Edwina (25 page)

Edwina’s eyes drank in the view. She waited
for Reardon to open the door, she knew some protocol now, and
stepped out. Reardon had not offered his gloved hand, but stood
aside dutifully.

So he would not be her ally. Thankfully, he
was the Scot’s man, so she would see little of him.

She turned full circle and for some silly
reason felt this was home.

“Mrs. Gillespie will greet you,” Reardon said
as he perfunctorily carried her baggage, and next she knew she was
in the arms of the older woman. “Ye ’ave come. May God bless ye. It
is so good to lay these auld eyes upon ye again, lass.”

“Thank you.” This to Reardon, who only nodded
grimly and walked to the car. Edwina heard the crunch of his tires
as he left.

“Mrs. Gillespie, it’s good to see you.”

“Ye look tired. Ye’re in need of a wee spot
o’tea and a bed.” She led the way down a small corridor, narrow in
comparison to the castle halls that had been as wide as Bond Street
back home. The reddish wood floors beneath her feet reflected their
rich wood tones in the low lights. Fireplaces were lit. The house
held a tinge of coolness, perhaps because of the rock façade.

“I’m so glad to be here, Mrs. Gillespie.”

“‘
Ere is yer room. Laird
Dunnegin will be aboot in the morning to see ya. And the lass,
Paige, she is outdoors with me auld man. It’s too cold, and late
too, I tell them, but they dunna listen.”

Edwina smiled. “The room is lovely.”

“Aye, with a cup warm tea, ye will sleep like
a bairn.” A few minutes later Mrs. Gillespie left the tea tray on
her side table. She poured a cup and let the fragrance drift into
her nostrils, the warmth in her hands made her sleepy.

Alone, she gazed at the quaint room, and
walked about. It was small and yet cozy. Sipping tea, she pulled
back the heavy drapes and squinted through the wavy-glassed window.
The room was at the back of the house, for she could barely see the
low rising mountain dotted with white sheep from where she stood.
Several outbuildings stood at odd angles. Edwina wondered how old
they were. She wanted to walk through and smell the hay or maybe
straw. She had no idea, but it was all there for the taking.

Her eyes burned from lack
of sleep, so she finished the tea and set the cup down. Turning to
the room, she let her eyes take in the space. The bed, a
four-poster with gauzy white material pulled back at all four
corners, required a step to mount. Edwina stuck her toe behind her
heel and off went the shoes with a bang. They landed on the wood
floor with two loud clunks, missing the rug that lay beside the
bed. She’d have to be more careful.
Is
this my room or just a guest room?
she
wondered as her eyelids fluttered shut. She was in Scotland. Was
this all a dream too?

It was not a dream. The sound of roosters
crowing told her so.

Chickens? Was it morning? Oh my.

Grasping for the covers, she realized she
still lay atop the bed in her clothes, except a heavy quilt had
been thrown over her. She threw it back and ran to the window,
pulled the curtains aside and watched the movement in the grass. A
little girl running with a dog snipping at her skirt. Every time
she took a few steps, the dog tripped her and down she went. Still
the child laughed, the echo barely heard through the thick glass at
the windows.

So this was Paige. She wanted to meet her and
then remembered she was to be introduced by the child’s father. And
he had only a short time, Mrs. Gillespie knocked and came in to
remind her. She quickly changed. This time she dressed in her navy
skirt and white blouse. This was her offi- cial first day; she
meant to start out right.

There wasn’t time for a bath. She found the
bathroom behind a little door, complete with claw-foot tub, sink,
and toilet, and washed up. The walls of her room were a soft creamy
yellow. The furniture, bed, dresser, and closet, all walnut, was a
dark contrast. The sun invaded the two windows making perfect
squares on the hardwood floors.

“No time to dawdle, Edwina. Get moving.” She
reached for the handle and pulled hard, the door was heavy. She let
herself out and made her way to the foyer, then the kitchen.

“Ah, I see ye’ve found me,” Mrs. Gillespie
said sweetly. “The child and her dog are playing, even before the
wee lass has had a bite to eat.” She wagged her head. “Will ye have
a spot o’ tea?”

“Oh yes, thank you. Is Laird Dunnegin here
yet?” She pulled out a chair and sat at the white wood table.

