Chapter 18 #2
Guy, dressed in black and white dinner attire, leaned toward them from his velvet-upholstered chair.
He sat beside Angela, the two of them seated behind Meg and Mrs. Berry.
"Lady Strathlin cannot help but attract attention.
Nearly everyone in this theater is curious to see the elusive baroness.
And with three such beautifully gowned, gorgeous ladies in this box, I'm sure some of them are wondering just which one is Lady Strathlin. "
"Well, true," Mrs. Berry conceded. She smoothed the skirt of her deep blue velvet gown and flounced her coiffed head, crystal earrings shivering.
"Now remember, ma leddy, during the promenade at intermission, walk slowly and decorously, and dinna stop to converse, expecially with gentlemen. This isna the beach at Caransay."
"Oh? Did Lady Strathlin chat with a gentleman on the beach?" Guy asked. Meg turned to see his teasing smile. Mrs. Berry rounded eagerly toward Guy and Angela.
Lessons in decorum were no match for a chance to gossip a little, Meg thought, both amused and irritated.
"Indeed she did, wearing no more than a skirt and blouse, and barefoot, as well," Mrs. Berry whispered. "And I was in ma bathing costume," she confided. "I was mortified!"
"Understandably. Who was the gentleman?" Angela asked.
"Mr. Stewart o' the lighthouses," Mrs. Berry replied. She folding her gloved hands one over the other, lips pursed. "He thought I was the great leddy herself, the baroness. Must be my manner o' deportment," she said, straightening her shoulders.
"No doubt," Guy murmured, smiling as Meg looked at him.
"This Mr. Stewart is a fine man, charming and handsome, though I havena spoken with him maself," Mrs. Berry went on. "Brave, too. He saved a small child from drowning in the sea. And fought off a shark to do it! Amazing heroics."
"Really? Quite impressive," Guy said.
"Madam, you never mentioned such excitement during your holiday," Angela said, leaning forward.
"Mr. Stewart did save a child from drowning, and very courageously," Meg said.
"Iain," Mrs. Berry said. "It was little Iain. You know who he is, Mrs. Shaw." She looked pointedly at Angela, who gave an audible gasp. Guy Hamilton frowned thoughtfully.
Meg flapped her fan, rapid and silent. Mrs. Berry took the hint and sat back without further comment on the subject.
"I want to hear that story later. And think we should make it a point to congratulate Mr. Stewart on his brave deed," Angela said.
"I, for one, look forward to meeting him, after all I've heard lately of him.
It is a shame what Sir Edward and his cohorts have done to him.
It's said they've nearly ruined him. And all over this dispute. "
"Once," Guy began, "I might have said Mr. Stewart deserved it, for all his arrogance and aggression regarding the lighthouse.
But I must agree with dear Mrs. Shaw—for all I've learned about him lately, he did not deserve this attack, which was unfairly done.
Had I known what Uncle Edward was about, I would have done what I could to stop it. " He glanced at Meg.
"Withoot fifty thousand pounds to spare," Mrs. Berry hissed, "no one can stop the poor man from losing his lighthouse."
Meg stayed silent, feeling utterly miserable. She looked out over the sea of heads and shoulders arrayed beneath them and listened as the crowd settled at last, quieting to a murmur.
He was here somewhere, she knew, in the theater. She sensed the inexorable pull of his presence so strongly that her heartbeat quickened as she looked around. She knew she should not glance around the theater but felt compelled to do so.
It was dark, though, and impossible to find one man in that vast and glittering crowd, no matter how well she knew the turn of that head, the set of those shoulders.
And if he did see her, she was certain he would turn away.
The orchestra tuned their instruments, the gaslights dimmed, and the voluminous draperies slowly parted. The stage was bare but for a pedestal holding an arrangement of flowers and a small table covered in a paisley cloth with a pitcher of water and a single glass upon it.
Silence deepened in the theater. Then a small woman walked out to the center of the stage, her brown hair pulled back simply, tucked with a small spray of pink roses.
Her gown was cream colored, simple, lightly touched with lace.
Jenny Lind looked like an innocent young girl, though Meg knew that she was easily in her mid-thirties.
Clasping her hands in front of her, Miss Lind lifted her head and began to sing.
