’t seem to notice her discomfort.
“The poor girl doesn’t know anyone in Scotland, save Lennox and her husband, of course. Mary is taking her father to Bute for the waters, so she will be alone all day. Why shouldn’t we extend a little Scottish hospitality and make a friend in the meantime?”
Of course her mother would care for the girl. Eleanor was kind to everyone. She’d no more disappoint Lennox than she would anyone coming to the door looking for food.
Her father had been the same. He hired people for the mill that others had fired. He instituted meetings for men in the grip of alcoholism, took up collections among his business friends to help children of his employees. They weren’t merely workers to him. Everyone at MacIain Mill was a member of a large extended family.
When her mother went inside to collect Mrs. Whittaker, Glynis remained in the carriage studying Hillshead.
The three-story house sprawled across the hilltop and was remarkable for the number of its white-framed windows. Despite the size of the house, there were only three people in the Cameron family: William, Lennox, and Mary. Speculation abounded as to the whereabouts of Olivia—Mrs. Cameron. All she knew was that Lennox and Mary’s mother had left Scotland when they were both children and hadn’t returned. Lennox never discussed his mother’s absence. Nor did she ever question him.
Hillshead required a great many servants. Seven people were employed in the kitchen alone. An army must be required to keep Hillshead dusted and swept, mopped and polished. Their own small staff of four had enough to do every day, and the MacIain house was one-twelfth the size of Hillshead.
The house seemed to have a personality, one not the least modest or unassuming. The red brick, contrasting pleasantly with the white windowsills and green hedges, was sharp at the corners and bright in color, as if proud of its newness. I’m not the clay of old cities and ancient homes, it seemed to say. I was newly kilned and set up only decades ago to reveal my owner’s wealth .
Only the front of Hillshead showed, not the two wings to the rear. A wooded area filled with huge oaks and tall pines bordered the property here and in the back of the house. As a girl she’d followed Duncan and Lennox into those deep woods to climb a few of the trees herself. The walkway wound from the road to the door, bordered by more hedges, trimmed so not one
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