Chapter 6
“HER LADYSHIP IS NOT at home, sir.”
Dermot listened for some sign of Millie, but no sounds came from upstairs. The house was quiet as a church on Wednesday.
“Do you know when she’ll be at home and receiving callers?”
“I can’t say, sir.”
The butler’s stony face showed nothing, and Dermot knew he’d have better luck getting information from the flower arrangement at the center of the foyer. He could feel the eyes of the burly footman standing by the open door burning into his back.
Resigned, he turned down one corner of his card and dropped it on the silver tray in the butler’s hand. A moment later, the front door closed behind him and he strode to the carriage. He didn’t look back at the windows of the house.
He’d upset her, and he could kick himself. He’d done better getting her attention when he played the fool.
Taking her to the surgical museum was a mistake. His intention was for her to meet other doctors and know that here in Edinburgh, they were making huge strides in the advancement of medicine. But everything had gone terribly wrong.
The moment Turner pointed out the breast tumor specimens, her mood changed. The shock of seeing the bottles had affected her physically. He hadn’t wanted to leave her after that, and he’d been a dolt to do so. By the time he’d returned from getting rid of the deuced lecture notes, she was downright dejected. Worry clouded her features, she would barely look at him, and her silence on the ride across town had been impenetrable.
He paused before climbing into the carriage. She was watching him now. He was certain of it. But he couldn’t force his way in to talk to her. He wasn’t about to give up, however. She needed someone, and he was the only one she had right now. She’d shut out her own family; he couldn’t allow her to do the same to him.
His mind returned to the night of the ball at Baronsford. How she laughed. Truly laughed, as ridiculous as it all had been. In those few moments, she’d come alive, freed temporarily from any disquieting thoughts of the future. Clearly, she needed more gifts. Lively gifts.
The next day was Thursday. At dawn, Dermot sent the inn’s stable boy off with a brilliant yellow canary in a small rattan cage. He was to wait within sight of the Pennington town house to make sure the gift was taken in. The sealed note on top was addressed to her.
For Lady Millie,
This pitiful creature has not uttered a note since I purchased him. I know, however, that under your tender care, listening to your cheery voice, this wee songbird shall,
“Like to the lark at break of day arising, From sullen earth, sing hymns at heaven’s gate.”
Your Songless Friend
Receiving no response, he sent over another gift the following morning. This time, the lad delivered a cage containing a red squirrel with his note.
For Lady Millie,
Since purchasing this gift from a booth by St. Giles, I declare the creature has never once ceased showing me his teeth and glaring at me. And then I remembered thus,
“The squirrel with aspiring mind, Disdains to be to earth confined . . .As Nature’s wildest tenant free, A merry forester is he.”
In your possession, this ball of red fur will surely have no greater aspiration but to serve as your smiling companion (as do I!), brightening your day and adding to your delight in the topiary gardens of Baronsford.
Your Earthbound Admirer
He wasn’t sure if there was a topiary garden at Baronsford. But it didn’t matter. Still, silence was the only response coming from Heriot Row.
Saturday, he decided to test her patience. After sending the lad off, he waited.
For Lady Millie,
I am sending you three of the scrawniest, most ornery chickens one might find in the stockyard near the Grass Market. However, I convey them to you with no doubt whatsoever that under your watchful care, they will become prize-winning birds at Melrose Village’s next Michaelmas Fair (or perhaps the one after) and make you the envy of the Borders.
But my gift tomorrow will make you the toast of all Scotland.
Your Ardent Admirer
At midday, the burly footman who normally guarded the door at Heriot Row arrived with a letter. From the testy look on the man’s face, Dermot decided his gifts were having some impact. The note confirmed it. The page looked like it had been left out in a summer rainstorm of black ink.
Dear Dr. McKendry,
Considering the havoc you have wreaked in my home, I feel you deserve [indecipherable blot] a far, far longer letter than [spatters of ink] this. But I’m presently too [blotted and crossed out word] irritated. And, as you might have already surmised, I have broken my pen.
As I am now using my only remaining crow quill—and as I fear for its continuing safety in my hand—my response to you must be succinct.
Stop. I beg you. Stop.
P.S. The squirrel has already bitten the butler twice.
Your Annoyed Former Friend
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DERMOT HELD UP THE ink-stained paper and eyed it with satisfaction. He knew where Millie’s writing desk sat. To the left, a large window opened out onto the garden in the rear of the house. To the right, the bookshelves that he’d “arranged” stood like a line of infantrymen along the wall. He liked to imagine her sealing this note to him with the hint of a smile on her lips.
Dermot knew these letters were stretching the rules of proper etiquette, but his conduct with Millie had been inappropriate from the first day they met. Social mores be damned. He sat to write out his reply.
Dearest Lady Millie,
I must profess I am at a loss as to whatever it is you accuse me. Please elaborate. Stop what, my lady?
In the meantime, I would be forever in your debt if I might call on you and renew our friendly acquaintance. This city, alas, is but a forlorn precipice of desolation . . . cold comfort without your fair company.
I remain, Humbly, Ever your friend, etc.
Dermot McKendry
P.S. How is my porcine namesake faring in the Borders? Send word quickly. I await your reply.
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IT WAS TOO MUCH TO hope she’d grace him with a second letter the same day. Not to be deterred, Dermot sent over another gift on Sunday morning. The stable boy returned and said he had to run for his life, for a “footman from hell” had nearly collared him as he put the cage on the front step.
Dermot’s note read:
For Lady Millie,
Oh, bounteous day! I found this monkey for sale at a quayside shop in Leith and knew she MUST be yours. The previous owner has sworn on the beard of his great-grandfather’s grandfather that she (the monkey, that is) will happily ride on your shoulder, whether in the park or on a stroll along Heriot Row.
Until you’re able to train her to stop his incessant chattering (which I’m certain you’ll be able to do in no time!), I do not recommend taking her to church services. Too much competition for the homilist, I should think.
Your Silent Friend
Millie didn’t wait until noon to send a letter.
Sir,
I expect you here at Heriot Row Monday morning at the stroke of ten. If you do not come, and come promptly, then by all the righteous angels in heaven, I shall have a herd of elephants delivered to your inn door.
Millie
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DERMOT READ THE LETTER twice and caught his own smile reflected in the small mirror on the wall. “Finally, my invitation.”
Stepping to the window, he pushed it open and leaned out. The stable boy was brushing down his next gift.
“Ahoy, laddie,” he called down. “Return the llamas to Ducrow’s Circus with my compliments. I’ll not be needing them.”