In Your Wildest Scottish Dreams (35 page)

The tremors started before she was prepared, her sudden climax taking her by surprise.

She held onto him as he increased his speed, racing
to finish as quickly as she. He was the master, yet in her surrender she also conquered.

In the morning she would have to tell him the truth, but for now they were newly married and newly reunited.

M
rs. Hurst was standing in the middle of the doorway of the Summer Parlor, a room where Glynis retreated in order to read.

There didn’t seem to be much else to do until her duties had been decided. Perhaps Duncan could use some help with the ledgers. She had no place cards to write, no menu to plan for an afternoon gathering, no notes to make for information she would turn over to Baumann. Nothing about her life in Washington translated to Glasgow living.

In those last months in America she’d been in the same situation, but without the wherewithal to afford a lovely place to read or even purchase books. She’d spent the majority of her time preparing her wardrobe to be sold.

“Your mother is here, Mrs. Cameron,” the housekeeper said. “Shall I show her in?”

“Please do.”

“Shall I bring refreshments?”

She nodded. “That would be lovely. Thank you, Mrs. Hurst.”

The housekeeper inclined her head somewhat regally and smiled in response.

She’d had a similar autocratic bearing at one time. The ability to control one’s features and responses was a definite asset in Washington. The longer she
was home, the more she was reverting to her true self, someone who said what she felt.

“I’m here for two reasons, Glynis,” her mother said, startling her as she entered the room wearing a frown. “Normally, I wouldn’t visit you so quickly after your wedding, but I feel compelled to do so, and that’s reason number one.”

She stood, ready to give her mother a welcoming hug. Instead, the other woman stopped feet from her, such a censorious expression on her face Glynis was taken aback.

“I have heard rumors from Mabel that you and Lennox are fighting. I couldn’t believe it at first, but Mabel does not lie. Nor did she tell tales, normally. The fact she has heard about it means everyone at Hillshead is talking. And if everyone at Hillshead is talking, it means all of Glasgow will begin chattering about it. You know how gossip travels in this town.”

Indeed she did, but she didn’t speak, neither to agree nor to muster a defense.

Her mother rolled her eyes, an expression so at variance with her normal equanimity that Glynis stared at her.

“Do not be recalcitrant with me, my dear, darling daughter. You may be a woman of the world, but you are still my child.”

Glynis took a step back, motioning to one of the settees in front of the fire. The day was a rainy one and the normally cozy parlor was chilled. Despite being summer, a small blaze in the fireplace warmed the room. The flames were diminutive and almost reticent, as if knowing it was not the season for a fire.

“I’m not being recalcitrant, Mother,” she said. “I have no idea what people are saying.” Nor how anyone knew she and Lennox had argued. Evidently, the maids had made a note of her solitary dinner.

Life was going to be very interesting at Hillshead if people were watching them this closely.

She waited till her mother sat, then took the settee opposite, clasping her hands together and resting them on her knee.

“I’m afraid Lennox and I did have a bit of a disagreement, but it’s over.”

Thankfully, her mother didn’t ask the subject of the disagreement. She wasn’t about to mention Matthew Baumann, because her mother wouldn’t understand. Worse, her mother would ask questions she didn’t want to answer right now.

Mrs. Hurst entered the room followed by two of the maids. The first carried a tray filled with biscuits and cake, plates and silverware. The second maid’s tray contained two pots, one of coffee, one of tea, cream and sugar and cups.

The housekeeper didn’t need any direction from her.

After the others had gone and they’d served themselves, her mother balanced her plate on her knee, leaned over the table between the two settees and handed a canvas bag to her.

“You left this behind. I do not want such a horrid thing in my house, Glynis. Not that I feel any better bringing it to you. I do wish you would get rid of it, right now.”

She took the bag, felt the shape of it, and knew what it was before opening it. She unlaced the neck of the bag, pulled the drawstring free, and withdrew the gun.

Her mother shuddered. “Is there no way I can convince you to toss that horrid thing in the Clyde?”

“I’ll take care of it,” she said.

“Good.” Her mother leaned back, folded her hands together and regarded her solemnly. “Now about your argument with Lennox. Even the best of marriages
have their bad times, Glynis. The trick is to devote yourself to your husband.”

She had, most assuredly, something else she wasn’t going to discuss with her mother. Lennox had gone to the yard early this morning, but not before waking her in a most delightful fashion.

She loved her mother dearly but she was not going to make her a confidante about her marriage.

Instead, she stood and walked to the door.

“I’ll be back in a moment,” she said, nearly running up the stairs to her room. Once she’d retrieved her reticule, she returned to the Summer Parlor. Sitting next to her mother, she pulled out the draft.

“Would you give this to Duncan, please?”

Her mother unfolded the check and stared at it for several moments without speaking. Finally, she looked at Glynis.

“Oh my dear daughter, is this why you married Lennox?”

She smiled. The success or failure of the MacIain Mill was close to her heart, but it had nothing to do with her decision.

“No,” she said. “It isn’t. But Duncan will have to accept it now, and if he doesn’t I’ll simply cash it and deliver the money to his office in a wheelbarrow.”

Her mother’s lips quirked. “You would, wouldn’t you?” She looked at Glynis, her eyes sparkling. “Sometimes I thought the two of you wouldn’t survive your childhood, you sniped at each other something terrible. He never got the better of you, though.” She cleared her throat. “You make sure nothing does, do you hear?”

She nodded. “Nothing will, Mother, I promise.”

Eleanor reached over and smoothed the back of her hand over Glynis’s cheek.

“Are you happy, my dear girl?”

