Chapter Seventeen #2
“Dougal, is it? So you do know him rather well. I had a feeling it was so,” Angela said. “There is something in your eyes when he is mentioned—you cannot hide it, dear. Something happened on Caransay, I vow. Something good.” Her smile was soft and her eyes sparkled.
Meg looked out at the glinting rain, then nodded, ready and relieved to tell her friends more of the truth. Keeping secrets was not turning out so well after all. “Something that could have been wonderful, but I made a mess of it,” she said quietly.
“All can be fixed if this is meant to be,” Angela said. “Does he return your affection?”
Meant to be. Once she had hoped so, but that had dimmed. “If he did, I doubt he would return it to Lady Strathlin.”
“Love finds a way,” Angela said.
“Unless love’s way is littered with lawyers and bankers.” Guy was ever the pragmatist. “This situation is difficult for many reasons, madam. It will take more than an explanation to win his affection once he learns the truth.”
“Just wish her luck, Mr. Hamilton. Perhaps we should have left you at home,” Angela said.
“You cannot do without me, dear Mrs. Shaw,” he murmured. She gave him an impish smile.
“I must tell him the truth. I cannot live with this any longer,” Meg said. “It has become so complicated, more than I can say.” She felt dizzy, staring into the darkness and rain, as if she stood poised on a cliff edge. “I fear Sir Roderick may have already told him. They were to meet today.”
“Does Matheson realize Stewart thinks you are just a simple girl from the Isles?” Guy asked.
“It is possible.” Meg sighed.
“She is a girl of the Isles,” Angela pointed out. “She never truly lied to Mr. Stewart. She just omitted some details.”
“A considerable detail,” Guy said. “You are doing the right thing, madam.”
“If Roderick discovers that Mr. Stewart did not meet Lady Strathlin on Caransay, he might tell him who I am.” Frowning, she bit her lip slightly.
“Knowing Matheson, he will be too busy puffing his feathers to talk about anyone else,” Guy remarked. “I wouldn’t worry.”
“I do worry. If he sees Mr. Stewart as a rival, he might interfere. Oh dear. I must tell you two first—I have decided…to marry Sir Roderick.”
The silence, immediate and profound, did not last. “You what!” Guy burst out.
Angela gasped. “No!”
“It is best for all concerned,” Meg said.
“It is plain foolish,” Guy growled from the shadows.
“Why would you accept him? You do not care for him, let alone love him,” Angela said.
“He is a distant cousin, and so I have known him for years. He has been a support to me with the inheritance and the business matters.”
“He has an unsavory nature,” Guy Hamilton said. “Madam, let me remind you of something.”
“What is that, Guy?” Meg tilted her head.
“Three years ago, I believe, he asked you for a loan. Do you recall?”
She frowned. “Something about—an investment gone wrong. A temporary loan. I gave permission, aye.”
“He has borrowed more since.” Guy Hamilton cleared his throat. “He obtained permission from the bank, based on the strength of your previous permission. Somehow ran it through, and obtained your signature. I wondered at the time, but it was your signature. Now—I wonder if you knew about it.”
“I—thought he had repaid it. I gave it no mind.” She left such things to the bankers. Even Guy Hamilton would accept their approval without much question.
“I see. I do wonder now. I will look into it,” Guy said.
“Oh dear! How can you even entertain the thought of marrying him?” Angela asked.
Meg sighed and looked out the window, heart sinking. “Because—he found out about Sean. And he threatens to make that public if I do not marry him.”
“Dear heavens,” Angela murmured.
“Who is Sean?” Guy asked.
“I am sorry, Guy. I should have told you earlier. I have so much to make up to so many people,” Meg murmured. “Angela, could you explain it to Guy while I visit Dr. MacBain’s house? I am sorry to rush through it, Guy, but—”
“I understand. Mrs. Shaw will make it clear. Go on and do what you must.”
Angela reached across to take her hand briefly. “All of this is understandable, Meg. Truly. I would have done the same in your position.”
Meg nodded gratefully. Angela and Mrs. Berry, her closest female confidantes, knew about Sean’s birth and existence on Caransay, but Meg had never told Guy, nor had he guessed. Now more than ever she wanted to be truthful. She owed that to Dougal and her closest friends as well.
As the coach slowed and stopped, Guy peered out the window. “Here it is. Victoria Street.”
“I will not be long,” Meg said. “Once Mr. Stewart knows the truth, he will send me packing.” Drawing up the hood of her cloak, she stood. Guy stepped out first, offering his hand in assistance.
“Whatever it is, Meg,” Guy said, though he rarely used her given name, “it cannot be so bad.”
She leaned toward him. “It is a wonderful secret—it is time you knew. Angela will tell you.”
“I see.” He walked her toward a tall stone house separated from the street by an iron fence. Light warmed the wide bay window. “Let me go in with you,” Guy said.
“This is something I must do. Stay with Angela. Stay with her always, Guy,” she added.
“I intend to, if she will have me,” he murmured.
“She will. Love finds its way always. Remember that, Guy Hamilton.”
“I will. So should you.” He tipped his hat and went back to the coach.
She walked up the steps to the front door, heart slamming, hands clenched. She glanced at the brass address plaque: Doctor Connor MacBain.
A doctor’s household would be accustomed to unexpected visitors, and it was not yet late, although rain deepened the darkness. However awkward to see a gentleman alone, she owed Dougal the truth. All of it.
Drawing a breath, she lifted the brass knocker and tapped the door.
Moments later, a woman in a gray gown and white apron appeared, then stepped back immediately to bring Meg out of the rain and into the foyer.
