Elusive (23 page)

“It had nothing to do with my trust in you,
Blair. It was just something so important—so personal—that I wanted
to wait until we knew each other better. There is someone I would
very much like you to meet.” He took her hand in his and led her
into the room.

As she glanced around the room, she spotted
the woman sitting on a deep-cushioned chair near a reading lamp and
table that she thought must be Louis XIV. It should have seemed out
of place in this place, but it was just right for the woman sitting
near it. She was a slight woman of about sixty years, with black
hair laced with just enough silver that it caught the light. Her
face—well, it was a very female version of Alex’s face. On him it
was strikingly handsome; on this lovely woman it was almost
breathtakingly beautiful—she must have been even more breathtaking
in her younger years.

“Blair, let me introduce you. Mairi (mah REE)
Fiona McDonnough, this is Blair Delamare. Blair, this beautiful
creature before you is my mother,” he said, as he bent over to kiss
his mother’s cheek while still holding onto Blair’s hand.

“Blair, my dear. Please call me Mairi. I’ve
heard so many lovely things about you,” she smiled up at the young
woman who had her son quite tied up in knots. Yes, she thought. The
resemblance is there, even after all these years and the many
generations between. She is Caena’s.

Alexandre had moved to a larger table where
the wine and flutes were ready for use. He poured three flutes of
the frothy champagne and moved to the ladies with two of them.

“It’s so nice to meet you, Madame…Mairi,” she
answered, as Alex handed his mother the first glass of wine. Then
he led Blair to a seat near his mother.

“Alexandre, my dear, have you told Blair
about your more recent family yet?” she asked.

“No, Mère. I thought I would save some of our
history for you to share. After all, it involves you, no?” He had
slipped into flowing French without even realizing he was doing so.
Blair now recognized that he did so when his deepest emotions were
involved.

“Oui,” his mother answered. “That it does.
Would you like to hear it now before lunch, or should we dine
first?” she asked Blair.

“Oh, tell me now, please, Mairi,” Blair
replied enthusiastically.

“Alright, my dear. Let’s see…where shall I
begin?”

Blair could all but feel the woman slip into
the past. Then the story began.

“Many years ago, I met a handsome young man,
not at all unlike this scamp sitting beside you.” She grinned
broadly at her son whose face was just ever so slightly showing a
degree of embarrassment. “His name was Charles Eduard Maigny. He
was bright, accomplished in business, as well as a lover of history
and books…as is this one,” she looked again at her son.

“We met in Paris, he was in university. I was
on vacation with a dear friend…” She shared their beginnings, their
courtship and subsequent marriage. She shared the birth of their
son of whom she was then—as now—very proud. Finally, she touched
upon being told that, “…the Laird of the McDonnough estate had died
of a sudden illness, and that my dear Charles was now to become the
Earl of Donnach.”

“Imagine what it was like for a family that
had always lived in France to suddenly be uprooted and deposited in
a drafty old castle across the sea!” She laughed when she saw the
expression on Blair’s face. “It was
magnifique!
” Her laugh
reminded Blair of Alexandre’s. Bold, open, nothing held back.

“Charles loved this country and its people.
Like those before him who had lived through the bad times in
France, he had used the Maigny name, passed on to him by his
parents and theirs. Charles great-great-grandfather had escaped the
family machinations in Scotland by going to France. His
grandfather, Eduard, had been brought back to Scotland to take over
the estates early in the 1870s. He died just a few years
later.”

“Charles’s parents had stayed behind in
France, aware that someday it would be their duty to take over for
Eduard, and someday Charles’s to take over for his father.” She
sighed and continued.

“Eduard was simply not very good at running
things here. The previous lairds had dealt poorly with their
people. They had been selfish and cruel, and he was much hated as
the people didn’t trust him. It would take time for them to learn
to trust again. The villagers had yet to believe that it would be
any different under the new Laird.”

