Chapter 14
“Rise up, lassie. It’s half past six.”
“What? Morning already?” Edwina groaned and then remembered it was Monday. Funny how the days flew by so quickly.
“I’ve made ye a good breakfast today, lass, so be aboot yer business.”
“Bertie, I have nothing to pack, it’s all in my suitcase. And thanks for cleaning my clothes the other day. They were laid out on the bed so nicely ironed, I hated to fold them.”
“An iron is readily available, lass, anytime ye need to use it,” she spoke smartly.
“Aye, and then what would ye do?” Edwina caught the pillow that Bertie threw.
“A child. A wee child is all ye are.”
Suddenly tears came unbidden to her eyes. She would be gone from Bertie in just a little while. Why should that bother her so?
She missed her mother—that was it. College psychology classes had given her some sort of help after all.
And since her father had married Cecelia’s mother, things had not been the same. Victoria Rose was an actress, not the mother type in the least. Cecelia was her mother’s pride and joy.
But Edwina didn’t mind. Victoria Rose would never take the place of her mother, and thankfully, had never tried. Besides, she’d been eighteen, already a freshman in college when her father remarried.
Cecelia was in her third year at Oxford, so there was no family unit for several years. Her father, a professor of history at the University of Michigan, and Victoria Rose had stayed in Ann Arbor where they’d purchased a small condominium. Victoria had plenty of opportunities to appear on stage in plays in the bigger cities like Detroit, Chicago, and New York.
Cecelia returned to the States, stayed in a simple apartment for one week, and moved into an elegant town house via funds from her well-to-do father. Upon graduation, Edwina had chosen to take an apartment on Bond Street in the small Michigan town where she was raised. The house she lived in had once been owned by a family whose son became a prolific sports writer, Ring Lardner, so it was not without distinction in the community. She occupied the second floor, complete with a separate outdoor entry. The windows of her bedroom faced west, and she enjoyed a clear view of the St. Joseph River across the street. Practically, and perhaps best of all, it was only a seven block walk to the library.
Her life had been so unremarkable as to be almost nonexistent.
Edwina scolded herself. Now a planned, practical life is nothing to be ashamed of. Plenty of people would like your job and a decent home to come to every night. At least, that’s what her father always said.
But there is a vast difference in a decent place to live and a warm, welcoming home, she decided.
Sighing, she tossed the cheerless thought from her mind. Plenty of time for changes later. She was in Scotland and due in Edinburgh. The tour bus was scheduled to leave Holyrood Palace at exactly 10:45, and she planned to be on it. For the next ten days she would be hustled around at various hotels around the country, visiting points of interest and seeing more of the beautiful hillsides, which would also translate into material for her Scottish setting in the story already forming itself in her head.
For the first time in her life, Edwina actually looked forward to meeting new people and seeing new things.
She chose her best black dress pants, a matching jacket with three-quarter sleeves and a cream blouse for the first day. It was simple, and she hoped it would make a good impression.
Her favorite shoes accompanied her as she raced down the stairs, her luggage left at her room’s door for Reardon.
Practically running, she stopped and made her way to the dining room. It was quiet. The elderly couple must have left, and with the Scot gone, she wondered who would be eating with her.
“Sit ye down.” Bertie signaled to the single place setting, not at the head, but at the side.
“I’m to eat alone? Can’t you join me, Bertie?”
Bertie huffed. “Lass, haven’t ye learned anything about the Scottish ways? The help does not eat with their betters.”
“See Bertie, that’s your problem. You people have to remember that folks are all the same, at least to God. None are better than others.”
“That’s not what I said to ye lass. We call our landowners betters. Tis just a term, lass, just a term.”
“Oh, I see.” Edwina was truly contrite.
“I have spoken carelessly.”
“See to it ye don’t do it again, lass.” Edwina’s eyes shot up, and she caught Bertie’s look.
“Now... don’t you start... stop... we can’t start laughing again, Bertie, or I will never be ready for Reardon.”
Bertie, to her credit, said not a word, but hurried through the swinging door to the kitchen. Another servant came back with her breakfast, and Edwina smiled. She was going to miss the saucy Bertie. Tears burned again.
As soon as she laid her fork on the plate, Reardon appeared at the door.
“Ready, Miss Blair?”
Well, he is bright and cheery, Edwina thought. Not half as friendly as when she’d first arrived, though. Perhaps the good valet did not like the American.
“I’m ready. My bag is—”
“Your baggage is in the car, miss,” he said unsympathetically.
“Thank you. Then I will say good-bye to Bertie.”
“Bertie?” he nearly snarled. Edwina thought it best not to try and explain and slid through the door to the kitchen. She found the woman sweeping the floor furiously.
“Bertie, I just . . .” Uh oh.
“Now don’t cry, Bertie. Please.”
“I’m not crying, lass. I have only just this moment peeled a bowl full of onions.”
“Let me smell your hands,” Edwina shot back. Bertie looked horrified.
“Oh don’t worry. I hardly ever cry. It’s not practical, you know.” Edwina tried to be funny. The two exchanged a look, and Edwina threw herself into the woman’s ample arms.
“I’ll see you again... maybe. Bertie, take care, okay?”
“Be off with ye lass. And don’t let life pass ye by.”
“I won’t.” Edwina felt a catch in her throat. She busted through the kitchen door, walked quickly toward the entryway and there stood Reardon, face as hard as a stone. She glanced at him but walked past wiping her cheeks seeking the safety of the car. He opened the door. Edwina took one last look at the castle, steeled her heart, and slid across the leather seats. Reardon did not offer his hand or a kind smile this time. She watched the rolling blue-green hills pass, a lump in her throat the size of Texas.