Taming the Heiress (28 page)

"Thank you, Mrs. Larrimore." Meg smiled as the housekeeper bobbed her head and left the room.

"It promises to be a lovely event," Angela said.

"This is not a large house for such a party," Meg replied, glancing around. "I... oh, I suppose I am nervous, Angela."

"Strathlin Castle offers more room, but this house is more convenient for most of the guests, who can return easily to their homes afterwards. And it will be convenient for Miss Lind, as well, since she plans to travel the next day. I believe she has a concert in Perth the following evening."

Meg nodded distractedly. "None of that makes me nervous," she said. "I know that you and Mrs. Larrimore, and all the others, will work together to make this a wonderful party. It is... well, it is something else entirely."

Angela tilted her head sympathetically. "Can I help?"

"I'm afraid I must puzzle it out on my own." She thought of Dougal walking the machair of Caransay deep in the night, puzzling out his theorems as well as his feelings for her.

Seeing Angela's keen glance, Meg smiled brightly. "You are always such a help. We call you Angel for a reason," she said, tucking her arm in her friend's. "We had best hurry. We're expected at the opening of the new exhibit at the National Museum of Antiquities at one o'clock. They are displaying some recently discovered Celtic treasures, which I hear are quite stunning. It promises to be very interesting."

"Yes, I'm looking forward to it. The museum directors are delighted that you are free to attend, madam, as you and Matheson Bank are among the museum's chief contributors. They may ask you to say a few words."

"And I shall decline. I suspect the directors hope to flatter me so that I will sponsor their new museum building, on which they plan to break ground next year. But I will sponsor it regardless, and even more enthusiastically if they allow me anonymity today."

Angela smiled. "Some members of the bank's board plan to attend the exhibit's opening, as well. I know that Sir John Shaw and Sir Frederick Matheson are both invited."

The rhythm of Meg's step faltered slightly as she walked arm in arm with Angela. "How nice," she said, "to escape from the concerns of the party for a little while."

* * *

"Lady Strathlin, it is a joy to see you again," Sir Frederick said, as he stepped out from behind a stone column. The museum's spacious and bright foyer, where the exhibit had been arranged in long glass cases, was very crowded, filled with ladies and gentlemen attending the opening. Beams of warm sunlight poured over golden stone, green ferns, and the cheerful colors of the ladies' dresses, capes, and bonnets.

"Sir Frederick," Meg said, looking at him from under the brim of her dark blue bonnet, "what are you doing here?"

He doffed his top hat politely, although her greeting had been far from polite. "Why, the same thing you are doing, my dear, enjoying the exhibit," he said. "Although I'm glad to have a moment to speak with you. Have you thought about my proposal?"

She stared up at him. In the shadow of the huge column and lost in the noise of the echoing room, their conversation would be private. But she had no desire to speak to him, and she stepped away from the column, looking around for Angela Shaw or any other acquaintance who stood nearby.

Until Frederick's appearance, Meg had been lost in a pleasant reverie as she strolled past the glass cases, admiring the gold and silver and enameled artifacts displayed on velvet. The fascinating examples of brilliant Celtic craftsmanship and ingenuity captivated her, so that she had not noticed the tall, solidly built man in the black suit who now stood gazing down at her.

"I've given your suggestion some thought," she said carefully. "But I am not ready to speak to you about it. Certainly not here," she added in a near hiss, glancing around.

"Of course not, my dear," Matheson said. "I wanted to remind you."

"How could I possibly forget? Ah, Mrs. Shaw, there you are!" She called a little more loudly than she had intended. Hearing her, Angela turned and glided forward, her wide black bombazine skirt and half cape and her purple-and-black bonnet creating a somber note in the bright, sunny foyer.

"My dear Margaret, I look forward to hearing your answer on the night of your soiree," Frederick said. As Angela drew near them, he took her gloved hand cordially. "Mrs. Shaw, how delightful to see you again, and looking so well." Then he turned to Meg, who still watched him, her heart slamming. "I so look forward to your soiree, Lady Strathlin. We are to attend in grand full dress following Miss Lind's concert, I take it?"

"Yes," she said. "The details of dress and time are on your invitation card."

"Indeed. Oh, my dear ladies, please accept my apology. I must run. I have an appointment with Mr. Stewart this afternoon. I believe you know him, madam."

Smothering a gasp, Meg nodded. "Mr. Dougal Stewart? Yes."

"He and I have some business matters to discuss, now that he finds himself in a state of near ruin. I understand that he is coming to your private assembly. That should prove an interesting highlight for an evening." He smiled.

"Near... ruin?" Meg stared up at him.

"Well, of course, thanks to you and your solicitors. Had you not heard? I suppose your advocates work independently for your benefit, sparing you the details."

"I—they—well, no, I hadn't been told as yet." Meg realized that Angela was watching her with a slight frown. Puzzled herself, Meg wondered in a growing panic what her solicitors had done.

Frederick tipped the brim of his hat again. "It's true, they have triumphed over Mr. Stewart. Poor fellow. We shall talk further, my dearest Margaret," he said, taking her hand and bowing. "Mrs. Shaw." He turned away to stride through the crowd.

Meg watched his long black form as it cut a path through the bright dresses. She looked silently at Angela.

"I despise that oily snake," Angela murmured. Meg blinked, surprised by such a strong statement from her quiet, demure friend. "I hope you are not actually considering marrying him. He tells everyone that you are head over heels in love with him and about to announce it to the world."

