"I know, and I was fine on my own. Not that I was on my own for much of the day. In the morning, Mrs. Findlay showed me all over the castle. And then, if you recall, I had tea with your uncle."
"Aye, I'm so sorry—I meant to be with you for that. I hope it wasna too unpleasant." Uncle Charles could be quite scathing and dismissive towards those he considered his social inferiors.
She gave him a surprised look. "But it was no' unpleasant at all. He was charming and hospitable."
"Charming? And hospitable? To you?"
She laughed at his expression. "Yes, to me. I admit, I'd expected him to be hostile, but he wasn't, not a bit. In fact, he was quite sweet."
"Sweet?" He stared at her in disbelief. "Are we talking about the same man? Uncle Charles Sinclair, all airs and graces, direct from old Versailles, satin breeks, white powdered wig and all?"
"I admit he was a bit stiff and prickly at first, but when he found out who my father was—"
Cameron blinked. "Who your father was? Who was your father?"
"I told you, he was a poet. One your uncle admired." He must have looked as blank as he felt, for she added, "Remember the book of Papa's poetry? The bride gift your uncle gave me? With the blue cover?"
"Ah. Yes, yes. Of course." He hadn't really taken in the details.
"I was so touched. I didn't have a copy of my own, you see. It was a very limited printing."
"He wasn't being cutting or superior?"
"No, we had a delightful chat. He's going to paint my portrait."
Cameron shook his head in wonder. "Are you some kind of witch? An uncle-taming witch?"
She laughed. "He's really a sweet, lonely old man."
Cameron rolled his eyes. "That sweet, lonely old man nearly brought this estate to ruination with his impractical spendthrift ways." And drove him to make a hasty marriage with a woman he didn't know.
"Yes, he told me about the silk panels. But I have an idea about them that might help smooth the waters."
"We're not getting ridiculously expensive silk panels from—"
"The woman who made my beautiful shawl, I wondered if she and some of the other village women could weave and embroider some hangings to your uncle's designs."
He frowned, considering it. "It might be possible," he conceded. The more he thought about it, the more he realized what a good idea it was. Work for the village women, and a face-saving project for Uncle Charles. And affordable.
"You are a witch," he told Jeannie. "I've been at daggers drawn with Uncle Charles for weeks, and you arrive and within a day—a day!— you've come up with a way to soothe his ruffled feathers, and help some of the village women to earn some income. Winter is the perfect time for a project of this sort."
She gave a happy little skip beside him. They walked in silence for a while, then she said, "There's something else I think you should know." She told him about his housekeeper's fading sight. "Mrs. Findlay was worried you'd want to dismiss her but I promised her she could stay on."
"Oh you did, did you?"
"Aye, I did." She faced him with a martial glint in her eyes. "You told me I was to be the woman of the house, and that means I make the decisions about who works inside the house. I warn you, Cameron—"
He snorted. "Settle down, firebrand. I said it and I meant it. Run the house however you like." He took her arm and walked on, sobered by the realization that within a day his bride had found out more about his uncle and now his housekeeper than Cameron had in a six-month. It was a galling thought.
"As if I'd dismiss old Finney. The woman practically raised me. Dismiss her indeed! Why the devil didn't she tell me she was having problems seeing?"
"It must be very frightening, to be old and alone, and going blind," Jeannie said softly. "She has her pride, you know."
Cameron grunted, his own pride slightly dented. It was up to him to care for his people. "You say Finney hadn't even seen a doctor? I'll send her to Edinburgh, get her eyes checked by a specialist."
"Oh, that's a wonderful idea." Jeannie hugged his arm. "You're a fine laird, Cameron Fraser, and I'm very proud to be your wife."
"You're no' so bad yourself, Jeannie McLeay Fraser." His eyes dropped to her mouth. "But at the present moment, you're my bride, no' my wife." It was a delicate distinction. But one very much on his mind.
