Another Country (15 page)

Even so... for a moment Caroline’s
laughing face came into his mind’s eye, and he nearly started in
surprise. Caroline Reid was spoiled, childish, charming. Even
worse, she didn’t believe her uncle was to blame for the Campbells’
loss of Achlic eleven years ago. Just her relationship to Riddell
was enough to cool their brief acquaintance.

“Hardly suitable,” Ian muttered to himself as he
hurried across the darkening park. “Hardly suitable at all.”

The party Ian was escorting Isobel to was at another
home on Beacon Hill, a handsome town house ablaze with lights, its
windows thrown open to admit the balmy air of early autumn.

Even from the pavement they could hear the sound of
the quartet hired to play the waltzes, and the accompanying tinkle
of laughter and clink of crystal.

Isobel alighted from the carriage, smoothing the
yellow silk of her evening gown. “According to Monsieur de
Tocqueville, Boston ladies are every bit as fashionable as those in
Paris,” she said with an air of satisfaction. “He was particularly
impressed with our command of the French language, and said our
taste in music was far better than the ladies of New York.”

“Indeed?” Ian had already heard about Alexis de
Tocqueville, the Frenchman who was currently traveling around
America to learn about democracy. Considering the recent political
upheaval in France, he thought, it was most likely a wise decision
to absent himself from the country.

While the men of Boston had been eager to discuss
politics and trade, the ladies nearly swooned to the side of the
handsome young Frenchman. It appeared Isobel was no different.

“You’ve been so involved at the hospital,” Isobel
continued with faint reproach, “that you haven’t even met him.
Perhaps he’ll be here tonight. He’s only in Boston for a few more
weeks, and he’s been in attendance at all the best parties.”

Once inside the town house, Ian and Isobel were
swept into the festivities. Isobel was soon gossiping with other
ladies about the popular Monsieur de Tocqueville, who had not yet
put in an appearance.

Ian was alone, and he found himself searching the
crowds for a familiar, impish face. Caroline. Why was he looking
for her? He was afraid to form an answer, even in his own mind.

Then he caught sight of her, looking resplendent in
a peach silk gown with deep flounces, her dark hair pulled up and
framing her face in curled clusters. She clutched a silk fan, and
waved at her face with airy and obvious pretension. He smiled, for
something about the obvious gesture was strangely endearing, as was
the flush on her cheeks and the excitement making her eyes sparkle.
She was like a child surveying a table full of puddings.

He started forward, then checked himself. She was
speaking, quite animatedly, to her uncle. She was the relative and
ward of James Riddell--how could he have forgotten, for even one
moment?

He watched the older man, the tight line of his jaw,
his hard eyes, listening in impatience to his niece even as he
scanned the ballroom with obvious unease. Looking for him, Ian
wondered sourly. He turned away abruptly, frustration and anger
roiling within him.

On the other side of the ballroom, Caroline clenched
her fan and tried not to glare at her uncle.

“I cannot see the purpose of such activity,” she
said between her teeth. Her smile and excitement had quite
disappeared in light of her uncle’s request, or rather, demand.

James smiled grimly. “Mr. Dearborn is an important
business acquaintance of mine, and it would suit us both well if
you were kind to him.”

“Him, or his idiotic son?” Caroline snapped.

“Both, if you wish it,” James retorted. “Remember,
dear niece, that you are here at my sufferance. If you want to
remain in society, you had better heed my advice.”

“Sufferance!” Caroline gasped. “Are you telling me
you will cast me out, if I am do not act according to your
wishes?”

“If you wish to put a bald face on it,” James
agreed. He nodded pleasantly to an acquaintance passing by. “Watch
your tone, my dear. You hardly want to gain the reputation of a
shrew.”

“Why would it matter to your business dealings, if I
give my attentions to Mr. Dearborn?” Caroline asked. She felt faint
and sick, as if she were probing a sore tooth, and she was not
certain she even wanted to know how deep the decay truly was.

“He’s taken a fancy to you, as it happens. You know
he is widowed, and looking for a wife. He’s a powerful man,
Caroline, worth a fortune. He can be quite charming when he
chooses, and he is well respected in the business world here.
Marriages have been built on much less.”