"I'm not," Meg said. "Head over heels, that is."

"Good. I could not imagine it." Angela took Meg's arm. "My dear, have you seen the beautiful jewelry on display? You must come look. And I've found Mr. Hamilton—he was able to attend after all, when he thought he might be detained. We've just met the antiquarian who discovered many of these artifacts herself. She is lovely and delightful. Her name is Mrs. Christina Blackburn."

"I had heard her name before, but I have not yet met her."

"Then let it be my privilege to introduce you. The Blackburns are rather famous for being an artistic family, although she is not."

"Ah, yes. Her father and brother both are brilliant painters. I own a seascape by John Blackburn the elder," Meg said.

Angela nodded. "Her late husband was an artist as well, a cousin of the same name. There was a scandal a few years ago, but... well, it does not do to mention these things. She is the lovely brunette standing over there beside the tall man with the blond hair. That is Dr. Connor MacBain."

"Oh!" Meg said. "I know his excellent reputation, although we have never met." She remembered that Dougal had once mentioned that a cousin of his was the wife of Dr. MacBain of Calton Hill in Edinburgh. Her heart beat faster. "Is there—anyone else with them?"

"Are you thinking of Mr. Stewart?"

Always,
Meg thought, but she did not dare say it.

"Dr. MacBain's wife told me that Mr. Stewart is her cousin. A most interesting coincidence!" Angela nodded.

"Is he here?" Meg asked urgently, glancing around. "Did he accompany his relations to the opening?"

"No. Apparently Mr. Stewart had a previous appointment today. Mrs. MacBain said that he rode up on the train a few days ago. He is staying with them on Calton Hill."

Dougal was in Edinburgh already. Somehow she had irrationally expected him to simply appear for her soiree. Of course he would be here now. She might see him at any time, through a number of social connections.

Even knowing he was not in the museum, she glanced frantically around, looking for those broad shoulders, that glint of brown, sun-gilded hair. She wanted desperately to see him again, but she felt a sense of unshakable dread fill her at the same time.

She had to tell him the truth. She could not wait until the night of her soiree. If Dougal met with Frederick, there was no predicting what he might learn. Fear struck her with such force that she did not follow what Angela was saying.

"Dr. MacBain also said that Mr. Stewart has lost funding for his lighthouse. And there is a rumor that he will be personally ruined over this fiasco."

Meg turned. "Is that what Sir Frederick meant? Oh no! My soliciting firm informed me that they would find some way to delay his work, but I have not met with Sir Edward since my return. I understood that the plan was as yet only a plan. Oh no," she murmured anxiously.

"I thought you were a force behind the decision to revoke his funding, madam. Were you privy to any attempt to discredit him?"

"Never! Oh, never! I was told that delaying the funding was the only way to keep the work crews and construction off the island and the reef. I was never told it might damage his personal reputation."

"Well, it appears to have done just that," Angela said sternly. "Dr. MacBain fears that Mr. Stewart's project cannot recover from serious financial damage, and his name will be dragged down with it. Your solicitors have more than achieved their goal. That lighthouse may never go up, and the engineer may be ruined as well."

Feeling a sickening ache of remorse, Meg strolled beside Angela, showing only outwardly calm. Inside she quaked.

She could no longer bear the weight of her secrets, for they would soon cost her everything. Now, because of her, Dougal stood to lose the lighthouse that meant so much to him, and his reputation, which meant even more.

She had to see him, and soon.

"Angela," she said, making an impulsive decision, "there is something I must do later this evening, after supper. I will need your help."

Chapter 17

"Sir Frederick? I am Dougal Stewart." Inside the dim, smoky interior of Brodie's Tavern on the High Street, Dougal found Matheson easily, although he had met the man only once. In the crowded public room, several groups of gentlemen were meeting for luncheon, engaged in conversation and eating. At one table a man sat alone, a black top hat beside him and a brass-headed cane leaned against the high-backed bench.

Matheson was a tall man wearing a black suit and a vest of wine-colored brocade. He rose to his feet cordially, his gold watch chain swinging as he offered his hand to Dougal.

"Mr. Stewart! Thank you for meeting me here. Please sit down. I hoped you might join me for luncheon, so I ordered two plates of mutton stew in anticipation of your arrival. Beer, as well. The beer is particularly good in this place."

"Thank you." Dougal sat and briefly studied the man across from him. Matheson was a pleasant-looking man, in his mid-fifties or so, a man of obvious means judging by his expensive accessories and well-cut clothing. His graying hair was combed smooth, his long sideburns and mustache stylishly clipped, and his eyes were a very dark brown, unusually shrewd and piercing.

"I posted a letter to you recently while I was in the Isles, sir," Dougal said. He glanced up, smiling his thanks as a serving girl set down steaming plates of thick stew, two glasses of beer sloshing full, and a plate of bread rolls. "Once I arrived in Edinburgh, I was glad to learn of your desire to meet with me. A good idea, sir, to leave a message at the office of the Northern Lighthouse Commission."

"You are not an easy man to find." Matheson sipped some beer and patted his mustache with a cloth napkin.

"I understand that you were recently on Caransay, sir. Had I known, I would have taken time to show you around our quarry site on Guga and to show you the lighthouse site itself."

"Another time will do for that. I was there only for a quick visit to a good friend on the island. Generally I dislike traveling out there from Edinburgh. The journey is too deuced complicated, requiring different vehicles over land and sea. I prefer my life smoothed by convenience." He grinned amiably and gave his attention to eating.