Taming the Heiress (31 page)

"Heavenly," Angela said. "You float like a cloud when you move. It is a most splendid effect."

"Monsieur Worth meditated a very long time before designing this gown for you," Miss Worth said. "He was most inspired by the beautiful, unusual color of your eyes. He wanted to create something that suited your beauty and reflected your gentle nature."

"He could not have designed anything more gorgeous or more perfect for Lady Strathlin," Angela said. Meg saw her friend's wide blue eyes and smile reflected in the mirror.

"Mrs. Shaw, you would also look beautiful in a gown like this one," Miss Worth said. "Of course, your own gown is elegant tonight. That black watered silk trimmed with black velvet and the touch of pearls here and there, make a stunning contrast to your ivory complexion and pale blond hair. Yet I feel that Monsieur Worth could create something marvelous for a Nordic beauty like you, should you ever feel inclined."

"Oh, I could not—I could not afford it, truly," Angela said. "And I have worn second mourning for years."

"But you cannot think to wear it forever, as young and beautiful as you are," Miss Worth replied.

Meg looked at Angela in the mirror. "Whenever you are ready, Angela," she said, "we will ask Monsieur Worth to design for you. I would consider it a privilege to give that to you."

"Oh, Meg, thank you, but I could not—"

"You have birthdays like everyone else, and must accept gifts. And I'm sure Monsieur Worth can design something for you in mourning colors, if you'd like."

Angela sighed, then smiled, her light blue eyes brightening. "Someday I will come out of mourning and surprise you," she said. "I am finding it a dreary thing to have so little color in my life. Perhaps it does not... honor those who are gone."

"Life does go on, Angela," Meg said. Her friend nodded.

"Madam, allow me to just lift this one section," Miss Worth said. "It droops lower than the other side." She gathered her pincushion and knelt on the floor again.

While she stood still, Meg glanced in the mirror again. Unaccustomed to studying herself often, thinking herself only vaguely pleasing at best, she could hardly believe the transformation she saw.

But the sheer delight of a beautiful gown and the joy of looking wonderful in it felt diminished by heartbreak and apprehension. She would see Dougal tonight, but all her yearning would come to nothing if he did not care to speak to her again.

If she could not gain his forgiveness, and she lost his love and respect through her foolishness, then all the glittering evenings and splendid gowns in the world would make no difference to her.

Besides, she reminded herself, even if Dougal loved her, and even though she loved him—she had decided to accept Sir Frederick's proposal so that Dougal and Iain could be safe. And tonight was the night she must give her answer. Tonight seemed like the hour of her own funeral, as if her life and all chance for happiness had ended.

But there were others she could not disappoint. She must carry on with a smile and proud demeanor for their sakes.

Drawing a deep breath, she waited as Miss Worth finished her work. Then she turned, aqua skirt and tulle cloud swinging gently. "Shall we go downstairs? Mr. Hamilton must be pacing impatiently with Mrs. Berry, waiting for us to come down for the concert. The carriage will be ready by now, and we are late."

Angela took up her fan and her shawl of black fringed lace. "Let him be impatient. I hope, when you come down the stairs, he falls to his knees in sheer astonishment. He will realize that waiting for you was well worth it."

"My dearest Angel," Meg said, as Miss Worth opened the door, "I rather think Mr. Hamilton is waiting for you."

* * *

Lamplight spilled golden over the lean planes of his freshly shaved jaw, flickered gleaming highlights throughout the waves of his hair. Gazing into the mirror, Dougal straightened the small bow of white silk wrapped just beneath his collar points and smoothed the lapels of his white brocade waistcoat, tugging at its buttoned front. He perfected the drape of the gold watch chain slung across his vest and pulled at his stiff cuffs.

His boots were polished, his coat and trousers immaculate, his skin lightly scented with a soap that mingled spices and vanilla. Sliding his long fingers into white kid gloves, he tugged at the long tails of his black dress coat.

He felt girded for battle.