“Are you saying...” Caroline’s knuckles were white
as she grasped her fan. “Are you implying...”

“I imply nothing.”James’s tone was deliberately
bland. He glanced at Caroline’s pale face, and smiled with what
seemed to be true kindness. “My dear, you look quite unwell.
Perhaps you should get some air.” He paused, laying a hand on her
arm. “You are free to do as you please, Caroline. If you conduct
yourself with propriety, of course. You know that, my dear?”

“You just informed me you would have me cast out at
your merest whim!” Caroline retorted in a gasp.

“Naught but heated words. You mustn’t mind
everything I say. Why don’t I fetch you some punch? It’s rather
warm in here.”

James disappeared, and Caroline sagged visibly. What
was her uncle getting at? One moment he was threatening and cold,
in the next he was all solicitude. She was afraid to discover which
of his fronts was the real one.

“Miss Reid, you’re alone.” She
whirled around to see Ian Campbell smiling at her uncertainly. “I
did not want to exchange words with your uncle.”

“He’s left for a moment.”

“Then may I take this opportunity to ask you to
dance? That is, if your card has not been filled?”

Caroline did not want to admit to
the truth, that she was not yet well known enough to have any
dances on her card filled. She was also not sure if she should
dance with Ian Campbell.

She glanced around, saw her uncle had disappeared,
and smiled recklessly.

“I would like that very much,” she
said, and placed her gloved hand in Ian’s. She refused to think of
her uncle’s reaction at seeing her dance with Ian Campbell. She
would not think of her uncle at all.

As Ian took her in his arms for a waltz, Caroline
shivered. She’d never danced so close to a man--in Scotland, the
waltz was still considered faintly scandalous even though she’d
learned the steps.

Ian danced wonderfully, holding her lightly and yet
with an obvious tenderness. Secretly, Caroline thanked Providence
that Uncle James’s generosity had extended to dancing lessons. If
it hadn’t, she would’ve been marked a green country girl for
certain.

“I wanted to apologize for the sharp words I spoke
when we met in the street the other day.”

Caroline stiffened, but managed to
keep her voice light. “You apologized at the time, Mr. Campbell.
You needn’t do so again.”

“Then perhaps you would let me explain a bit more,
the circumstances which caused your uncle and I to quarrel so
severely?”

“I don’t know if that is wise.”

“Perhaps not, but I cannot bear for you to think me
a liar or worse.”

Caroline found she thrilled to these softly spoken
words. She hesitated still, glancing around, expecting to see her
uncle bearing down on them, coldly furious. He was nowhere in
sight.

“We can hardly conduct such a conversation during a
waltz,” she said a little breathlessly.

“Then may I suggest after this dance we take some
air? The view from the terrace is quite lovely, and perfectly
respectable.”

As if timed to his words, the strains of music faded
and Caroline was left in a quandary. She still could not see her
uncle.

“If you must,” she said, reluctance and anticipation
equally mingled.

Ian took her elbow and led her to a secluded balcony
overlooking the back gardens. Candles and torches had been lit
throughout, giving it the look of an enchanted grotto.

“Now, may I tell you how it came to pass?” Ian asked
gently. “I can’t help but think your uncle left out a few salient
details.”

Caroline nodded, her face pale, and he continued.
“Riddell met me outside my solicitor’s offices. He was alone, he
must have known where I was going and why. He had a better business
offer, or so he claimed. I was young, I didn’t even know he wanted
our land. So I agreed to meet him.”

“And then what happened?”

“He showed me the contract, the better price. He
even knew the price our solicitor was going to suggest! How he
discovered such information, I’ll never know.”

“Uncle James said he didn’t know you believed to be
selling only part of your land,” Caroline protested numbly. “He
said the price was too high for that. He assumed you knew it was
the whole property.”

“He has an interesting memory, then. I remember him
saying quite the opposite.”

“No.” Caroline didn’t know why she refused to
believe it. She’d never been under any illusion that her uncle had
particularly high morals, or even that he wouldn’t scruple to use
questionable methods in business. Yet Ian’s relentless, factual
accounting of their transaction was making her feel faint and sick.
It was as if this changed everything... yet why should it? It was
only business, and ten years old at that.

