“Will you do as I tell you? Sit as I command, dance as I direct, even learn to speak civilized English?”
If the last hour had taught her anything, it was that she was thoroughly lost in London. Not because it was a big city, but because she couldn’t communicate with anyone. Not easily. So until she got her feet under her, she would have to listen to the countess.
“What good would it be to have a sponsor, if I ignored your advice?” she asked. “That would be like paying for an expert then doing the job yourself.”
“You swear it? Upon your Scottish honor?”
“I do.”
Now the woman truly did smile, and it wasn’t altogether pleasant. “I expect you’re going to hate yourself for that. But even so, I expect you to stick to your word.”
“I am not a woman who lies.” Except about the size of her dowry.
“We’ll see,” the woman said, her tone ominous. “Because if I found out you have, then you will be out on your dirty Scottish arse. Do I make myself clear?”
Oh. The woman did have a better cursing vocabulary.
“Yes, my lady.”
“Good.” She stripped out of her gloves. “Parry, pay the Watchmen—”
“And the cabbie!” cried the younger man.
“—Then get a bath started. First thing is to find out what’s underneath all that dirt.” She looked at Mairi. “Are you a Scottish rose or a thorn?”
“A thorn, my lady, but I can pretend.”
There was a moment of stunned silence in the room, then quite suddenly, the Dowager Countess of Byrn laughed.
All in all, Mairi thought, a good start.
A few hours later, she did indeed regret promising this witch of a woman any damned thing.