In Your Wildest Scottish Dreams (8 page)

Only the front of Hillshead showed, not the two wings to the rear. A wooded area filled with huge oaks and tall pines bordered the property here and in the back of the house. As a girl she’d followed Duncan and Lennox into those deep woods to climb a few of the trees herself. The walkway wound from the road to the door, bordered by more hedges, trimmed so not one leaf was out of place.

How many times had she raced down that path, through Hillshead, and out to the gardens? The house
was rife with memories of boisterous voices, laughter, and a childhood dusted with joy.

She turned away, refusing to allow the past to draw her closer.

L
ucy Whittaker was an attractive woman with an oval face and dark brown eyes. Her blond hair was tucked up in her bonnet, the green bow tied at a jaunty angle beneath her chin.

The woman began their relationship by insulting Eleanor.

“I can barely understand you,” she said after both women settled into the carriage, skirts had been arranged and proper introductions made. “You people in Glasgow speak worse than most Scots.”

Since she’d worked diligently to eradicate all trace of Glasgow from her voice, Glynis had to admit a Glaswegian accent was occasionally indecipherable.

But Lucy wasn’t done with her complaints.

“Scotland is colder than I’m used to and the city smells of fish.”

“We’re on the Clyde,” Eleanor said, her mouth curving in a thin smile. “You’ll soon become familiar with the odor. Are you staying long in Glasgow?”

“I don’t know,” Lucy said. “Gavin says not too much longer, but it all depends on Mr. Cameron.”

“Do you have any questions about America, Mrs. Whittaker? I’m certain my daughter can alleviate any anxieties you might be feeling about traveling to a new country.”

“I doubt I’ll be there anytime soon,” Lucy said,
to Glynis’s surprise. “I’m to be put ashore at Nassau while Gavin goes off to war. He says it’s not safe for me to be aboard ship when they’re running the blockade.”

Did Lennox know how easily Lucy divulged her husband’s secrets? In a matter of moments she’d told a stranger that Mr. Whittaker was in the Confederacy and soon to be engaged in outwitting the Union navy.

Glynis could just imagine what Baumann would do with that information.

“It’s not fair, truly,” she said.

Lucy turned from regarding the scenery through the carriage window. Tears swam in her brown eyes, causing Eleanor to reach over and pat the younger woman on the arm.

“I’m sorry,” Eleanor said. “I didn’t mean to cause you any distress.”

“I’ll be living in some hideous place while Gavin goes off to play at war. I’ll never see my family or go home again.”

Play at war? Did she think the thousands of casualties were part of a game? Wasn’t she concerned about her husband’s safety?

Evidently not, because the woman rarely mentioned her husband for the rest of the day, and when she did, it was in a quarrelsome tone. She wanted a maid and Gavin wouldn’t hire one since they were due to leave Scotland soon. She needed new dresses and he was just being too frugal. She wanted a puppy but he had stated that he didn’t feel comfortable bringing a pet into someone else’s home.

Nor did her complaints end there.

Glasgow was thriving because of shipbuilding. But Lucy saw nothing impressive about the shipyards or the port with its docks and new quays.

In her eyes England was even better equipped.

They traveled down Trongate, past the Glasgow
Cross, the original center of medieval Glasgow. Neither it nor the Tolbooth steeple interested Lucy.

London, Lucy said, was filled with ancient landmarks and buildings.

When Eleanor pointed out the horse-drawn buses, Lucy shrugged and remarked that Glasgow had a reputation for being one of the filthiest cities in the Empire. Eleanor countered that Queen Victoria had opened up the Loch Katrine Scheme and now the entire city drew water from the Trossachs.

Nothing Eleanor said affected Lucy’s opinion about Glasgow or Scotland. Sometimes, people neither wanted to learn nor change their minds.

To Lucy, London was the hub of the universe, the place to be admired above all others. Although they were careful not to show Lucy the wynds and closes of Saltmarket and Gallowgate in the East End, Glasgow still came off a poor second to Lucy’s birthplace.

Glynis found it less irritating to retreat into silence. When you were silent, people couldn’t argue with you. They didn’t know what you thought unless you told them.

She had no intention of telling the woman she considered her petulant, privileged, and difficult.

At least the outing had reacquainted her with Glasgow. Her home was vibrant, the city teeming with people, and there were magnificent places such as the Botanic Gardens, Kelvingrove Park, and the St. Vincent Street Church. Built less than ten years ago, the Grecian style church was one of the city’s most famous landmarks.

While Glynis admired it, Lucy’s only comment was, “I’m not a Presbyterian.”

Did Mr. Whittaker notice Lucy’s complaints? Or was the woman different around her husband? If she wasn’t mistaken, the dress Lucy wore—a silk stripe in
green and beige—was expensive. Mr. Whittaker provided well for his wife, but Lucy didn’t say one kind word about the poor man. In a few years Lucy’s youth and beauty would fade, leaving the dregs of her character, in this case a thoroughly dislikable woman.

Even her mother’s powers of persuasion could not transform Lucy Whittaker into a pleasant person.

“Perhaps another day we’ll travel north,” Eleanor said. “There’s the remains of Dumbarton Castle. It’s perched on a rock overlooking the Clyde. Or we might go to Bothwell Castle. Either are sights we should visit.”

“There are many historic places in England,” Lucy said. Her voice quavered. “My papa loved to take trips on Sunday.”

She was very much afraid the girl was going to weep again. She didn’t know what was worse, the constant denigrating of Scotland or the tears.

“Tell us about your family,” Eleanor said, a comment causing Glynis to glance at her in disbelief. “I’ve found that talking about sorrow sometimes makes it easier to bear,” her mother continued.