Her voice flowed outward, pure as crystal, a delicate trill like a lark in the morning. Listening, Meg felt her worries and fears ease a little under that magical sound.
* * *
During the promenade, the crush around Lady Strathlin and her party was deep and crowded in the wide foyer of the theater. From his vantage point across the hall, Dougal could scarcely see the baroness. He hardly cared to come any closer.
Still and silent, he waited out the intermission in the company of his hosts at the Calton Hill address, Connor MacBain and his wife, Mary Faire, Dougal's cousin.
While the MacBains chatted with acquaintances, Dougal stood as cold and stiff as the jasper column beside him, although he nodded and murmured greetings now and again with unerring politeness.
Once he saw her clearly, when the sea of gowned ladies and black-clad gentlemen parted for a moment.
Her back was turned to his direction, and an opera cloak of dark blue velvet covered her from shoulder to hem, but he knew the golden waves of her hair, had pushed his fingers through that mass himself.
Now it was wound and pinned with gewgaws and a spray of feathers and roses.
Then she turned her head, and he saw the lovely profile that was so achingly familiar to him. His heart nearly stopped. She was uncommonly beautiful, and he loved her still, wanted her so intensely that it hurt.
Once he had told Meg that he would never give up on what he most desired in life. After what had assailed him since he had come to Edinburgh, he felt betrayed, even uncharacteristically defeated. Persistence, just now, was a challenge.
Yet his nature demanded that he continue through sheer will and determination. Despite setbacks, somehow the lighthouse would be constructed, even if, as he had told Aedan, he had to build it himself, stone by stone, and fund it out of his own pocket.
Watching her now, as the crowd closed around her again and her golden head was once more hidden from his sight, he decided that he must persist in one other matter as well. That new goal sat heavy and bitter in his heart.
He intended to forget Meg MacNeill, though it might take him all his life to accomplish it.
* * *
The carriage slowly edged forward in a long line of gigs, hansom cabs, and coaches approaching Charlotte Square.
Dougal leaned sideways to peer ahead through the side window.
He could see the baroness's town house a little distance ahead.
The block of houses, made to look like a single palatial facade, had been designed by the celebrated Robert Adam.
A magnificent and enormous building roofed several town homes as one, with a row of grand doorways.
Under the light of lanterns held high by grooms, footmen in dark livery assisted ladies out of vehicles, while gentlemen emerged clothed in stark black and white attire, in contrast to the garden colors worn by the women.
"I do hope we are nearly there," Mary Faire said. With gloved hands, she smoothed the wide flounces of her gown of pink silk. "The concert was marvelous—Miss Lind is astonishing to hear—but I am ready to move about after being seated for so long."
"We shall soon be dancing, Cousin," Dougal said, smiling fondly.
He knew Mary Faire loved dancing and music, although she was otherwise a serious sort, a trained nurse who assisted her husband in his practice.
He greatly appreciated the hospitality that Mary Faire and Connor freely extended to him whenever he came to Edinburgh, and he was glad that they had decided to attend the baroness's soiree this evening.
At least he would be certain of two friendly faces, although he knew that they did not plan to stay long at Lady Strathlin's soiree, having another invitation to honor as well that evening. Miss Lind's concert had engendered several parties.
"Patience, my dear," Connor answered, while glancing out the window as Dougal had done. "We'll be there in a few minutes."
The vehicle lurched forward again. Dougal flexed his gloved fingers, then rested them calmly on his thighs.
He felt cold and detached, had felt so for days.
Miss Lind's soothing, entrancing music had affected him briefly, but he did not want mellowing.
As soon as he had glimpsed Lady Strathlin among the concertgoers, he had felt chilling anger seep through him again.
He welcomed it, for that hard, brittle shield around his heart would see him through any encounters with her this evening.
"The crush of people at the theater and outside of it, was astonishing," Connor said. "I've hardly seen such a thing, but for a few years ago, when the Nightingale also came to Edinburgh. I wondered if we would even get inside the theater through the crowds waiting in the street."
"I believe the place was even more crowded because Lady Strathlin had decided to attend," Mary Faire said.
"There has been enough mystery around the baroness that people are curious for any chance to see her.
They say she decided to give a soiree this evening because she is a great admirer of Miss Jenny Lind.
Otherwise, I think we would hardly see her at all this season. "