“Fiona.” Murien frowned over the edge of her cup, then placed it back in the saucer. “What do you want? Your note said it was dire. Have you decided to leave Malcolm?”

Fiona blinked. Leave Malcolm? Where had Murien gotten such a crazed notion? Had Malcolm said something? Panic flooded her. “Of course I’m not going to leave Malcolm. Why would I do such a thing?”

“Come, Fiona. Don’t pretend you haven’t thought about it. The two of you haven’t ever gotten along as you should. He treats you abominably.”

This was distressing indeed. Malcolm had treated her poorly? Had he? Fiona looked down at her teacup. “I don’t think you understand how Malcolm and I care for one another. We’ve just had some…disagreements. That’s all.”

Murien looked unimpressed. “He’s a monster to try and keep you locked up here, at Kilkairn. It’s a wonder he doesn’t make us climb up your hair just to visit you. It’s my opinion that your marriage is already over.”

Fiona gave a watery giggle, tears clouding her eyes. Good God, did Murien see what she, Fiona, did not? Had she and Malcolm grown so apart that they were doomed? Her throat tightened. Worse yet, was that what Malcolm thought, as well?

The thought pained her, a splinter shoved into the tenderest morsel of her soul. All she had was hope…hope that somehow, someway, Malcolm’s feelings for her would return to the fervid passion he’d once had. Back when they’d been courting. Perhaps if they returned to an atmosphere not unlike that when they’d first met—surrounded by gay, happy people; brilliant amusements; and the constant thrill of a filled social calendar. It was a thin hope, but all she had.

Murien gave a graceful shrug. “Don’t look so crestfallen; I daresay everyone knows how it is.”

“Do you mean to say that a lot of people are discussing this?”

“I suppose so. Not to me, of course. No one would dare. But I hardly think it a secret that you and Malcolm do not see eye to eye on anything. It is certainly the first thing I notice whenever I come to visit.”

The words had a strange effect on Fiona’s heart, hollowing it out and making it thud painfully against her ribs. She managed a belated laugh. “Murien, you are so silly! Malcolm and I are fine. I just wrote you because…Well, I have a favor to ask.”

“Favor?” Murien’s pretty mouth turned down. “Really, Fiona, I hope this is not about money. I only have what Father left in trust and it’s hardly enough as it—”

“No, no!” Fiona said hastily. “It has nothing to do with money. Murien, did you find anyone to interest you in Edinburgh?”

“Hardly. Provincials, every one.”