Page 98 of The Tartan Trap

“There’s a stepping stool on the other side,” Margaret said dully.

“I rather enjoyed jumping.”

Chloe had been dithering across the room as if she didn’t want to interrupt. Margaret lifted her chin in clear unspoken invitation.

“I didn’t lie about the delivery, Miss.” Chloe hurried over and presented Margaret with a polished black wooden box.

Rachel crowded next to Margaret to watch her open it. Margaret undid the clasp and lifted the lid; all three young ladies gasped. When William had told Margaret he’d send something to cheer her up, she’d expected an eclair from the French bakery across town. Instead, William had sent her something decidedly more delicious—and expensive.

“It’s stunning,” Rachel said.

The tiara was more than the word could encompass. It was substantial and delicate all at once, wrought in curling silver metal studded with diamonds. Diamond-framed aquamarines dangled in the scrolls of the metal work. The entire thing danced and shimmered with the slightest movement.

“Oh, I adore it,” Margaret said.

She promptly closed the lid and burst into tears once more.

It took Rachel nearly an hour to get Margaret back to some semblance of normalcy. In the end, she had the idea to order a bath. Now, Margaret soaked in the steaming tub before the fire in her bathing room, steeping like tea leaves. Rachel sat on the other side of a thick screen, reading from one of Margaret’s favorite books.

“You’re very handsome,” Rachel read in the breathy falsetto she’d assigned to the main character, Elise. “But my relations simply won’t approve of me marrying a pirate.”

Margaret had to begrudgingly admit that the ridiculous voice fit Elise quite well—she was a foolish, flighty thing who ended up choosing Bartholomew precisely because her relations didn’t approve. Unfortunately, the book itself reminded her of Callum—it was the one she’d forced him to yell to her in the parlor.

“We can be together forever, if only we run away to Gretna Green.” Rachel’s mimicry of Bartholomew’s deep voice was far less successful. She often devolved into a coughing fit when she spoke his parts.

“I told you, you don’t have to do the voices,” Margaret said as Rachel cleared her throat.

“I like doing the voices. That’s the best part.”

Margaret wrinkled her nose. She didn’t have the heart to tell Rachel that the voice she used for Bartholomew was about as attractive as a carriage with a grinding axle.

“Thankfully, Bartholomew is as stupid as Elise, so he doesn’t use many large words,” Rachel said cheerfully.

It was true. In fact, as far as Margaret could tell, Bartholomew’s large, muscular arms were the extent of his charms.

It was a stark contrast to Callum, who had impressive arms and a character to match. Margaret shook her head. She wished she could write him off as a knave, but he wasn’t. He was a kind, caring man who…who hadn’t told her the full truth. She frowned down into the bathwater.

“I can hear you ruminating on the other side of the screen,” Rachel said in a warning tone. “Am I not entertaining you?”

“It’s not you.” Margaret stood abruptly from the bath, water sluicing from her skin. She briskly dried herself with the towel warmed by the fire, then dressed quickly.

She finally emerged from behind the screen, tightening the sash of her quilted dressing robe.

Rachel still sat on the chair. She’d been reading silently but looked up when Margaret appeared. “I’d say there’s already been an improvement.”

“Oh yes, now I look like a drowned rat. Quite the improvement.”

“But you haven’t cried for nearly half an hour. That must mean something.”

“That I’m sick of listening to myself, probably.”

“You do sound rather like someone stepped on a faulty bellows when you cry. I’ll admit it took me some time to place the sound.”

Margaret sat at her dressing table and began to comb out her hair.

Rachel appeared behind her in the reflection of the mirror. “Would you like to try on your tiara? That might cheer you up.”

“No, thank you.” After a moment, she added, “Though you’re welcome to try it on, if you’d like.”