Page 59 of Taming the Heiress
"Working on your Caransay journal?" Angela Shaw entered the library after knocking on the door.
"Yes. I wanted to finish the pages that I did while on holiday," Meg said. She had arrived at Strathlin Castle a few days earlier, entering a whirlwind of demands on her time and attention. Craving the easier pace of life in the Isles, she found that working on her journals helped soothe and relax her in mind and soul. Re-creating Caransay's natural beauty also served as a remedy for the homesickness that she often felt so keenly after leaving Caransay.
This time she had left behind not only her little son, her island, and her family, but she had left Dougal, too. The tug on her heartstrings was deep and enduring.
In fact, she had not even seen him the day that Norrie had taken her and Mrs. Berry back to Tobermory to catch the steamer to the mainland. Dougal had been at the work site on Sgeir Caran. She remembered sailing past the great sea rock in Norrie's fishing boat, gazing up at its massive bulk, aware that Dougal stood somewhere on the rock—or he might have been under the sea in diving gear. Either way, she sailed past and out of his life without even a farewell.
Although it nearly broke her heart to go, she had not known how to say goodbye.
"Oh, harebells," Angela said, looking down at the open page. She smiled. "What a pretty drawing, and it captures them exactly. I remember how beautiful they looked spreading over the meadows on Caransay in spring and summer, like a soft, blue-purple mist."
Meg nodded, remembering it, too, and smiled sadly. She picked up her pencil to add some refining strokes to a drawing of wild oat grass and meadowsweet.
"Madam, I came to tell you that I had a letter from Mr. Charles Worth just before your return. He is sending a skilled dressmaker from his shop at the Rue de la Paix to fit your gown here. She will arrive next week. The coachman will fetch her at the train station in Edinburgh."
"Good. Ask him to bring her to the house on Charlotte Square, rather than out here to Strathlin," Meg answered, looking up. "Since I'll be wearing the gown at Number Twelve Charlotte Square the night of the concert and soiree, the seamstress should fit it there. Ask Mrs. Larrimore to prepare a room for her where she can stay and work in comfort."
Angela Shaw nodded. "I thought you might say that, so I sent a note to Mrs. Larrimore this morning to notify her. I can hardly wait to see this gown," she added, smiling. "Mr. Worth writes that he has outdone even himself with this creation."
Glad to see the joy in Angela's delicate oval face, Meg smiled. Her friend often appeared wan, but Meg attributed some of that to Angela's translucent ivory skin, pale blond hair, and light blue eyes. Together with Angela's preference for mourning colors, the contrast was striking. Today she wore a day gown in a black-on-black stripe trimmed in purple cording, and her black lace head covering hid the gleaming smoothness of her finely textured blond hair.
Although still in her twenties, Mrs. Shaw had been a widow for eight years. Newly bereaved and in need of employment, she had arrived at Strathlin Castle on the recommendation of Sir John Shaw, her deceased husband's uncle. Engaged to advise Meg in social matters just after Lord Strathlin's death, Angela had proven an invaluable aid and a loyal, gentle friend. Long after Meg had adjusted to her new life, Angela Shaw had stayed on as a lady's companion. Even years later, Angela had rarely spoken of her late husband. Meg knew only that they had been devoted young newlyweds and that shy, reserved Angela had loved him so deeply that she still wore mourning.
"The gown will be lovely," Meg said, "and you deserve some of the credit for that, Angel. Mr. Worth very much appreciated your suggestions for color and fabric." Meg continued to smile, though her delight in a beautiful gown and her anticipation of the event was now clouded by thoughts of Dougal. In fact, each time the party was mentioned to her—daily, and often—she dreaded the evening even more and felt a dull, deep ache in her stomach. She placed a hand to her snugly corseted waistline, beneath her day dress of blue plaid satin.
She wondered if Dougal would even attend her soiree on September first. Since her return to the mainland nearly ten days ago, she had not reviewed the final guest list as yet with Guy Hamilton and Angela Shaw, who had been busy with the arrangements.
"Angel, I was wondering if we have received answers to all of our invitations. For example, would you know if Mr. Dougal Stewart has accepted?" Meg asked the question casually, while she angled her open journal and used a soft pencil to refine some small studies of the flowers of the machair.
"Ah, the engineer?" Angela tilted her head, thinking, her slim fingers woven together. "I believe so, madam. Mr. Hamilton has the final list. But I can check that myself, if you are curious. A moment." She walked toward a secretary desk against the wall, opened it, and retrieved a packet of envelopes from a niche. Flipping through them, she turned with one in her hand. "Yes, it's here. Would you like to see it?" She came forward.
Meg's heart surged. "I... well, I suppose so." Her fingers shook as she accepted the cream stock envelope and took out the single reply card.Dear Lady Strathlin, I am pleased to accept your invitation,he had written, signing his name.
His familiar script, resolute and masculine, brought him back to her so sharply that she caught her breath. Looking at the envelope, she realized that it had been sent from Caransay.
He would hardly be pleased about accepting, she thought, once he discovered that Meg MacNeill was in fact the Baroness of Strathlin.Oh, dear God,she thought, with a spinning of dread in her stomach.What have I done?
She set the note aside. "Thank you, Angela."
A knock sounded on the door, and the little maid, Hester, looked in. "Mr. Hamilton, ma leddy," she announced, and Meg nodded as Guy entered. He had met with Meg earlier that day to go over preparations for the soiree. The event now dominated her household and seemed to loom in her future as inescapable as a tidal wave. She wished she had never agreed to it.
"Madam, the post has arrived. Ah, good afternoon, Mrs. Shaw," he added, his voice dropping to a murmur.
Meg was accustomed to seeing a bit of a flush on Guy Hamilton's cheeks whenever he was around the young widow, but she had not expected to see the pink color that brightened Angela Shaw's pale cheeks. Looking at her companion and her secretary with new interest, Meg felt intuitively certain, suddenly, that they had begun to feel mutual affection. She wondered if either of them knew. Both were reserved and private in character, each accustomed to guarding their feelings and thoughts carefully.
Perhaps falling in love herself had sharpened her awareness of it in others.
"Good day, Mr. Hamilton," Angela replied quietly, looking at him with what Meg was sure was a tiny, private smile. "Lady Strathlin inquired after the final guest list for the party."
"Aye," he said quickly, turning his attention to Meg. "It's done. I have it here." He set down the pile of mail and reached into his coat pocket, extracting a folded sheet, which he opened for her and smoothed out. "As you can see, nearly everyone has accepted. Our only refusals are from those who are traveling and thus unable to attend. Even Mr. Stewart will be there."
"Yes. Angela showed me his reply."
"Shall I have the targes and Jedburgh axes taken down from the walls and polished up?" Guy grinned.
"That is hardly amusing," Meg said primly, as she studied the list.Dougal Robertson Stewart.She forced herself to look at the entire list and comment on the guests. "It promises to be an interesting evening," she managed to say, stomach tightening.
"A private assembly hosted by Lady Strathlin herself, at her town home on Charlotte Square, following a concert by the most renowned songstress of our age," Guy said, looking at Angela, "and she thinks it will beinteresting."