“When Charles’s father, also named Alexandre,
finally took over, he instituted as many changes as he could and
gradually the trust began to return. The politicians here made it
difficult. Change is not something that comes easily to Scotts, my
dear,” she smiled at Blair.

“Once it was Charles’s turn to become Earl,
we moved here gladly. We were very proud of his heritage and had
only the best wishes for his people. We had known it was coming.
His father had never been a strong man.”

“Unfortunately for a mother’s heart,” she
raised her flute to him, “Alexandre, had decided, and quite firmly
I must add, that he would continue his education in France. My
family was in shipping and Charles had been running the business
since my own dear papa’s death. Once Alexandre was ready, he took
over that responsibility for Charles and freed us to take care of
our responsibilities here.”

“What with one thing and another, over the
years he has spent much time with us here, learned the language, as
we all did—there are still a very few of our people who are
diehards and still speak the old Gaelic—some speak the modern
Scottish language which the English have always disparaged. I fear
that will also fade into the past, eventually,” she sighed, “but
our people still honor their roots.”

“Alexandre met the people, learned about
their traditions, their likes and dislikes. He too learned to love
the history of our country and has spent much of his spare time
researching the family.”

“He tells me you have shared some fascinating
letters with him recently, much to his delight,” she smiled at her
son before continuing. “I would very much like to read them
sometime—but I have gotten sidetracked.”

“As you must know by now, Blair, Scottish
history comes mostly from an oral tradition. Only most recently
have writers shown any concern for putting these stories in
writing. Much of that is because of the man who sits beside you. It
has been a hobby for him since he was a young man in his early
university days.”

“Alexandre knew from an early age that the
responsibility of being Laird of Donnach would someday fall on his
shoulders. Now it seems we were all incorrect, and that this
responsibility is to be taken on by a mere slip of a girl. A
beautiful girl, I see.” Once again Lady McDonnough’s eyes
brightened as she smiled at Blair and then her son.

“I just want you to know that we, Alexandre
and I both, are at your service, whether from here or from France.
Once the estate is settled upon you, which will be very soon, we
will remove ourselves from the castle immediately and support you
in any way we can, my dear. If you feel we interfere, please just
say so. We offer this assistance with open and willing hearts.”

Blair was so touched that she hardly knew how
to begin. “Madame—Mairi— that is the kindest, most generous offer
ever made. I assure you that I have no intention of throwing you
out of your own home!”

“Ah, my dear, please do not concern yourself
with that at all. It has been, and still is, my intention to return
to France where I shall catch up on my reading, do some painting,
visit museums, and enjoy my retirement from being the Countess of
Donnach.”

“No…” she said, as she recognized that Blair
was going to argue with her on this point. “Please be assured that
this is not a hardship, but a blessing, my dear. I have had my
turn. This is your time, Blair. Enjoy all life here has to offer.
Be kind to your people and they will return that kindness many
times over.”

“Now, since we have had our story-telling for
today, let’s have some lunch, shall we?”

Lady McDonnough rose from her chair,
Alexandre took his mother’s arm with his left, nodded to Blair, and
he led two remarkable women to dine.

***

As he rode with her back to her hotel later
that afternoon, Blair sighed, “Oh, Alexandre, she is
wonderful!”

“Yes, I’ve always thought so,” he smiled.
“She and father were very much in love—very much a
pair
in
the truest sense of the word. She’s doing her best to move on
without him. Like you, she is a very determined woman when she sets
her mind to something. She’ll do fine in Paris again.”

“Are you very certain that she does not wish
to stay here, Alex?”

“Oui. Absolutement!” he said, slipping into
French. “She’s been adrift here without father. Everything reminds
her of him every day. She is strong, but even the strongest needs
time to heal from such a loss. Surely you know this? The new
surroundings will be very good for her. And she and father
maintained a small circle of close friends there over the
years.”

“Oui, I am sure you are right. I like her a
lot, Alex.” Her heart was tied up in knots. She sensed they would
both
go back to France and she would remain here without
them—without him.