Reflected in the amber sheen of the mirror, his eyes were cold and hard, green glass, the pupils mere pinpoints. A new leanness shadowed his cheeks, tiny lines etched the corners of his eyes, and his lips were pressed flat and humorless. Every fiber in his being had steeled to resolve and defiance.

He would face them all with the same gritty nerve and unflinching determination he had summoned to brave a gale, dive deep into the sea time after time, rescue men from a collapsing bridge, and shove away a monstrous shark to reach a small boy. None of the people he would see tonight, none of the havoc they had wreaked in his life of late—the lost funds, the rumors that undermined his sterling reputation—could be as terrifying as the physical dangers he had encountered.

Yet somehow those sniping, condemning people, with their damned opinions and judgments, their haughty criticisms and assumptions, seemed far more intimidating.

He had made this commitment and would not take the coward's route and stay away now. He would attend the concert with his cousin and her husband, and then he would walk into Lady Strathlin's fashionable home with all the dignity and backbone that he could muster.

Not only did he anticipate meeting some of those who had condemned him without reason, but he would also see the woman he loved, the woman he had asked to marry him.

There was little danger in that encounter. He felt sure that he could greet her, even converse a little, and move on through the evening, shielded by coldness. He had no more heart left to hurt, for it had gone numb inside him from anger and betrayal.

Easy enough to survive the evening in a cool and dignified manner, he thought, as he turned and headed for the door and his companions waiting belowstairs. How he would endure the rest of his life without her remained to be seen.

* * *

"Ma leddy, we will not acknowledge those who so rudely wish to catch your eye," Mrs. Berry said, leaning toward Meg from her chair beside her in the theater box. "Give your attention only to the performer, ignoring all else, once the concert begins."

"Of course I will, Berry." Meg watched the stage with its closed curtains of heavy velvet. Below, as the theater continued to fill with those attending the concert, she noticed several people turning to stare up at her and her companions in the box. Some were even ill-bred enough to point. "Concentrating on the performer will not be difficult this evening. Miss Lind is captivating."

"Staring up at a private theater box is so verra vulgar," Mrs. Berry complained. She turned away from some onlooker in irritation, snapping her blue feathered fan to hide her face.

Guy, dressed in black and white dinner attire, leaned toward them from his velvet-upholstered chair. He sat beside Angela, the two of them seated behind Meg and Mrs. Berry. "Lady Strathlin cannot help but attract attention. Nearly everyone in this theater is curious to see the elusive baroness. And with three such beautifully gowned, gorgeous ladies in this box, I'm sure some of them are wondering just which one is Lady Strathlin."

"Well, true," Mrs. Berry conceded. She smoothed the skirt of her deep blue velvet gown and flounced her coiffed head, crystal earrings shivering. "Now remember, ma leddy, during the promenade at intermission, walk slowly and decorously, and dinna stop to converse, expecially with gentlemen. This isna the beach at Caransay."

"Oh? Did Lady Strathlin chat with a gentleman on the beach?" Guy asked. Meg turned to see his teasing smile. Mrs. Berry rounded eagerly toward Guy and Angela.

Lessons in decorum were no match for a chance to gossip a little, Meg thought, both amused and irritated.

"Indeed she did, wearing no more than a skirt and blouse, and barefoot, as well," Mrs. Berry whispered. "And I was in ma
bathing costume
," she confided. "I was mortified!"

"Understandably. Who was the gentleman?" Angela asked.

"Mr. Stewart o' the lighthouses," Mrs. Berry replied. She folding her gloved hands one over the other, lips pursed. "He thought I was the great leddy herself, the baroness. Must be my manner o' deportment," she said, straightening her shoulders.

"No doubt," Guy murmured, smiling as Meg looked at him.

"This Mr. Stewart is a fine man, charming and handsome, though I havena spoken with him maself," Mrs. Berry went on. "Brave, too. He saved a small child from drowning in the sea. And fought off a shark to do it! Amazing heroics."

"Really? Quite impressive," Guy said.

