Page 64 of Taming the Heiress
"And I shall decline. I suspect the directors hope to flatter me so that I will sponsor their new museum building, on which they plan to break ground next year. But I will sponsor it regardless, and even more enthusiastically if they allow me anonymity today."
Angela smiled. "Some members of the bank's board plan to attend the exhibit's opening, as well. I know that Sir John Shaw and Sir Frederick Matheson are both invited."
The rhythm of Meg's step faltered slightly as she walked arm in arm with Angela. "How nice," she said, "to escape from the concerns of the party for a little while."
* * *
"Lady Strathlin, it is a joy to see you again," Sir Frederick said, as he stepped out from behind a stone column. The museum's spacious and bright foyer, where the exhibit had been arranged in long glass cases, was very crowded, filled with ladies and gentlemen attending the opening. Beams of warm sunlight poured over golden stone, green ferns, and the cheerful colors of the ladies' dresses, capes, and bonnets.
"Sir Frederick," Meg said, looking at him from under the brim of her dark blue bonnet, "what are you doing here?"
He doffed his top hat politely, although her greeting had been far from polite. "Why, the same thing you are doing, my dear, enjoying the exhibit," he said. "Although I'm glad to have a moment to speak with you. Have you thought about my proposal?"
She stared up at him. In the shadow of the huge column and lost in the noise of the echoing room, their conversation would be private. But she had no desire to speak to him, and she stepped away from the column, looking around for Angela Shaw or any other acquaintance who stood nearby.
Until Frederick's appearance, Meg had been lost in a pleasant reverie as she strolled past the glass cases, admiring the gold and silver and enameled artifacts displayed on velvet. The fascinating examples of brilliant Celtic craftsmanship and ingenuity captivated her, so that she had not noticed the tall, solidly built man in the black suit who now stood gazing down at her.
"I've given your suggestion some thought," she said carefully. "But I am not ready to speak to you about it. Certainly not here," she added in a near hiss, glancing around.
"Of course not, my dear," Matheson said. "I wanted to remind you."
"How could I possibly forget? Ah, Mrs. Shaw, there you are!" She called a little more loudly than she had intended. Hearing her, Angela turned and glided forward, her wide black bombazine skirt and half cape and her purple-and-black bonnet creating a somber note in the bright, sunny foyer.
"My dear Margaret, I look forward to hearing your answer on the night of your soiree," Frederick said. As Angela drew near them, he took her gloved hand cordially. "Mrs. Shaw, how delightful to see you again, and looking so well." Then he turned to Meg, who still watched him, her heart slamming. "I so look forward to your soiree, Lady Strathlin. We are to attend in grand full dress following Miss Lind's concert, I take it?"
"Yes," she said. "The details of dress and time are on your invitation card."
"Indeed. Oh, my dear ladies, please accept my apology. I must run. I have an appointment with Mr. Stewart this afternoon. I believe you know him, madam."
Smothering a gasp, Meg nodded. "Mr. Dougal Stewart? Yes."
"He and I have some business matters to discuss, now that he finds himself in a state of near ruin. I understand that he is coming to your private assembly. That should prove an interesting highlight for an evening." He smiled.
"Near... ruin?" Meg stared up at him.
"Well, of course, thanks to you and your solicitors. Had you not heard? I suppose your advocates work independently for your benefit, sparing you the details."
"I—they—well, no, I hadn't been told as yet." Meg realized that Angela was watching her with a slight frown. Puzzled herself, Meg wondered in a growing panic what her solicitors had done.
Frederick tipped the brim of his hat again. "It's true, they have triumphed over Mr. Stewart. Poor fellow. We shall talk further, my dearest Margaret," he said, taking her hand and bowing. "Mrs. Shaw." He turned away to stride through the crowd.
Meg watched his long black form as it cut a path through the bright dresses. She looked silently at Angela.
"I despise that oily snake," Angela murmured. Meg blinked, surprised by such a strong statement from her quiet, demure friend. "I hope you are not actually considering marrying him. He tells everyone that you are head over heels in love with him and about to announce it to the world."
"I'm not," Meg said. "Head over heels, that is."
"Good. I could not imagine it." Angela took Meg's arm. "My dear, have you seen the beautiful jewelry on display? You must come look. And I've found Mr. Hamilton—he was able to attend after all, when he thought he might be detained. We've just met the antiquarian who discovered many of these artifacts herself. She is lovely and delightful. Her name is Mrs. Christina Blackburn."
"I had heard her name before, but I have not yet met her."
"Then let it be my privilege to introduce you. The Blackburns are rather famous for being an artistic family, although she is not."
"Ah, yes. Her father and brother both are brilliant painters. I own a seascape by John Blackburn the elder," Meg said.
Angela nodded. "Her late husband was an artist as well, a cousin of the same name. There was a scandal a few years ago, but... well, it does not do to mention these things. She is the lovely brunette standing over there beside the tall man with the blond hair. That is Dr. Connor MacBain."
"Oh!" Meg said. "I know his excellent reputation, although we have never met." She remembered that Dougal had once mentioned that a cousin of his was the wife of Dr. MacBain of Calton Hill in Edinburgh. Her heart beat faster. "Is there—anyone else with them?"
