“When Baird collected you yesterday,” Mr MacGillivray said, “you were coming from the east.”
There was more laughter at that as if Mr MacGillivray had said something very witty.
“That candle is guttering,” Baird pointed to a perfectly sound candle near the foot of the table. “It must be the wick.”
That strange statement made everyone at the table howl with mirth, except for Barbara, who sat with her normal strained expression on her face. I sat in confusion, thankful when the soup arrived and I could concentrate on something other than their weak amusements.
“I hope you can adapt to our ways,” Mrs MacGillivray said, “unless you wish to take Baird to your family home.”
I stilled the thunder of my heart. “I must remind you that I am still engaged to Mr Fairweather.” I had to force out t
