Chapter Seven #3
Miss Minerva was instantly on her feet. “I’ll see who it is,” she said breathlessly as she almost ran from the room. She opened the door and then her lovely face broke into a wide smile. “Hello, Mr. Tolliver. Please come in.” Harry recognized the name as that of the man who was now her intended.
“I hope I’m not intruding,” Mr. Tolliver said.
“You could never do that,” she replied. “Here, let me take your hat.”
He handed a hat to her, but neither of them moved beyond that exchange. They stood staring at each other. They both had the silliest grins of pleasure on their faces, a sign that the couple was in love.
It was Miss Portia who gently reminded her sister, “Bring the man into the sitting room, Minnie. Or are you going to keep him all to yourself?”
Miss Minerva’s eyes brightened at her lapse of manners, and a dimple appeared in her cheek. “I might just do that.” Harry and Monty had both stood to greet this new guest.
“This is Mr. Oliver Tolliver,” Miss Minerva said, pride in her voice. “He is our local physician.”
Oliver Tolliver? What had his parents been thinking? Harry lowered his head to hide a smile, and then his eye caught Miss Portia’s, but instead of freezing up on him, an answering smile came to her lips. She thought the name silly as well.
“Yes, I know Mr. Tolliver,” Lady Emma was saying, offering her hand. “He was very helpful when I had the croup. Congratulations on your happy news.”
“Thank you,” Mr. Tolliver said. “I am pleased you are feeling quite the thing now.” He looked to Lady Maclean, who leaned back against the settee as if not wanting to be any closer than she must to him. “It is good to see you are in fine spirits, my lady,” he said, a hopeful note in his voice.
“Yes. I am,” she replied coolly—and Harry decided he really did not like her.
He hadn’t thought much of her before, but to be so rude in the face of her daughter’s happiness?
There would be no pleasing a woman such as Lady Maclean.
Miss Portia had spoken truly when she’d advised him to warn Monty away.
He would give his friend a good talking-to, as well as advising Monty to fall on his knees and thank the Lord he’d never married her.
She’d peck a man to death with her tongue, and he now had some sympathy for Black Jack.
Harry moved forward to shake the physician’s hand. “My congratulations as well. We have not met. My name is Chattan, Harry Chattan, and this is General Montheath.”
But before anything else could be said, the screech of a cat filled the air, followed by a woof.
A white blur ran through the still open front door and into the sitting room, followed by Jasper, fast on the chase with every hound instinct he had in him. He dashed right between Miss Minerva and Mr. Tolliver, almost knocking them over.
The cat raced for the safety of the settee and Lady Maclean. Jasper didn’t have enough sense to stop. He sent the table with the tray of refreshments flying into the air. The teapot landed right in Lady Emma’s lap. The girl’s cry of outrage was louder than the cat’s screeching.
But nothing was as loud as Lady Maclean’s furious demand to “Take that beast out of here.”
Monty jumped into the thick of things. He grabbed Jasper by the scruff of his neck and began dragging the dog out of the room, muttering, “I don’t know what has got into this dog.” Jasper clawed at the hard wood floor in an attempt to gain enough traction to pull Monty back toward the cat.
Harry was about to point out the presence of the cat. However, words died in his throat once he had a clear look at the animal’s folded-over ears.
Here was the cat who had visited his bedroom. The cat who was the sign that he’d needed to stay in Glenfinnan. The cat who’d been with the witch that night.
And the cat sought refuge from Miss Portia Maclean. She had covertly shooed the cat under her chair as if not wanting her mother to catch sight of the kitty.
For a second, Harry was so shocked he couldn’t think. All that searching, and the woman he wanted was standing right here in front of him.
Portia Maclean had been avoiding him, but not because of spinster shyness. She was afraid he’d recognize her.
And on some level, he had. Of course, he had thought it was physical attraction, but now he knew differently . . . or did he?
Harry paused, unwilling at this moment to confront her. One should always be certain of one’s enemy before making an attack.
Meanwhile, Monty was mumbling excuses and trying to keep control over his dog, and Miss Minerva and Lady Maclean were occupied trying to soothe Lady Emma’s offended pride.
Portia Maclean had turned her back to the room, protecting her cat from Jasper, who continued to howl and struggle against Monty’s hold although he was now outside. She couldn’t see Harry’s expression so she didn’t know that he was aware his quarry was in sight.
But the cat knew. Her curiously shaped head popped up over her shoulder. She didn’t look in the direction of the dog. She couldn’t give a care.
Instead, the cat looked right at Harry. Her huge amber eyes seemed to gleam with a fiendish delight, almost daring him to speak out.
Fenella. She was here.
She was Portia Maclean.
Harry turned and left the house, but he would be back.