"I do love it here," Eleanor announced enthusiastically. "I have my very own lady's maid and everyone has been quite gracious to me."
"She loves being pampered," Mary Rose whispered to her husband.
"Victoria, a lady doesn't whisper secrets while in the company of others," Aunt Lillian dictated.
"Yes, Aunt Lillian."
She wasn't through correcting her niece, however. "Quit slumping in your seat, dear. Straighten your spine with pride. You're an Elliott, I'll have you remember."
"She's a MacDonald," Harrison interjected, just to set the record straight.
"But also an Elliott," Lillian insisted.
Mary Rose tried to sit the way her aunt was and found it painfully uncomfortable. Lillian reminded her of a general. Her back was ramrod straight. She looked as if she were about to snap. Lillian had her hands folded in her lap. Mary Rose imitated the action and was rewarded by a nod and a smile from her relative.
"It's difficult to know what a lady is here," Eleanor interjected. "The rules of behavior are different than in America. Lady Barbara was telling me that a true lady never squints. Did you know about that rule, Mary Rose?"
"No, I didn't."
"Her name is Victoria. Please address her by her proper name," Lillian instructed. "The rules shouldn't be different," she continued. "Just remember, a lady is a lady no matter where she resides. Jane Carlyle defined a lady as one who has not set foot in her own kitchen in over seven years. I believe she's right."
Mary Rose felt like throwing her hands up in despair. She'd never heard of such rubbish. She noticed Eleanor looked devastated by Aunt Lillian's opinions. She'd obviously taken the definition to heart. Her friend flipped open her fan and waved it in Mary Rose's direction.
"I used to be a lady, and I would still be, if Mary Rose… I mean Victoria hadn't forced me to go into her kitchen back home. I even had to cook, Lady Lillian. Must I now wait seven years before I'm deemed a lady again?"
Lillian appeared stunned by Eleanor's confession. "You cooked?"
Mary Rose looked at her father. He seemed bewildered by the turn in the conversation.
She decided to change the subject. "I would like to see Harrison 's home," she blurted out. "He has boasted that his Highlands are as beautiful as my valley back home, and I would like to see for myself if he…"
The expression on her father's face stopped her from going on. He looked angry. Now what had she said wrong?
"I've upset you, Father?"
"No, of course not," he replied. "I was thinking about something else, my dear," he added. "The Highlands are beautiful. Harrison was right about that."
"I would like to see his home before I go back to Montana. Will there be enough time?"
She posed the last of her question to her husband. He nodded.
"We'll make time."
"What is this nonsense about leaving? You've only just gotten here," Lillian stammered out. " Victoria, this is your home."
"Quit pecking at her, Lillian. My daughter needs time to… settle in."
Elliott gave his sister a hard look. She immediately closed her mouth.
Mary Rose could feel the tension in the atmosphere, but she didn't have any idea what had caused the change. Her father and her aunt both appeared to be upset about something.
Mary Rose felt the need to apologize. She would have to find out what she'd done first, she supposed. She knew she was somehow responsible for the sudden silence and their quick frowns.
She almost let out a loud sigh of frustration but caught herself in time. She didn't wish to be criticized by her aunt again, and so she remained silent.
Harrison suddenly reached over and took hold of her hand. She realized she'd been gripping her fingers together then. His touch comforted her.
She held on to her husband and edged a little closer to his side. The conversation turned to the latest styles in women's fashions. Mary Rose wanted to talk about her father's work instead. Harrison had told her that Lord Elliott used to be a member of Parliament, but had retired from that duty when his wife had died. He was still active behind the scenes and had brought about several important changes in government. Mary Rose was curious to know what the changes were.
She was afraid to ask, fearing she would once again be sanctioned for talking out of turn. And so she listened as her aunt lamented over the news that trains, or rather the cascade of cloth creating a train behind a woman's gown, were on their way out. Lillian didn't much care for the short fitted jackets currently in style either, for the covering shamefully emphasized a woman's hips. That was all good and fine for a young, narrow-hipped lady, but not at all suitable for the older, more dignified woman.
Barbara and her husband, Robert, came over to join the discussion. Supper wouldn't be served for at least another hour, which meant sixty more minutes of hearing about clothes. Weren't the men bored? Mary Rose looked at Harrison to find out. His expression didn't tell her anything, though, and then she realized he was staring beyond her Aunt Lillian's shoulder. She guessed he was thinking about something else and only pretended to be listening to the talk going on around him.
She decided to follow his example, then realized what a mistake she'd made, because her thoughts immediately turned to her family back home. She pictured what her brothers would be doing right about now and was suddenly melancholy for her valley.
"Do you, Victoria?" Eleanor asked.
She was jarred back to the present by her friend's shrill voice. "Do I what?"
"Play tennis," Eleanor explained. "Weren't you listening?"
No, she hadn't been listening. "No, I don't play tennis."
"We shall have to teach you how, my dear," Uncle Robert insisted. "It's quite the rage now."
"She plays the piano," Harrison informed the group. His voice sounded with pride.
She squeezed his hand tight. "No, I don't," she blurted out.
He raised an eyebrow and leaned down close to her. "You don't?"
"No, I don't play the piano in England," she explained. She squeezed his hand again, silently begging him to go along with her.
Harrison couldn't figure out what had come over her. He could tell she was upset, but he didn't have any idea why. She should be proud of her accomplishments, not hide them. He decided he would have to wait until later to find out what was wrong. For now he would go along. "All right," he agreed. "You don't play the piano in England."
She relaxed her grip on him. She knew she would have to explain her motives when they were alone, and she wasn't at all certain she could make sense out of her feelings so that he would understand.
She remembered how she and Adam would sit side by side on the piano bench and play their duets together. They would laugh when one of them missed a note, and sometimes she would quicken the pace and try to finish the piece before Adam did. It was a joyful time, and she sought only to protect the memory. If any of her relatives in England mocked her technique or her ability, Mary Rose felt they would be mocking her brother too. She wasn't about to let that happen. Thus far, her aunt Lillian had found fault with just about everything about her. Mary Rose had tried to be gracious and put up with the criticism, because she wanted to make her father and her aunt happy. If they didn't hear her play the piano, then they couldn't find fault with her skill, could they?
In less than one week, her own behavior had changed radically. When she first arrived, she wanted to tell her father all about her brothers. Now she didn't want any of the relatives to know anything about her family. She sought only to protect them from the cruel little comments she was constantly suffering.
She knew she wasn't making much sense. Her brothers would never know what was said about them. That didn't matter though. It would devastate her to hear any negative remarks about the men she so loved.