“Yes, ’e’s in the study, waitin’ for ye. But
I daresay, a lass can’t think in a straight line w’out her tea. Sit
for a minute. The laird will wait.”

Edwina tried not to show her shock. The laird
waiting... not a good way to start the day. She hurried with her
tea and thanked the lady. “Which way to the study?”

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Edwina

“Leave out and go down the hall two doors. On
the right.”

Edwina stopped at a small mirror and
straightened her shoulder-length hair the best she could, glad
Peggy had given her a new cut. She looked... not so shaggy. Very
prim.

Hands shaking, she raised her fist to knock.
“Enter,” came the command.

“Good morning.” She stepped inside the door.
“Would you like me to close the door?”

“Nay. Ye are late, lass. I have been waiting
near an hour.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Be seated then.” He gestured, not even
bothering to look up from his work.

A full minute later, she was still waiting.
If he was in such a hurry . . .

“Did ye’re trip go well?” he asked more
kindly, his hands folded, forearms resting on the desk.

“Reardon said your plane was delayed?”

“Yes, we left Chicago late.”

“I have heard from your sister. It seems ye
also forgot to call her and let her know ye arrived. And she
mentioned Spencer, I believe. He wanted to know you’d made it
safely across.”

“Thank you.” Oh boy, two offenses and they
hadn’t even talked about her duties yet.

“The hour is late, and I must be aboot my
business. The lass is out of doors.

She is nearly five years. She has been under
the care and tutelage of Mrs. Rudeski since she was four months of
age. Mrs. Rudeski was let go because of her stern ways. I do not
wish for Paige to be constrained in any way. She is to know peace
and to have control over what she does and when, except when she is
in classes. Then she will be expected to sit quietly. I have
already informed her.”

He stopped and waited. When she said nothing,
he continued.

“I do not wish for her to leave the
premises.” He held her eyes, making sure she got the point. “Never,
Miss Blair, is she to leave this farm.”

Edwina nodded, her eyes serious.

“Ye are not to speak of her when ye are out
on your business. Not under any circumstances. You may say that
you’re my Secretary, which will be truth for I will have you keep
records.” He paused again meeting her eyes with his stern ones. “No
one is to know there is a child on this farm.”

Edwina nodded, but her hands twisted in her
lap.

“The lass may speak of her muther, but she is
not to become melancholy. I want her to learn to stand on her own.
I will be away often these next months. Mrs. Gillespie will know
how to reach me. If ye have any concerns, ye are to speak with her.
Is that understood?”

“Yes.”

“Good. Have ye any questions?” Questions? Of
course she had questions. What did he want her to teach his
daughter? Had she any formal teaching already? Did they have a room
set aside? What was she to do with free time? Might she wander the
grounds? Those were only a few.

“Ask the questions, lass. I must be going.”
He checked his watch.

Her frustrations were starting to leak
out.

“Sir, where do you want me to teach? Is there
a room? What subjects—”

“Don’t call me sir. I am Mr. Dunnegin, which
I insist you call me in the presence of my daughter.”

“Yes—,” she almost said “sir.” So the Scot
didn’t include his former offer to call him Alexander. Her comfort
zone was diminishing quickly.

“Am I to assume I may choose my
classroom?”

“As you wish.”

Then he stood and disappeared without another
word.

In a few moments he was back with Paige, who
stood next to her father in the doorway.

“Paige, this is Miss Blair. She will be your
teacher.”

The child curtseyed slightly and with a scorn
greeted her, “Miss Blair.”

“Miss Blair, my daughter Paige.”

“Paige. It is nice to meet you.” Edwina
almost curtseyed, then stood straighter.

Once the formal introductions were made Paige
flew from her presence and Edwina heard the door slam.

“It is unfortunate I do not have more time to
be aboot the farm. But as it is, I must leave soon.”

Edwina looked at him.

Just like Reardon. What had happened to the
Scot? The one whose booming laugh shook the castle walls? It was
obvious he hated this place or something . . .

“Spend time getting to know the lass. Your
books should arrive next week. I received notice today. Until then,
see that Mrs. Gillespie answers any questions. I trust that you
know why you are here?”