“I have three brothers and a dear sister, who is as close to me as anyone could be.” Lucy blotted at her eyes with a handkerchief. “And my darling dog,” she said. “Jasper.”

A woman who liked animals had at least one good character attribute. Perhaps Lucy was simply desperately homesick and not as querulous as she appeared.

“He’s a King Charles spaniel and the smartest animal in all of England. Or Scotland,” she added.

For the next thirty minutes they were regaled with Jasper’s antics from his trick of taking treats from between Lucy’s lips to jumping up the steps to the carriage without being prompted.

“He, too, loved to take trips,” she said, looking as if she might cry again.

“Perhaps he would have liked a sea voyage,” Glynis said. She ignored her mother’s look for the view from the window.

“I’m told that I will like America, but I don’t see how I shall.”

Richard hadn’t liked America, either. He thought democracy made the government weaker than it should be, handing too much autonomy to the masses. Americans were, to his mind, not only ignorant, but excessively violent. She was forced to listen to a similar speech at least once a week.

She hadn’t found the Americans to be either violent or ignorant. Instead, they were a fascinating group of people with distinct thoughts on liberty and freedom. The Civil War was stripping the soul from the country, and it was being felt on both sides.

The most common color for women was black, and before she left America each one of her acquaintances had been touched by the death of a soldier in some way.

But she never bothered to tell Richard her opinion. He wouldn’t have listened. His inability to hear other people or to empathize had been his greatest drawbacks and why he wouldn’t rise to the meteoric heights he envisioned for himself.

Once, he’d been so filled with images of his own success. “I’ve been told that my future is bright in the diplomatic service,” he said on the day he asked her to marry him.

They’d been in Alexandra’s garden, a tiny but perfect spot behind her English cousin’s town house.

She couldn’t imagine a more unassuming man. If the aim of the diplomatic service was to employ only males of a certain conformable appearance, Mr. Smythe was a perfect employee. Of short stature, he had auburn hair, brown eyes, and a narrow face he
kept expressionless. One could not tell if Mr. Smythe was excited, amused, or irritated. Instead, he was an island of nothingness in a sea of emotion.

He was the antithesis of Lennox Cameron.

Mr. Smythe did not make her feel anything at all.

He’d begun to walk, his hands clasped behind him.

“It has been brought to my attention that my career would advance more quickly if I were married.” He glanced at her. “I haven’t the temperament to go courting, Miss MacIain.”

He stopped in front of the bench where she sat and regarded her intently.

A slight frisson of curiosity pierced her misery.

“Nor do I have the time, having been sent my new assignment.” He cleared his throat. “I have found you to be a very personable young woman. Although a Scot, you’re related to Lady Alexandra.”

“She’s my cousin,” Glynis had said, wondering where he was going with his speech.

“I would then like to propose something to you. A match between you and me. Not one of love, Miss MacIain, as much as expediency. A business arrangement, if you will. I can offer you a position as my wife. You will meet important people and be present when history is made. My wife, of course, would be called upon to represent the Empire as well as myself. If you agree, you will need to learn certain things, and I will avail myself of the finest teachers for you.”

She didn’t dissuade him from continuing. Instead, she listened.

“I can guarantee you my future is a bright one. It has been hinted that if I conduct myself well in Cairo, my next assignment will be to one of the British legations.”

He began to walk again, a jaunt of four feet one way, a turn and four feet the other.

“Would this arrangement suit you?”

“You want me to marry you, Mr. Smythe?”

“I do, Miss MacIain.”

Her mother’s letters had been filled with speculation about Lennox and Lidia Bobrova. Glasgow was rife with rumors about the joining of the two families that had been so close in business.

How could she bear returning to Glasgow? How could she tolerate seeing him every day? Or worse, having to socialize with his wife?

“If I marry you, would we be returning to Scotland?” she’d asked.

He frowned. “No, Miss MacIain. I see no reason to do so. Do you have an excessive fondness for your homeland, one that would prevent you from considering my offer?”

“I love my family, Mr. Smythe. I would miss them.”

“Perhaps they could visit us occasionally,” he said.

She wouldn’t have to see Lennox again. Nor affect a nonchalance when he married.

“I realize we have only known each other a few weeks.”

“Three weeks to be exact,” she said.

“Which means this is a precipitous offer. I am due in Egypt in a month. Therefore, our wedding would have to take place within days.”

Enough time to send for her parents and Duncan to attend the ceremony.

What did it matter who she married now, she’d asked herself, especially if Lennox was marrying that Russian girl? All she cared about was that she didn’t have to return to Glasgow.

“Yes, Mr. Smythe,” she said, standing. “I will marry you.”

She allowed him to kiss her on the cheek. On their wedding night she allowed him into her bed. She
didn’t even try to pretend Lennox held her and kissed her perfunctorily.

Lennox wouldn’t have made her want to bathe after her marriage was consummated.

Richard’s career had been hampered by his personality. He didn’t want to speak to women or servants, since each class—as he’d said on many occasions—was given to extreme emotionality. He never realized some men respected their wives and their judgment. Nor did he understand a diplomat’s position was to listen more than speak.

A lesson Lucy Whittaker could learn as well.

Glynis couldn’t wait until the day was over.

D
UNCAN
M
AC
I
AIN
walked to the window and stared out at the mill buildings stretching before him. His great-grandfather had built this empire and it flourished until two years ago.

“You can never forget you hold the lives of these people in your hand, Duncan,” his father once told him. “Every decision you make affects them. You may feel like king of the mountain here, but like leading a clan into battle, your actions have consequences.”

He’d been a boy at the time, amused at his father’s metaphor. Having been the head of MacIain Mill for the last five years, he now realized the comparison was apt. Every change he instituted affected not only himself and his family but the hundreds of people who worked for him.