A Laird for All Time Angeline Fortin (comprehension books .txt) 📖

have a man of such strong emotions direct love in your direction.  Probably the most fulfilling feeling in the world, she thought, and envied the one who would finally gain all that from him.

Emmy groaned again at her idiocy.  What was she thinking?  She’d only known the man for one day, for Pete’s sake!  It was just lust!  She didn’t want anything more than that!  Her heart rebelled with a lurch and she felt an overwhelming urge to save Connor from himself. For herself.

“Margo, what time is it?”

“A bit after noon, m’lady,” the maid answered.  “Mrs. MacLean said I should let you sleep since you had traveled and such.  But luncheon is to be served soon and you’ll want to be up for that.”

Remembering the never-ending parade of food that had accompanied five courses the night before, Emmy stifled yet another moan.  Too much food!  She couldn’t eat like that every meal of every day.  She’d weigh as much as a horse in no time.  “I don’t suppose it would be possible to just get a bowl of Cocoa Puffs around here?”

“M’lady?”

“Nothing, nothing.”  Emmy fingered through her long hair as she climbed out of bed allowing Margo to help her into a robe and shoving her feet into some slippers to keep them off the cold floor.  “Why do you keep calling me that, anyway?” she asked on her way to the bathroom.

“M’lady?” Margo questioned.  “‘Tis only proper.  You are the countess after all.”

“Ahh, that’s right,” Emmy wrinkled her nose staring at herself in the mirror.  Her eyes were rimmed red with dark circles below.  She looked as bad as she felt.  “The countess.”  It had an ominous ring to it.  Of course, in this time and place, the earl and countess didn’t even share a bedroom.  If she were the countess in truth…

Emmy drew herself up short rejecting the thought.  That was not what she wanted!  She had her new job waiting for her at a women’s clinic in Baltimore.  A job that she had worked and sacrificed for.  There was a new life as a practicing physician coming up for her.   She had plans!

“Mrs. MacLean and Susan will be arriving shortly with more gowns for you to choose from.  The laird has sent for the seamstress to come later this week to fit you with some clothes of your own.”  Margo went on unaware of Emmy’s turbulent thoughts.

He did, huh?

A sharp rap at the door announced the arrival of Dorcas and her maid bearing an armload of clothes.  Emmy moved to help as the young woman tossed the pile on the bed earning a surprised glance from both women.  “Thanks, Dorcas, I appreciate the loan of the clothes.  I hope I’m not leaving you short in your own closet though.”

“Not at all,” she replied shortly.  “These are just basic foundations, shirtwaists and skirts for day wear that I am currently unable to wear because of my delicate condition, so there is plenty for you to choose from.”

“Delicate condition?” Emmy repeated and then frowned at the other woman.  “Oh, you mean your pregnancy?”

Dorcas flushed hotly.  “Yes, Mr. MacLean and I are expecting our first child.”

Emmy eyed Dorcas’s figure critically with the eye of an experienced OB.  Well along but with a while to go.  “When are you due then? In the spring?”

“I am not sure, of course, but I expect perhaps six weeks or so,” Dorcas was still blushing and refusing to meet Emmy’s gaze.

“You don’t know?  Haven’t you seen a doctor?”  Emmy’s eyes widened.  “Six weeks!  Are you telling me that you are nearly eight months pregnant?”

“This isn’t a topic fit for polite conversation.”

Waving her off imperiously, Emmy repeated, “Seriously?  Eight months?”

“I believe so,” Dory frowned at Emmy’s incredulous tone.

“No way!”  To Emmy’s mind she didn’t look more than six months pregnant or early in her seventh.  There was no way she was heading into her ninth soon!  “Dory, are you wearing a corset?”

“Of course!  The correct foundations are critical…”

“Dorcas MacLean!” Emmy interrupted in her most superior doctor’s voice.  “You should not be wearing that when you are pregnant!  The baby must have room to grow!  And to not know how far along you are!  To have not seen a doctor! Well!” Emmy flung her hands in outrage.  “I will examine you then!”

“What!”

“What!” the maids echoed incredulously.

Emmy ignored them all.  “Dory, I am a Johns-Hopkins trained doctor.  I deliver babies and take care of expecting mothers for a living.  It’s what I do.  You must let me check to make sure you are doing alright. Especially if you have been wearing that corset for what? Almost eight months?”

Dorcas backed uneasily toward the door.  “I don’t think…”

Emmy grinned an evil little grin.  “But surely you trust your own sister to help you, don’t you?”

Dory fled, but Emmy was determined to win in the end.  Imagine not having basic health care during pregnancy!  And if there were no doctors nearby, it made her wonder what they did in cases of basic illness.  Did they even have aspirin yet?

Emmy peppered Margo and Susan with those questions as they dressed her in the daily wear similar to that she had seen Dory in that first day.  A high-necked blouse which Emmy refused to button all the way up, a dark blue wool skirt under which Emmy allowed only one petticoat, no corset! And her own boots rather than the torturous, skinny-toed little shoes they presented.  It would have to do, Emmy thought.  She was not in this for the long haul and refused to suffer the constraint of that corset any more than she had to.  She had had to call for help last night just to get ready for bed, for Christ’s sake!

Emmy went down for lunch an hour later and was disappointed to learn that Connor rarely joined the others for any meal other than dinner.  She wondered where and what he ate. She sat through three formal courses of a meal picking here and there between the heavy