Chapter Fifteen #2
“Thank you, I am rather pleased with it.” Meg inked a few refining strokes. “Is there news about arrangements for the soiree?”
“Mr. Hamilton and I are settling some of the details. And I had a letter from Mr. Charles Worth this morning. He is sending a dressmaker from his shop in Paris to fit your gown. She will arrive next week by train to Edinburgh. The coachman can bring her here if you like.”
“How nice! She should stay at Charlotte Square townhouse rather than out here at Strathlin.” Meg looked up. “The soiree will be held there, and we should leave soon for the city. The fittings can be done there. Mrs. Larrimore can prepare a room for the seamstress to stay and work in comfort.”
“Very well. I can hardly wait to see this gown!” She smiled. “Mr. Worth mentioned that he has outdone himself with this creation for you.”
Meg smiled to see the joy in Angela’s delicate face.
Too often her friend, a pale blonde with light-blue eyes, wore mourning colors that drained her of color.
Widowed several years ago while young, she kept to dark colors out of habit, perhaps not ready to move on.
Angela was a gentle, loyal friend and an invaluable aide and companion, and Meg only wanted to see her happy again.
“The Worth gown will be lovely. And you deserve some credit for that, Angela. Mr. Worth took your suggestions to heart in designing it.” Smiling, her enthusiasm felt forced, her delight in the beautiful gown and her anticipation of the soiree diminished by a dull ache of loneliness and loss.
But losing Dougal Stewart this time was her own doing.
She set a hand to the snugly corseted waistline of her day dress of blue plaid satin, and wondered again if Dougal would attend her soiree. He had been invited before she had met him on Caransay, but she did not know if he had accepted.
“Have we received replies to all the invitations?” she asked. “I wonder if some have responded. For instance, Mr. Dougal Stewart, the lighthouse engineer,” she added casually. “Perhaps he will be busy working in the Isles.”
“Let me look.” Angela Shaw went to a secretary desk in a corner and opened it to retrieve a written list. “Mr. Hamilton tucked the list here with the envelopes that are coming in by post.” She turned.
“His name is here, aye. And his response.” Rummaging through the letters, she plucked one out of the pile to bring it to Meg.
Fingers trembling, she opened the envelope to remove a reply card.
Dear Lady Strathlin, I am pleased to accept your invitation.
He had added his name in the plain, masculine script she recognized.
It brought him back to her so sharply that she sucked in a breath. His answer had been sent from Caransay.
If he attended, he would see immediately that Meg MacNeill was in fact Baroness Strathlin. Oh, dear God. Dread spun in her stomach. I should have told him.
She set the note aside as another knock came at the door, and Guy Hamilton entered. Earlier in the day, she had sat briefly with him to review preparations for the soiree. The event dominated her household, looming in the future. She wished she had never agreed to it.
“Madam, the post has arrived. Good afternoon, Mrs. Shaw,” he added in a murmur.
Meg often noticed a flush on Guy Hamilton’s cheeks when he was near the young widow, and now pink brightened Angela Shaw’s cheeks too.
Glancing from one to the other, Meg felt sure they had a strong mutual affection.
But each was so reserved in character, carefully guarding feelings, that she wondered if they had acknowledged it.
Perhaps falling in love herself had sharpened her sense of it in others.
She wanted to push them together and leave the room.
Instead, she smiled calmly, watching them.
“Good day, Mr. Hamilton,” Angela said with a tiny, dimpled smile. “Lady Strathlin was asking about the final guest list for the party.”
“Nearly done. Oh, I see you have it there.” He reached as Angela gave him the folded sheet. “Nearly all have accepted, but for a few who are traveling or indisposed. Even Mr. Stewart of the lighthouse kerfuffle will be there.”
“So I understand,” Meg said. “It will be an interesting evening,” she added, stomach tight.
“A private assembly hosted by Lady Strathlin, following a concert by a renowned songstress,” Guy said, looking at Angela, “and she thinks it will be interesting.”
Angela laughed softly. “If Mr. Stewart comes, it will certainly be interesting!”
“Why do you say that?” Meg asked, her voice a bit shrill.
“Let us hope your first meeting with him will not come to fisticuffs, since the lawyers have been unable to dissuade him. Did you happen to meet him on the island?”
“I did,” she said curtly, and blew on her inked drawing even though it was dry.
“And you left the poor fellow and his lighthouse still standing?”
“His lighthouse is not up yet,” Meg said tightly.
“Did you have a chance to discuss the situation with him?”
She sighed. “A little. To be honest, I did not tell Mr. Stewart that I am Lady Strathlin.”
“What?” Guy looked at her incredulously.
“He thinks you are just a lass from Caransay?” Angela asked, looking stunned.
