Were smooth hair, white teeth, and a pleasant manner all it took to gain his admiration? Apparently so.
God, she hated that woman.
“… late husband’s mother was from Nottinghamshire.” Mrs. Baird hummed her approval as she delicately sipped Annie’s cider. “Where do ye make yer home there, Mr. Conrad?”
“North of Nottingham. A lovely spot of woodlands and countryside along the River Tisenby.”
“Ah, it is splendid there. Mr. Baird and I passed through that very spot several years before he died. Have ye any relation to the Conrads of Rivermore Abbey?”
Robert paused. “Some connection, yes.”
“Then perhaps ye were acquainted with the Marquis of Mortlock. Such a noble gentleman. When Mr. Baird’s horse went lame, he lent us one from his stable.”
Again, Robert paused before speaking. “Lord Mortlock passed away some years ago, I’m afraid.”
“Aye, of course. I was sad to hear of it. Our last visit to England was fully twelve years ago. How quickly time passes.” As Mrs. Baird leaned forward to refill her cup, Annie noticed her hair wasn’t entirely yellow. It was threaded with white. “I only mention it because he showed us such kindness.” Ms. Baird took another sip of her cider and eyed Robert above the rim. “So did his grandson, as I recall.”
The conversation struck Annie as odd, but she had no chance to delve further. Huxley chose that moment to spring to his feet and declare that he and Robert must leave. “Robert’s already been in Scotland a month. He is anxious to return to his wife and children.”
Annie frowned, wondering why Huxley didn’t mention that Robert’s wife was his sister. Strange.
Before she could ask about it, Huxley pivoted to address her. “Miss Tulloch, thank you for the refreshments. Divine, as always.”
Both Robert and Mrs. Baird murmured similar sentiments, but Huxley rushed to finish, “I must be away for a short while. When I return, we’ll resume our lessons.”
She blinked. “Away?” No! She’d already been without him too long.
Oh, heavens. Where had that thought come from?
“I’m afraid so.” He took her hands in his, drawing her to her feet while sending tingles up her arms. “I shall return as swiftly as I can. Count upon it.”
His eyes seemed to promise something, but frustratingly, she hadn’t the faintest idea what it was. Once again, before she could ask or even bid him farewell, he and Robert departed.
Moments later, she stood in her parlor, her backside smarting, her chest aching fiercely, and wondered where she’d gone so wrong.
This hurt. Badly. And she couldn’t explain why.
A gentle, competent hand clasped hers.
Startled, Annie met the gaze of the woman by her side.
The dressmaker squeezed. “A gentleman always keeps his word, ye ken. I’d wager yer Mr. Huxley will race to return to yer side.”
“H-he’s not mine.”
Mrs. Baird hummed noncommittally.
“He’s not.”
“These gowns are quite a change for ye, I gather. Are they intended for a new life? With a husband, perhaps?”
Annie blinked. “I … they’re …” She swallowed. “Aye. I do aim to marry.”
The dressmaker nodded and offered a sympathetic smile. “Becoming a wife can be a joy, but also daunting. Establishing a new household, endearing yerself to yer husband’s family.” She paused. “Learning new skills so ye make yer husband proud as ye go about in society.”
Annie’s heart sank. Even Mrs. Baird had noticed how inept she was at being a lady.
“If ye should need advice from a woman with some experience of marriage, I’d be glad to share what I ken.” She gave Annie’s hand another squeeze.
Now that she stood closer, faint lines around Mrs. Baird’s eyes, whitish patches at her temples, and a small crease along her forehead were visible.
Annie frowned. “How old are ye, Mrs. Baird?”
Yellow eyebrows arched. “Why do ye ask?”
“Ye must have been widowed young.” Annie hesitated before explaining, “My mother lost my father when I was a wee bairn. I think of that sometimes. How she was younger than I am now when she was left to care for her child alone.”
Mrs. Baird nodded, her eyes going a bit sad. “My James left me with two lovely daughters, though they were nearly grown by the time he died. They are both married now with wee ones of their own.”
“Nah. Ye cannae be old enough to …”
“I am six-and-forty.” The dressmaker’s smile turned wry. “But your disbelief is fair turnin’ my head.”
For the first time since John Huxley had walked out her door, Annie laughed. “I cannae credit it. I took ye for thirty at most.”
Mrs. Baird spoke of her daughters and two grandchildren, who all lived near Edinburgh, where Mrs. Baird was from. When Annie asked if she’d considered moving there to be near them, she said, “Oh, aye. But Inverness is where I settled with Mr. Baird. It is where I have my shop. Every time I think of leavin’, my heart refuses. Besides,” she continued with a fond glance at Annie’s gown, “I’ve too many friends and customers I would miss dreadfully.”
Once again, Annie found herself liking Mrs. Baird. She offered to help with the alterations if the dressmaker would show her what must be done. Perhaps she could ask for advice on becoming a lady while they sewed together. After all, if the goal was to behave more like Mrs. Baird, Annie could think of no better instructor than Mrs. Baird.
They were headed toward the staircase when the front door swung open with a gust and slammed closed with equal force behind a thunderous Angus MacPherson.
Annie’s father wore a black coat and a blacker expression. He turned to hang his hat on the hook. “Annie!” he bellowed before bothering to glance in her direction. “Where the devil are ye?”
“If ye’d bother lookin’ instead of shoutin’, ye crabbit auld man, ye’d see I’m right here.”
He spun. Then blinked. Then turned a bit ruddy. “What in bluidy hell are ye wearin’?”
She had the feeling he would have shouted the words if he hadn’t been so shocked. Planting her hands on her hips, she glanced down at herself and back up at him. “Well, I might be mistaken, but I believe it’s called a dress.”
“What in bluidy hell have ye done to yer hair?”
“Now, that’s called brushin’. It’s a new thing. I thought I’d give it a try.”
He stomped toward her, looming as he often did. “What in bluidy hell are ye doin’ to yerself?”
She snorted. “Far less than ye’re doin’ to my floors, auld man. Now, before ye take another step, ye’d best go wipe yer boots. I’ve no patience for mud or yer crabbit ways.”
He ignored her warning, glaring hard and looking fearsome.
Despite her irritation with his bluster, she saw strain around his eyes and mouth that worried her. She drew closer, intending to ask what had caused it, when a delicate “ahem” sounded behind her.