The house was warm, softly lit, and fragrant with baking spices.
Toward the back, she heard the rattle of dishes, and to one side, a harmony of male and female voices mingled in conversation and laughter.
“Are you here for the doctor, Miss? Dr. MacBain has guests and is not seeing patients at this hour, but if ’tis an emergency, he may agree. I will let him know.”
“I have not come to see Dr. MacBain, but Mr. Dougal Stewart. I understand he is staying here. I have an urgent message for him.”
“Mr. Stewart is a guest here, aye. Who is calling?” The housekeeper produced a silver salver to accept Meg’s card Reaching into her glove where she kept a calling card or two out of habit, Meg paused, reluctant to produce one that said Lady Strathlin.
“I have no card. Please tell Mr. Stewart that Miss MacNeill is here to see him.”
In the hallway, panel doors slid open, and a dark-haired young woman in a brown silk dress glided toward her. “Hello, Miss. May the doctor be of assistance?” She held out her hand. “I am Mary MacBain. My husband is here—there you are, sir!”
A handsome blond man, wide shouldered and dressed in dark gray with a red plaid vest, stepped into the hall. Meg recognized the man she had seen at the museum exhibit. “Who is it, my dear?”
Seeing Meg he smiled and waited as she approached. “Miss, hello. I am Dr. MacBain. Is there something I can do for you?”
They assumed she was a patient in need, and no one questioned her right to be here or acted as if proprieties were compromised. Meg felt grateful for their friendly acceptance, but she hesitated, feeling suddenly awkward and foolish.
“Miss MacNeill is here to see Mr. Stewart,” Mrs. MacBain said.
“Ah. Pleased to meet you, Miss MacNeill. I’m afraid Mr. Stewart is not here. He stepped out for a little while and did not say when he would be back. Might we give him your card and message?”
Meg stared, brow folding. “Not here?”
“Would you like to wait?” Mrs. MacBain asked. “We have some guests and were about to have coffee. You are welcome to join us.”
Through the half-open pocket doors, Meg saw a few others milling about engaged in conversation. Whoever they were, some might recognize Lady Strathlin if she joined them. And her friends waited in the carriage.
She smiled at the doctor and his wife, who regarded her kindly, patiently, with mild concern. But a radiance of happiness and compassion shone in their faces. A similar quality brightened Guy Hamilton and Angela Shaw when they were together.
She might never have that now.
“Miss,” Mrs. MacBain repeated, “is there something we can do?”
Suddenly she felt lost, alone, unsure of herself. Wealth and social status meant nothing now. Dougal was not here, yet she needed him badly, needed his strength and calm and comfort, his arms around her, his wisdom, and his passion. She needed to know he understood and would forgive her.
Not so long ago, he had asked her for forgiveness, saying he loved her and wanted to marry her. She should have told him then that she loved him, should have been honest then. This was all coming too late.
“I—should not have come,” she blurted. “Please accept my apology. I am sorry for disturbing your evening.” Turning, she reached for the door. As the housekeeper opened it, Meg ran down the steps and back to the coach.
She picked up her skirts and fled down the path, her shoes tapping on stone.
Passing through the gate, she ran toward the waiting coach.
Guy Hamilton leaped out, opened the door, and swept her inside, calling to the driver.
The two horses launched forward up the hill toward the New Town and Charlotte Square.
“That was very quick,” Angela said.
Breathless, Meg sat and settled her skirts. She looked up to see Angela and Guy sitting close together on the opposite bench seat, watching her.
“He was not there. He is out, and they do not know when he will be back. I felt so flustered that I ran out—oh!” Pulling off her gloves, she realized then that the little cream card that identified her as Lady Strathlin was gone.
She glanced around, over her wide black crinoline and down at the coach floor. Gone.
Peering out the coach window back toward the MacBain house, she saw Connor MacBain step outside the house, watching the coach disappear. He bent to pick up something from the front step, examined it, and tucked it into his vest pocket as he went inside.
Meg sat back with a groan. “I introduced myself as Miss MacNeill—but I dropped my Strathlin calling card when I ran out.”
“Oh dear,” Angela said. “Will you go back?”
“I do not know,” she said, fingers trembling as she pulled her gloves on again.
“Well then, no doubt Mr. Stewart will find out on his own, and you can talk to him at the soiree.” Angela’s tremulous smile said she was trying to make the best of it.
“If he comes at all now,” Meg said. If I ever see him again.
She saw by her friends’ somber gazes that they were concerned for her—and could tell by the closeness as they sat together that they had been deep in conversation while she was gone. Though she trusted Guy implicitly, she felt vulnerable and exposed as little by little her secrets were unraveling.
“So you know,” she said quietly.
He nodded, then leaned forward and took her hand. “My dear baroness,” he murmured. “You could have told me long ago. I could have been a help in this.”
“A help,” she repeated.
“You have taken a great deal onto your shoulders,” he said. “But you have friends willing to share the burden. Willing to love your child, and you, without judgment.”
Tears pricked her eyes. Meg nodded silently, lip wobbling. She leaned back, gazing out the window as the coach conveyed them back to Charlotte Square.
If Dougal knew, she wondered, would he feel the same way? He would be angry with her for keeping the secret, certainly, but she knew that he was very capable of love and compassion. And he had a right to know his son, to love his son.
Yet some things must remain protected secrets. A sudden instinct told her that Matheson could become a dangerous threat to Dougal if he learned the identity of Sean’s father.
Her continued silence, over the years, had ensured the safety of her child and his father. What now, if the truth was all out?
She watched the glittering rain as it turned to a pelting downpour.