“She likes you too, Blair. Not everyone
receives a gift of one of father’s gargoyles,” he said, grimacing
as he looked down at the jewel box topped with what he thought was
the ugliest gargoyle he had ever seen.

Blair looked down at the box on her lap. “I
think he is quite lovely. I think I shall call him Pierre.”

“Lovely?
You,
Chéri, have either a
very generous mind or very poor eyesight!” They were still laughing
together when the car pulled up in front of her hotel.

***

Once again, he found himself pacing—he’d done
quite a lot of pacing since he met Blair, he realized! What in
God’s name was he doing?

He had taken an innocent young woman to his
bed. His family had tried to kill her time and time again. How
could he ever expect to have a life with her? No, he had to give
her time to heal, time to realize that his own family had caused
the death of her dear uncle, her close friend and landlord, and had
put her in the hospital.

Oh, no doubt he recognized the irony, having
assured Angus that he should feel no guilt over Taog’s involvement,
but this was different. He could live with their guilt…but Blair
had no experience with the world. How would she be able to come to
grips with his family’s involvement? They had caused her such pain
and heartbreak. Surely, she would eventually put the blame for all
she had lost right where it belonged—with his family.

Then there was also the fact that she really
didn’t know him very well. His past had been filled with newspaper
accounts of his affairs and womanizing for the last ten years. He
had ignored them, really. He hadn’t felt them worth denying. In
fact, he had spent so much time building his father’s business that
he really hadn’t had much of a social life. Oh, there had been a
few sweet, young women over those years, but
nothing
even
closely resembling the rumors and stories that went around.

Now he realized that he should have taken
some kind of action against these lies. How could he possibly
connect himself to someone as innocent as Blair and expect her to
live in the shadow of such rumors and innuendos?

He never should have kissed her, loved her—he
had done her no favors, and he didn’t know what to do now.

He paced his rooms until three the next
morning and then only slept fitfully for a couple of hours.
Finally, he stumbled bleary-eyed downstairs to breakfast with his
mother at six, as was their habit.

“Good morning, dear,” Lady McDonnough said,
as she saw him come into the breakfast room. Under his eyes he had
the dark bruises of a sleepless night. My, he’s had a rough night,
she thought. I wonder what set this in motion?

“Morning, Mère,” he mumbled, as he dropped a
kiss on her cheek. Then he quickly turned to grab a cup and as much
black coffee as it would hold.

“Did we have a bad night, my dear?” she
smiled sweetly at her son.

“I didn’t sleep well.” Looking up he saw the
soppy sweet smile on her face and, if she had not been his dear,
beloved mother, he would gladly have snarled at her. What was she
up to, he wondered? “What?”

“Well, I don’t know why you would not sleep
well,” she said, as she forked a nice tender potato. “We had such a
lovely time yesterday. Blair is an absolutely lovely girl, isn’t
she?”

“Yes,
lovely
.” He found himself
snarling anyway. Maybe if he got up to get some meat and potatoes,
she would leave him alone. He rose and turned his back to her while
piling food onto his plate. He really didn’t want to hear about
Blair this morning. He’d made a firm decision at 3:00 a.m. and he
didn’t want anything or anyone making him waiver.

“I’ve decided it’s time for us to return to
France,” he said, as casually as he could manage. “I thought we
would take the evening train to Edinburgh. You can stay with me in
Bretagne until you find what you are looking for in the way of
living accommodations, or you can use the Paris apartment if you
wish. The servants can pack up the rest of our belongings and ship
them to me. Any furnishing belonging to you can be brought to you
once you are settled.”

Well, she thought, my son is not usually a
coward. He’s fighting his feeling for this young woman harder than
she would have thought. Men can be so foolish sometimes.
Especially, she sighed again, in matters of the heart. She had
thought that living in France all those years would have taught him
more about romance, about love. Oh my, there is some real work to
be done here.