Borrowed Dreams (Scottish Dream Trilogy) by May McGoldrick, Jan Coffey, Nicole Cody, Nikoo McGoldrick, James McGoldrick Page B
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be a monumental one. We will talk again after that.”
Reluctantly, Millicent rose to her
feet. There were so many other questions that she had, but she understood
Ohenewaa’s concern. Nothing could be done for the earl until he had gained the
full capacity of his mind. “Thank you.”
Ohenewaa nodded slightly; her gaze
was fixed on her fire again. Giving a last glance around the room, Millicent
started for the door. Just outside in the hall, she was surprised to find two of
the African women waiting.
Millicent stood aside and watched
them enter. One was carrying a bowl and pitcher of water, another holding a
folded linen cloth. The former slaves at Melbury Hall respected Ohenewaa. They
treated her like a queen or priestess. And Millicent could see why. She had
felt the power of the old woman, too.
CHAPTER 8
Not having a steward to run the
affairs of Melbury Hall was taking its toll on Millicent’s time. Jonah was a
wonderful help, but with the planting season approaching, many decisions that
would affect them all needed to be made. Millicent knew she needed to speed up
the process of finding a suitably experienced steward. Sir Oliver Birch was already contacting potential applicants, but London was simply too far away from the
farmlands of Hertfordshire.
Sitting in the small study that she
used for estate business, Millicent glanced at the guttering candle as she
finished writing her letter to Reverend Trimble at Knebworth Village. He knew much of what went on in the surrounding countryside, and she hoped he might
offer some help or some advice.
Millicent glanced up when she saw
Violet enter.
“Can I help you get ready for bed,
m’lady?”
“I am too restless to go up yet.”
She sealed the letter in her hand. “But why don’t you go up yourself? You look
tired, Violet. You probably are not getting much sleep since we moved those two
girls into your room. I am sorry.”
“No, m’lady. We’re settled in
nicely. I enjoy having them with me.”
It was so much like the young woman
not to complain. Over Violet’s shoulder, Millicent’s gaze was drawn to the door
as she saw one of her husband’s valets appear, holding a lit taper.
“What’s wrong, John?”
“Beggin’ yer pardon, m’lady,” he
said. “I know ye left ‘slordship not an hour ago, but he’s awake now and cross
as a one-legged rooster, he is. Now, ‘fore we give him anything, ye said ye
wanted to be told, and we’re doin’ as ye said, mum. So I come runnin’.”
“Thank you.” Millicent immediately
rose from the desk. “Why don’t you go on to bed, Violet.”
The young servant curtsied and
moved off. Millicent followed the man toward the stairs. “Where are Mr. Gibbs
and Will?”
“Will went down to the kitchen for
some soup, jist in case ‘slordship would allow a wee mouthful, and Mr. Gibbs is
up in the room with ‘slordship.”
This afternoon, after leaving
Ohenewaa, Millicent had returned to Aytoun’s room and had watched him sleep.
While there, she had pondered the physical ailments that were plaguing him. He
had broken his arm and both his legs over six months ago, and she had no idea
why he still could not use them. Gibbs said that one of the doctors had blamed
it on the fall, referring to it as a form of “palsy.” The dowager had commented
about the earl’s melancholia, but had not related it to his injuries, only to
the accident. Considering that Aytoun had lost his wife and his independence of
movement in the same horrible fall, Millicent could well understand the
thinking of her mother-in-law.
As she approached her husband’s
bedchamber, Millicent thought about melancholia. It was an ailment that she
herself had struggled with during one of the lowest points in her marriage to
Wentworth. She had lost a child in the first part of her pregnancy because of
the squire’s violent rage. Physically beaten and feeling utterly defeated,
Millicent had been more than ready to take refuge in the
Reluctantly, Millicent rose to her
feet. There were so many other questions that she had, but she understood
Ohenewaa’s concern. Nothing could be done for the earl until he had gained the
full capacity of his mind. “Thank you.”
Ohenewaa nodded slightly; her gaze
was fixed on her fire again. Giving a last glance around the room, Millicent
started for the door. Just outside in the hall, she was surprised to find two of
the African women waiting.
Millicent stood aside and watched
them enter. One was carrying a bowl and pitcher of water, another holding a
folded linen cloth. The former slaves at Melbury Hall respected Ohenewaa. They
treated her like a queen or priestess. And Millicent could see why. She had
felt the power of the old woman, too.
CHAPTER 8
Not having a steward to run the
affairs of Melbury Hall was taking its toll on Millicent’s time. Jonah was a
wonderful help, but with the planting season approaching, many decisions that
would affect them all needed to be made. Millicent knew she needed to speed up
the process of finding a suitably experienced steward. Sir Oliver Birch was already contacting potential applicants, but London was simply too far away from the
farmlands of Hertfordshire.
Sitting in the small study that she
used for estate business, Millicent glanced at the guttering candle as she
finished writing her letter to Reverend Trimble at Knebworth Village. He knew much of what went on in the surrounding countryside, and she hoped he might
offer some help or some advice.
Millicent glanced up when she saw
Violet enter.
“Can I help you get ready for bed,
m’lady?”
“I am too restless to go up yet.”
She sealed the letter in her hand. “But why don’t you go up yourself? You look
tired, Violet. You probably are not getting much sleep since we moved those two
girls into your room. I am sorry.”
“No, m’lady. We’re settled in
nicely. I enjoy having them with me.”
It was so much like the young woman
not to complain. Over Violet’s shoulder, Millicent’s gaze was drawn to the door
as she saw one of her husband’s valets appear, holding a lit taper.
“What’s wrong, John?”
“Beggin’ yer pardon, m’lady,” he
said. “I know ye left ‘slordship not an hour ago, but he’s awake now and cross
as a one-legged rooster, he is. Now, ‘fore we give him anything, ye said ye
wanted to be told, and we’re doin’ as ye said, mum. So I come runnin’.”
“Thank you.” Millicent immediately
rose from the desk. “Why don’t you go on to bed, Violet.”
The young servant curtsied and
moved off. Millicent followed the man toward the stairs. “Where are Mr. Gibbs
and Will?”
“Will went down to the kitchen for
some soup, jist in case ‘slordship would allow a wee mouthful, and Mr. Gibbs is
up in the room with ‘slordship.”
This afternoon, after leaving
Ohenewaa, Millicent had returned to Aytoun’s room and had watched him sleep.
While there, she had pondered the physical ailments that were plaguing him. He
had broken his arm and both his legs over six months ago, and she had no idea
why he still could not use them. Gibbs said that one of the doctors had blamed
it on the fall, referring to it as a form of “palsy.” The dowager had commented
about the earl’s melancholia, but had not related it to his injuries, only to
the accident. Considering that Aytoun had lost his wife and his independence of
movement in the same horrible fall, Millicent could well understand the
thinking of her mother-in-law.
As she approached her husband’s
bedchamber, Millicent thought about melancholia. It was an ailment that she
herself had struggled with during one of the lowest points in her marriage to
Wentworth. She had lost a child in the first part of her pregnancy because of
the squire’s violent rage. Physically beaten and feeling utterly defeated,
Millicent had been more than ready to take refuge in the
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