“He said,” Ian continued clearly,
“that no one else would offer such a price
for a field
.” His face was contorted
into harsh lines of bitterness. “I couldn’t believe my fortune. He
told me to look over the contract, of course, said I ought to, it
was the decent thing. But he also said he couldn’t hold the price
for too long. There were other fields, you know.” Ian shook his
head. “I was just sixteen, a green boy, I can admit that. I thought
I was saving my family from ruin, and instead I was leading them to
it!”

He turned half away from her, bringing his anger
under control. “So perhaps now you see why I haven’t forgotten. Why
I vow to regain my family’s land.”

“You want the farm back? In Scotland?” Caroline said
in disbelief. “But your life is here, in Boston!”

“For now. One day I want to return
to Mull, to Achlic. I dream of it.” The look in his eyes was
distant, soft. “With my wife. I want to raise my family there,
where I was raised. I
will
do it.”

“Why are you telling me this?” Caroline asked
helplessly. She felt ensnared, and yet also drawn by Ian’s magnetic
blue gaze.

“I don’t know.” Ian gave a little smile. “I honestly
don’t, except I wanted you--you especially--to understand.” He
paused. “Do you?”

Caroline nodded. “Yes. Yes, but...” she shook her
head. “What can I do about it? I have no influence over my uncle,
or at least very little.”

“I’d hardly ask you to exert your influence on my
behalf!” Ian sounded insulted at the very thought. “I wanted you to
understand because... well, because. I suppose I care for your
regard.”

“You are too forward, Mr.
Campbell.”

“I apologize.” His manner was stiff, and Caroline
wished she hadn’t spoken so rashly.

“Perhaps you will be so good as to heed my warning,
Miss Reid. Your uncle did not hesitate in taking advantage when it
behooved him once. He’s likely to do it again.”

“Are you suggesting I might be in some kind of
danger?” Caroline demanded. In the ballroom another waltz struck
up, and she heard a peal of feminine laughter.

Ian shrugged. “I suppose it depends on what you
consider to be dangerous. I’ll take you back to the ballroom. I
doubt your uncle would be pleased to see us here.”

“No, he wouldn’t,” Caroline agreed, “and I don’t
think Miss Moore would either!” She bit her lip, wishing she hadn’t
sounded so shrewish.

Ian looked at her in surprise. “What do you know of
Isobel?”

“Only what rumor has reached me. That you intend to
offer for her.”

“I intend no such thing!” Until he said it, Ian
hadn’t realized he’d made the decision, but now he saw he had. He
could not marry Isobel. As perfectly suitable as she was, he did
not love her. He never would.

Caroline narrowed her eyes. “Does she know
that?”

Ian pressed his lips together. “I have made no
mention of desiring her suit.” He shrugged impatiently. “I must
take you back to the ballroom. You’ll be missed.”

Caroline let him escort her back, barely aware of
his murmured courtesies, for her mind was in turmoil. Ian was not
engaged to Isobel, and more importantly, she believed what he said
about her uncle.

She pressed her hands to her flushed cheeks. He was
so very, very unsuitable.

Eleanor had never been to balls. A few country
dances and ceilidhs was the extent of her social outings, and she
found herself shrinking to the side of the ballroom in typical
wallflower fashion.

Margaret and Henry had been insistent that she
accompany them, along with Rupert. Since Ian had already secured an
invitation courtesy of Henry’s parents, it seemed sensible.

Only now, she wasn’t so sure. Her gown was one of
Margaret’s cast off, of good quality but obviously of last year’s
fashion, the bodice hastily taken in to accommodate Eleanor’s more
modest bust.

Eleanor was conscious of the other guests’
speculative and even pitying looks, and they made her shrink
further towards the potted palm she was now half-behind.

“Care to dance?” Rupert stood before her, a hint of
challenge in his smile. “Unless you’re a bit too attached to the
greenery?”

Eleanor swallowed. “I don’t dance.”

“I’ll show you.”