what must be done. Perhaps she could ask for advice on becoming a lady while they sewed together. After all, if the goal was to behave more like Mrs. Baird, Annie could think of no better instructor than Mrs. Baird.
They were headed toward the staircase when the front door swung open with a gust and slammed closed with equal force behind a thunderous Angus MacPherson.
Annie’s father wore a black coat and a blacker expression. He turned to hang his hat on the hook. “Annie!” he bellowed before bothering to glance in her direction. “Where the devil are ye?”
“If ye’d bother lookin’ instead of shoutin’, ye crabbit auld man, ye’d see I’m right here.”
He spun. Then blinked. Then turned a bit ruddy. “What in bluidy hell are ye wearin’?”
She had the feeling he would have shouted the words if he hadn’t been so shocked. Planting her hands on her hips, she glanced down at herself and back up at him. “Well, I might be mistaken, but I believe it’s called a dress.”
“What in bluidy hell have ye done to yer hair?”
“Now, that’s called brushin’. It’s a new thing. I thought I’d give it a try.”
He stomped toward her, looming as he often did. “What in bluidy hell are ye doin’ to yerself?”
She snorted. “Far less than ye’re doin’ to my floors, auld man. Now, before ye take another step, ye’d best go wipe yer boots. I’ve no patience for mud or yer crabbit ways.”
He ignored her warning, glaring hard and looking fearsome.
Despite her irritation with his bluster, she saw strain around his eyes and mouth that worried her. She drew closer, intending to ask what had caused it, when a delicate “ahem” sounded behind her.
Angus’s black gaze shifted to Mrs. Baird, narrowed and glittering.
“Och, I’m a pure dafty,” Annie said, hoping to defuse the sudden tension. “Da, this is my dressmaker, Mrs. Baird. Mrs. Baird, this cantankerous giant is my stepfather, Angus MacPherson.”
Neither one spoke a word. Annie glanced between them, dismayed by the nervousness on Mrs. Baird’s face and the black fury on Angus’s.
“She’s here to finish my gowns,” Annie prompted, hoping one of them would say something. “She traveled all the way from Inverness.”
Angus waved a finger at Annie’s skirt. “This shite is yer work, then?”
Annie glowered. That was rude, even for him.
A suddenly pale Mrs. Baird laced her fingers tightly at her waist. “Th—this gown is my work, aye.”
“Ye turned my lass into a bluidy tart.”
“Da!” Annie protested. Why was he aiming his wrath at a kindly dressmaker?
Mrs. Baird seemed terrified yet continued to hold Angus’s gaze. “Yer lass is a fine young woman,” she replied quietly. “I should think ye’d be glad to see her looking so lovely.”
Oddly, this seemed to anger him more. “My daughter was always bonnie,” he growled. “She doesnae need yer obscene frocks revealin’—”
“That’s more than enough, auld man!” Annie charged forward and braced a hand on the center of Angus’s chest. “Mrs. Baird, I beg yer forgiveness for this great beastie that plainly hasnae been trained to do aught but soil the furniture.”
“Now, listen here, lass—”
She held up a finger to silence him then spoke to the dressmaker. “I’ll join ye upstairs in a wee bit. Just let me have a moment with Angus.”
A long pause came from behind her while Angus fumed. “If ye’re certain, Miss Tulloch.”
“I am. Dinnae fash. I’ve dealt with this beastie many times. He’s more smoke than teeth.”
As Mrs. Baird moved up the staircase, Annie glared at her father, who watched the dressmaker’s retreat with something approaching hatred. “What on earth is the matter with ye?” she demanded.
He blew out a long breath and shrugged out of his coat.
Annie moved to help him. He nodded his thanks.
“Too much is changin’, lass. I dinnae like it. First that bluidy Englishman interrupts my work to bargain with me—”
She crossed her arms. “Aye. And what made ye change yer mind about him, eh?”
He scoffed. “Lad made an offer.”
“What sort of offer?”
“Nothin’ ye need fash yerself about. Train him all ye like. He’ll never win against yer brothers anyway.”
Annie eyed her surly, beloved father for signs of senility. Dark eyes flashed; a hard jaw remained stubborn; thick brows drew down low. No, he was weary and frustrated but sound. “Somethin’ happened.” Her stomach panged oddly.