She nodded. “I—never found a moment to tell him.”
Guy huffed. “Well, he is about to find out. What then?”
She shrugged. “I should have said something. But he—he was out on the rock out in the sea often. Now I am not sure how to approach it,” she confessed.
“Mr. Stewart will be staggered when he realizes who you are,” Angela said.
“And quite possibly furious,” Guy said.
Meg flinched. “He does seem stubborn and proud.”
“With cast-iron integrity, I believe, so he may not take it well,” Guy said. “I hear he is back in Edinburgh now. Perhaps you could see him before the party.”
She gulped. “I suppose that would be best.”
“We can send a note to his city residence—that is the address we used for the invitation—and ask him to call on you at Charlotte Square,” Angela suggested.
Again, Meg shrugged. “Perhaps we should do that.” Wanting desperately to see him, she dreaded what she must do.
“At least write to the man with an explanation so he is prepared,” Guy said. “He may decide to decline the soiree. Or perhaps he will be forgiving and show some humor about it.”
“Perhaps. But he should hear it from me beforehand, I know.” She sighed. “Was there anything else?”
“We have tickets for Miss Lind’s concert on the evening of your soiree, and we can arrange carriages for those who wish a ride to your house from there. Oh, and Mr. Worth sent a bill for the balance owed on the gown. A bit hasty, I thought. I prefer to pay once the confection is finished.”
“That sounds reasonable,” Meg said.
“Would you like the amount paid by bank draft or deposited to an account? It is a considerable sum.”
“Sir John deposited the first payment in Mr. Worth’s London account, and that can be done again. It is a rather large sum for a gown, I know.”
“That crossed my mind, but it will be unique and lovely,” Guy said.
“You will be dazzled by the confection, Mr. Hamilton,” Angela said. “She will look divine!”
“Milady’s companion will no doubt be a dazzling sight as well.” He smiled at Angela.
Seeing that, Meg’s heart surged with joy as she saw them blush, their eyes sparkling. Wanting to give them the moment, she turned pages in her journal, pretending to be absorbed. Hearing them murmur, she looked up to see them gazing at her now.
“Madam,” Guy said, “may I inquire if anything unusual happened in the Isles this time?”
“I had a lovely holiday, but that is not unusual.”
“Mr. Hamilton and I both wondered if something occurred there,” Angela said. “Ever since your return, you seem…preoccupied. You sigh often and look into the distance. And you do not seem as excited about the soiree now.”
“Preoccupied?” Meg raised a brow, tempted to confide in her friends. Yet she must protect her son and Dougal too. But Sir Roderick’s insistence on marriage hung over her head like a sword. “A bit. But nothing troubles me,” she said defensively.
“Something does,” Guy said.
“We are your dear friends. Remember that,” Angela said.
“I know. Thank you.” Dear friends who were too perceptive, Meg thought, and glanced away.
Through the window, blue hills spread into the misty distance.
Far to the west, invisible to the eye, lay the island where her heart resided, and near it the great sea rock.
“I am preoccupied with so much to be done before the soiree. It will be a relief when the evening is finally over. Why would you think otherwise?”
“Mrs. Berry came to me,” Angela said. “She thinks you are smitten, and could perhaps use a friend.”
Meg ducked her head, turning a page. “Mrs. Berry is a romantic and wants everyone to be smitten or in love. Who does she think I have fallen for?” A dangerous question, she knew.
“Mr. Stewart,” Angela said. Beside her, Hamilton lifted his brow in surprise. “Berry says he is charming and handsome, and not an ogre in the least,” Angela said. “She calls him brave and kind, and says he seemed quite taken with you.”
Guy folded his arms. “The odious Mr. Stewart! This is surprising.”
“This is Berry’s imagination,” Meg said, her cheeks heating fiercely.
“Berry also said Sir Roderick came to Caransay,” Angela said. “But I was sure you would not be taken with him, though he makes it rather clear that he is interested in you.”
“Too interested,” Meg said.
“I heard through the bank that he went out there to see you,” Guy said.
“To be honest, he pressed marriage. I do not wish to discuss it now,” Meg said bluntly.
“I do not trust the man,” Guy said. “Mr. Stewart seems far more trustworthy by comparison. Just be cautious, dear Baroness. Remember we are here to help. Aye so, Mrs. Shaw?”
“Oh, aye,” Angela said, her blue gaze caught in Hamilton’s dark glance.
Tears stung then as Meg saw a glow of love there. Happy for them, she felt struck by longing and regret, too. The journal pages blurred before her eyes. “I shall keep it in mind. Do be gone, both of you. There is much to do, and I feel a headache coming on.”
“I shall bring you tea,” Angela said, and left the room with Guy Hamilton.