Chapter Twenty #2
He looked up as a lovely young woman came down the stairs, a pale blonde, her blue eyes vivid. A high-necked black gown drained her delicate summery coloring, but when she smiled, roses bloomed prettily in her cheeks. He remembered meeting her at the soiree.
“Mrs. Shaw,” he said. “How nice to see you again.”
She glided toward him and extended a hand.
“Angela Shaw, sir, Lady Strathlin’s companion.
May I be of service? The butler said you had a message for her.
She is just now in the middle of a discussion with her secretary, Mr. Hamilton.
I did not want to disturb them, but if it is important, I certainly will. ”
Ah, that was an answer too. “Of course not. I only came to deliver this.” He pulled the book from his pocket. “If you could give this to her, I will be on my way.”
She did not take it. “It seems more than a message, sir. Then do wait. She would want that.”
All he wanted, all he feared, ran through his mind at once.
He had come here hoping for the whole truth, but he was not sure how she ultimately felt.
In the garden the other night, he felt strongly that she kept something else from him.
Did she still not trust him enough? He knew she had good reason to be cautious, considering their initial meeting. Had she indeed forgiven him?
And could he forgive this latest revelation, despite wanting to? He needed to know.
“Thank you, Mrs. Shaw. I have a little time before my train departs. I can wait a bit.”
“Good.” In her eyes, he saw sympathy, curiosity. “Would you like to wait in the parlor?”
He shook his head, endured an awkward silence as she smiled. Then he heard the rustle of skirts and saw Meg hurrying down the stairs, skirts sweeping. He looked up, captivated, then steeled himself. Forgiveness and caution went best together.
“Mr. Stewart,” she said as she reached the foyer.
Her full skirt swung, a plaid satin in blue and green with a prim white collar and white undersleeves.
The effect was elegant and demure, even to her golden hair, its curls tamed and gently pulled back into a black net.
She tipped her head and regarded him calmly. “I am glad you came.”
“Lady Strathlin,” he said. “I wanted to return something to you.”
“Oh?” She tucked a brow as if puzzled, then lifted her skirt to move down the hall. “We can visit in the library.”
“Would you like tea? I will inform the housekeeper,” Angela Shaw said.
“Not yet. I will ring for it,” Meg said, as her friend nodded and departed.
Meg ushered Dougal toward the library just off the parlor, and closed the door.
Dougal glanced around at tall mesh-fronted bookshelves lining the walls from floor to ceiling.
The room was bright and warm as sunshine streamed through windows draped in gold brocade.
The floors were covered in thick, multicolored Oriental rugs.
Over the fireplace mantel, a large seascape, a stormy night, added a dramatic note in the serene room.
“Sgeir Caran?” he asked.
“Not precisely. But it reminds me. I—I did not want to forget,” she said.
“I see. You said your grandfather left you his library. I hardly imagined the rest of this.”
“If I had been more accurate about the library, you might never have spoken to me again.”
“I am still speaking to you,” he pointed out. He held out the journal. “I brought this.”
She took the book, frowning. “You did not need to return it. I wanted you to have it.”
“There is an envelope inside.”
She found it, extracted the page, read it. “What is this? A note…and a cheque?”
He had been uncertain how she might react to his decision to approach a publisher, or how she might regard the modest sum.
“I am acquainted with Mr. Samuel Logan at Chambers Street Publishers, so I took the liberty of showing him your journal. He was very impressed, found it remarkable and unique. He’d like to publish it, and your other works, if you are agreeable.
He’d like to call it A Hebridean Journal, by—”
“By M. MacNeill,” she breathed, reading the letter. “I do not know what to say.”
“At the time, I was…unaware of your circumstances.” He shrugged. “I hoped you would be pleased.” He twisted his hat like an embarrassed schoolboy and straightened his shoulders.
This girl tossed his heart and his head about like no one he had ever met.
But he needed that, he suddenly thought.
Finding his balance with her somehow broke through his reserve, cracked the shell he had not even known he had created.
She helped him find his balance altogether, though she had no idea of that.
“I am—how very nice. Thank you,” she murmured, and he saw the shine of tears in her eyes and she set the book on the gleaming surface of a nearby table and placed the bank draft beside it. She sniffled, laughed a little, shrugged.
“If you are not interested, I understand. I can convey your apologies to Logan.”
She gave a little watery sob. “I am! I am—thrilled.” The last word wobbled. “I thought my journals were nice, and I dreamed that one day—but I did not think it was really possible.”
“Very possible,” he said. “It is a wonderful thing, if you want it.”
“Oh, but more wonderful is that you—you did this for me. You believed in my work. In me,” she added. “You cared about it.”