“Yes,” she said. Lennox loved her. She loved him. Only one thing stopped her from complete happiness and that was Matthew Baumann. She needed to solve that problem now, before the man had a chance to do more damage to her marriage.

“At least Lucy will have no more tales to tell.”

“Or Charlotte,” she said, an idea occurring to her.

Gossip had changed her life twice. Maybe gossip could work to her advantage for once.

Charlotte might be the answer to a prayer.

“
I’
M NOT
sure I can do what you want,” Charlotte said, frowning at her.

Sunlight altered the green of the upholstery in Charlotte’s parlor to something resembling bile. She tried not to look at it, focusing on Charlotte, instead.

“What would Lennox say? The good book says you should cleave unto your husband, Glynis. By going behind his back, you will only sow discord in your marriage.”

She pasted a smile on her face and took a sip of her tea. She hadn’t asked for sugar but Charlotte had provided it anyway, along with a plate of MacNamara candies she was required by politeness to sample.

“I’m not going behind his back,” she said. “All I want to do is meet with the man.”

“Why not at Hillshead?”

Her smile flagged but she pinned it into place. Lennox would be furious if she invited Baumann to their home. Besides, it would defeat the purpose of involving Charlotte.

The woman was an inveterate gossip and had made her life difficult since returning from Washington. But gossips could be useful in certain situations, and this was one of them.

All of Glasgow needed to know exactly who Matthew
Baumann was. Only then could he be less free to roam about the city at will, causing havoc. She had no doubt that within moments of this meeting, Charlotte would be spreading tales.

“Matthew Baumann is working for the American War Department. He’s a spy for the Union. I believe he may have been responsible for the death of Mr. Whittaker and the sabotage of one of Lennox’s ships.”

Charlotte’s eyes widened.

“If the man is that vicious, wouldn’t it be dangerous to meet with him?”

“I knew Matthew in Washington,” she said, setting down her cup. “We are not friends but we are acquaintances. He believes I’ll provide him information about Cameron and Company. I intend to tell him I’ll do no such thing, of course.”

Charlotte nodded, her cup still in midair.

In addition to starting the gossip mill about Baumann, she was going to tell the man he was free to say anything he wanted to about her, even the truth if he wished.

She could not remake the past, as much as she might want to. Lennox needed to know who she was, all the way down to her bones. She had already planned on telling him about Washington.

He loved her. She hoped he would forgive her. If he didn’t? She’d read a poet in America who’d written words appropriate enough for her thoughts. Whittier had said: “For all sad words of tongue and pen, the saddest are these, ‘It might have been.’”

She was not going to allow that to happen. She was going to fight for Lennox as she hadn’t seven years ago. The intervening years had toughened her, made a woman of the child.

Lennox was her husband and her love.

“All I need you to do is to send a driver to his lodgings
and tell him I need to meet with him. I’ve heard the Lafayette Hotel has a lovely tea room.”

“What about my parlor?” Charlotte asked, surprising her. “What about right here?”

“Here?”

Charlotte nodded. “I will send for Archie, of course, as protection.”

That would be even better. Two gossips were better than one.

Charlotte inspected the piece of paper Glynis had given her. “I’ll send my driver to find this Mr. Baumann. In the meantime, have some more of Archibald’s new concoction, caramel chocolate.”

She nodded, watching as Charlotte left the room, wishing she could wait anywhere but in this green horror.

Last night’s dinner, something spicy like a stew, lingered in the air and clashed with the lemon potpourri in the parlor.

When Charlotte didn’t return, she walked the parlor, examining the portraits, the bric-a-brac, the ornaments on the mantel. Finally, she sat on the emerald settee, amusing herself by watching the clock tick off the minutes.

She folded her hands, willed her stomach to settle, and waited. A quarter hour passed, then half an hour. When forty-five minutes elapsed and Charlotte still hadn’t returned, she stood, deciding to leave. Evidently, the errand had failed. Baumann wasn’t at his lodgings.

When the door opened, she expected Charlotte to enter the room. She was there, but standing behind Lennox, her eyes sparkling and her cheeks pinked with excitement.

“Archie wouldn’t have been happy with me if I invited Mr. Baumann here, Glynis. Besides, you shouldn’t do something a man should do.”

How like some of the Washington harpies Charlotte was. At least she’d had experience in dealing with such creatures.

She smiled. “It’s all right, Charlotte.”

Lennox turned, spoke softly to Charlotte, and closed the door.

O
nce they were alone, Lennox turned to her.

His frown might have frightened anyone else. So, too, the anger rolling off him. She wasn’t cowed.

“Why did you want to see Baumann?” he asked, calmly. “Especially when you gave your word you wouldn’t.”

“Did I? I thought I explained I had no power over what the man does.”

“Are we going to play word games, Glynis?”

“No,” she said, returning to the settee.

She’d had weeks to consider this confession. Granted, she’d never considered it would take place in Charlotte’s parlor, but then it didn’t matter where it was, did it? She’d planned on telling him today, regardless of where they were.

“I wanted to tell him I had no intention of betraying you. And to tell him I was no longer going to be blackmailed. It was time for the truth to come out.”

“Blackmailed?”

Something flashed between them, anger and betrayal, hurt and need, feelings conjoined and opposite, hot and cold, wrong and right. She wanted to touch him, to offer an apology beforehand, but words were fragile things and of little use right now.

He joined her on the bile-colored settee.

They sat silent for several moments.

“The story isn’t easy to tell,” she finally said. “I’ve rehearsed it a dozen times but it never gets less ugly. But, then, the truth is often ugly.”