"Madam, you never mentioned such excitement during your holiday," Angela said, leaning forward.

"Mr. Stewart did save a child from drowning, and very courageously," Meg said.

"Iain," Mrs. Berry said. "It was little Iain. You know who
he
is, Mrs. Shaw." She looked pointedly at Angela, who gave an audible gasp. Guy Hamilton frowned thoughtfully.

Meg flapped her fan, rapid and silent. Mrs. Berry took the hint and sat back without further comment on the subject.

"I want to hear that story later. And think we should make it a point to congratulate Mr. Stewart on his brave deed," Angela said. "I, for one, look forward to meeting him, after all I've heard lately of him. It is a shame what Sir Edward and his cohorts have done to him. It's said they've nearly ruined him. And all over this dispute."

"Once," Guy began, "I might have said Mr. Stewart deserved it, for all his arrogance and aggression regarding the lighthouse. But I must agree with dear Mrs. Shaw—for all I've learned about him lately, he did not deserve this attack, which was unfairly done. Had I known what Uncle Edward was about, I would have done what I could to stop it." He glanced at Meg.

"Withoot fifty thousand pounds to spare," Mrs. Berry hissed, "no one can stop the poor man from losing his lighthouse."

Meg stayed silent, feeling utterly miserable. She looked out over the sea of heads and shoulders arrayed beneath them and listened as the crowd settled at last, quieting to a murmur.

He was here somewhere, she knew, in the theater. She sensed the inexorable pull of his presence so strongly that her heartbeat quickened as she looked around. She knew she should not glance around the theater but felt compelled to do so.

It was dark, though, and impossible to find one man in that vast and glittering crowd, no matter how well she knew the turn of that head, the set of those shoulders.

And if he did see her, she was certain he would turn away.

The orchestra tuned their instruments, the gaslights dimmed, and the voluminous draperies slowly parted. The stage was bare but for a pedestal holding an arrangement of flowers and a small table covered in a paisley cloth with a pitcher of water and a single glass upon it.

Silence deepened in the theater. Then a small woman walked out to the center of the stage, her brown hair pulled back simply, tucked with a small spray of pink roses. Her gown was cream colored, simple, lightly touched with lace. Jenny Lind looked like an innocent young girl, though Meg knew that she was easily in her mid-thirties. Clasping her hands in front of her, Miss Lind lifted her head and began to sing.

Her voice flowed outward, pure as crystal, a delicate trill like a lark in the morning. Listening, Meg felt her worries and fears ease a little under that magical sound.

* * *

During the promenade, the crush around Lady Strathlin and her party was deep and crowded in the wide foyer of the theater. From his vantage point across the hall, Dougal could scarcely see the baroness. He hardly cared to come any closer.

Still and silent, he waited out the intermission in the company of his hosts at the Calton Hill address, Connor MacBain and his wife, Mary Faire, Dougal's cousin. While the MacBains chatted with acquaintances, Dougal stood as cold and stiff as the jasper column beside him, although he nodded and murmured greetings now and again with unerring politeness.

Once he saw her clearly, when the sea of gowned ladies and black-clad gentlemen parted for a moment. Her back was turned to his direction, and an opera cloak of dark blue velvet covered her from shoulder to hem, but he knew the golden waves of her hair, had pushed his fingers through that mass himself. Now it was wound and pinned with gewgaws and a spray of feathers and roses.

Then she turned her head, and he saw the lovely profile that was so achingly familiar to him. His heart nearly stopped. She was uncommonly beautiful, and he loved her still, wanted her so intensely that it hurt.

Once he had told Meg that he would never give up on what he most desired in life. After what had assailed him since he had come to Edinburgh, he felt betrayed, even uncharacteristically defeated. Persistence, just now, was a challenge.

Yet his nature demanded that he continue through sheer will and determination. Despite setbacks, somehow the lighthouse would be constructed, even if, as he had told Aedan, he had to build it himself, stone by stone, and fund it out of his own pocket.