The younger sister smiled at this artlessness.
“Every reason to do so, no doubt,” she said with a brightening eye and a rush of warmth to her voice. “I am sure there couldn’t be better people in this world than the Dinnefords.”
“That was the father’s opinion, anyway. He always said they knew how to treat those who served them.”
“Not a doubt of that,” said Harriet. “They have been more than good to me.” The color flowed over her face. “And his Grace often speaks of the father. He says he was his right hand at Ardnaleuchan, and that he saved him many a pound in a twelvemonth.”
“I expect he did,” said Eliza, her own eyes kindling. “He simply worshiped the Family. Mother used to declare that he would have sold his soul for the Dinnefords.”
“He was a very good man,” said Harriet simply.
“It would have been a proud day for him, Hattie, had he lived to see you where you are now. And not yet thirty—with all your life before you.”
But the words of the elder sister brought a look of constraint to the face of Harriet. Mistaking the cause, Eliza was puzzled. “And it won’t be my opinion only,” she said. “Aunt Annie I’m sure will think as I do. She’ll say you’ve had a wonderful piece of luck.”
“But the position does mean great responsibility”—there was a sudden change in Harriet’s tone.
Eliza kept her eyes on the face of the younger woman, that fine Scots face, so full of resolution and character. “Whatever it may be, Hattie, I’m thinking you’ll just about be able to manage it.”