“Of course I care about it,” he said. God, he wished she would not sob—it made him want to pull her into his arms and hold her. But he could not allow himself to step outside the boundary he had set for now, to protect him, protect her. “No need to cry. I know it is a silly wee sum.”
Her face crumpled at that, tears streaming fresh. She touched the cheque with slim fingers. Dougal bunched the brim of his hat in one hand and stayed still.
“It is the first silly wee sum I have ever earned myself.” She gulped tears, laughed a little.
“Good Lord, all this—” he said, waving his hat.
“Was inherited,” she said. “I never planned on it, or wanted it. All this was meant for my cousins, but they were gone, and I was left. I left my home and my family for this. It has hardly even felt like a home all this time.”
“It must feel like a great responsibility.”
“It does.” She pulled a handkerchief from her sleeve, dabbed at her eyes, her nose. “But I have advisers, bankers, accountants, and a large household staff at each of my homes. I feel some responsibility—and too pampered, not sure why I should be. It is not—who I am,” she finished.
Who are you, he wanted to ask. “How many homes do you have?”
“This house, as well as Strathlin Castle, the manse on Caransay, and another small castle near Inverness. My bankers urge me to buy other properties, but I see no need.”
He watched her without answering. Taking it all in, deciding what best to say, to ask.
She flipped through the journal. “That silly wee sum for this wee book is most welcome. I am honored. And I thank you for it.”
“Not me. Mr. Logan,” he said stiffly. “Well. If there is naught else, I am on the afternoon train for Glasgow.”
Her eyes went wide. “You’re leaving Edinburgh?”
“I must return to Sgeir Caran. I’ve been gone too long. The men have continued in my absence, but some matters cannot proceed until I am there.”
“There were repairs needed after the last storm. Have you heard from Mr. Clarke and Mr. Mackenzie?”
Safer ground in some ways to talk about the work—treacherous in other ways. “They are overseeing things while I’ve been gone. The work goes forward, despite efforts to stop it.”
“The funding,” she said.
“That, and the sheer persistence of Dundas and Grant.” He blew out a breath. “But I must thank you.”
“Thank me? I thought you took great issue with what I—may have done.”
“Some of it,” he replied curtly. “But I do thank you for your remarks at the soiree. As it happened, attitudes turned around regarding the project. I have new offers of support, and I even had an apology from your solicitors.”
“I am glad of that. They owe you that. I want you to know I was not always party to their actions.” She twisted a handkerchief in her hands.
“Some of their actions,” he replied in a dry tone. “Some efforts came from you, I gather.”
“Some, at first. I realize I might have been wrong.”
“Well. Done is done.” He bowed his head, aching inside. His train would leave soon and he must hurry. Yet something held him back, a desire, a need he resisted. “Farewell, Lady Strathlin.”
Her eyes brimmed with quick tears. “Just farewell? I thought—we would talk today.”
“Now that I am here again, I wonder what more there is to say.” A few remaining doubts suddenly overtook the hopes that had bloomed.
“Your life has no room for such as me. I am aware of that. You have many obligations, and many with expectations of a woman of your means. So, aye, perhaps farewell is justified.” He turned for the door, even as his heart fell to his feet and an inner voice urged him to stay.
“No,” she said firmly.
He stopped, did not look back. “I also have obligations, and those work against what you may want. And I have a train to catch, frankly.”
“Tickets can be changed. But what will change this?” Her voice broke. “What do you need?”
He drew a sharp breath. “Meg MacNeill,” he said softly. “I need her.”
She was quiet for a moment. “And you have no use for Lady Strathlin?”
“I expect that the baroness has no use for a lighthouse engineer.” He could not look at her, though in his peripheral vision the grand library reminded him of her astonishing wealth.
“Pride?” Her voice quivered.
Hurt, he wanted to say. He did not turn, for if he saw her, he would only want to pull her hard into his arms and keep her there.
All his pride, all his resistance, would vanish.
And he still felt something unresolved, held back, and did not know if it came from him, or from her.
It was just there, in the room, in the space between them, immovable and invisible.
“I can apologize for my wealth, but I cannot change it.”
“The wealth—it is not that important,” he said. “What matters here is who I am, who you are. Who we are. And that I cannot answer.”
“I am just me, as I am. And perhaps we—we care, yet we are both so proud.”
“Pride, aye,” he agreed. “And we both need freedom, each in our way. I have a wanderlust, lady, and I like risk too well. I would always choose freedom over the lock that wealth and status can put on a man. Even if it means giving up what I most—cherish.”
“What is that?”
“You know what that is.” He reached for the door handle.
Something struck him hard between the shoulder blades. He looked down.
A narrow leather boot lay on the floor, its side buttons loosened. Before he could look up, another boot hit his arm. He whirled.