Edwina knew her facial features twisted
because he leaned across the desk. Was she about to get a dressing-
down—already? “Yes,” she answered simply, hoping he wouldn’t ask
her to repeat the reasons aloud. She couldn’t do it if her life
depended upon it.

“It is late. I shall return two weeks hence
and hope to talk more then. And to see improvements in my
daughter.”

She wanted to ask what improvements. In what
area of her life? But she dared not. The Scot was stomping across
the wooden floors toward the front door. He bellowed, “Mrs.
Gillespie, I’m aboot my business.” And the door slammed. Edwina
wondered if it were possible to shake the rocks loose on the front
of the house and make the entire structure come crashing down.

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Edwina

“Well, I daresay I am glad
you are not to be
aboot
the place for two entire weeks.” She copied his
words and turned on her heel.

“Well, Mrs. Gillespie, I’m at my post, but I
could do with something to eat if you’re up to it.”

“Lass, I am the keeper of the house. I am up
to it, as you say. I’ll have warm scones and soft butter in the
shake of a lamb’s tail.”

Edwina smiled. “Can I help you?”

“Oh no, lass, ye must not be seen doing such
things. The child’ll tell her father, and ye’ll be set down.”

Edwina could see she was serious. So the
child was a tattletale?

Twenty minutes later, just as she set her
empty cup in the saucer, Paige appeared. Her almost five-year-old
body stood in the doorway, hands on hips, lips pouting. She was
dark-haired like her father, but she held Edwina’s eyes with her
dark brown ones.

“I don’t take naps,” she said smartly and
whipped her long hair like a horse’s mane.

“Neither do I.” Edwina picked up her teacup
and pretended to sip.

“And I don’t like to practice piano. I like
to be out of doors.”

“Me too,” Edwina agreed but never looked her
way. Paige disappeared. Mrs. Gillespie looked after the child and
turned, whis-

pering, “That’s the way, lass. The child has
become a spoiled bairn these last few months, if I might say
so.”

“I can see that. We will have to work on both
numbers and attitude.”

“Ah, lass, be ye careful what ye say in front
of ‘er father. He has been too indulgent since Mrs. Rudeski left,”
she whispered then went back to work.

Edwina knew the woman thought she’d said too
much.

“Thank you, Mrs. Gillespie.”

“Lass, it would be nice if ye’d speak me
name. Rose, it is.”

“Thank you... Rose.”

“Rose. If you wish.” Now she sounded like
Reardon.

Chapter 42

“I
don’t like porridge.” The child’s voice irritated Edwina
first thing the next morning.

“I don’t either. Let’s ask Mrs. Gillespie to
make us pancakes.”

“Griddle cakes?” The child’s eyes widened.
“Are they flat and you pour syrup on them?”

“Yes.
You
ask.” The little nose turned up.
Edwina felt a game coming on.

“No, you ask. Mrs. Gillespie will like it
better if you ask. She doesn’t know me.”

“Yes, she does.” Paige hesitated.

“No really, she doesn’t. I’ve just arrived,
and Mrs. Gillespie has known you much longer.”

The little face changed countenance several
times. Edwina could see her mind working.

“No, I don’t want to.”

“Okay, no problem. We’ll eat porridge.”

“No.”

“Then what
shall
we do?” Edwina
tossed her hands up and feigned alarm.

“
I’m a wee lass. I do not
know.” The little arms folded across her narrow chest.

“I’m an American, and I’m not from your
country.”

“I’m a Scot. My daddy’s a Scot, and my mommy
was an American.”

“I see.” Edwina gazed nonchalantly around the
room. “See there, we are all related.”

“No we are not. Everybody is not related.
Especially Mrs. Rudeski. She was from Russia. And I hated her.”

“Ah, so do you hate everybody?”

“No, just her.”

“I see.”

“My father said she was not a good
teacher.”

“Oh.”

“I won’t eat,” Paige said, shoving away her
bowl.

“Me either. Let’s go to class.” The child’s
eyes widened again. Surprisingly, Paige rose from her chair and
stood waiting. Edwina took the clue and said, “We will choose a
class-room today.” Evidently the child knew to obey her father. As
soon as class was mentioned, she seemed to change her attitude.