The Lass Wore Black (20 page)

A lady, however, did not act in such a fashion. A mere footman should not cause her to behave in an improper manner. Even if offering him money to bed her was the height of impropriety.

In the past, she’d never had any difficulty dismissing a man when he was no longer of interest to her. She would simply have to do that with the footman. When he returned, she would ensure there was nothing for him to do.

As the seamstress measured her, albeit with some difficulty, given her refusal to remove her clothing, she turned to Aunt Dina.

“I think I shall discontinue taking a tray in my room,” she said. “I believe it’s time for me to join you in the dining room for our meals.”

Dina clapped her hands together like a child given a long-awaited sweet. “Oh my dear, are you very certain? How wonderful.”

She had already demonstrated she could eat with her full veil on. She would simply do that in the dining room, in case any of the maids came in. That way, the footman would not need to monitor her meals, and would not be required to come into her room at all. In fact, she needn’t see him.

That was relief icing her stomach, that was all.

The apprentice knelt at her feet, working on the hem of a dress she certainly didn’t need. Aunt Dina was relentless in victory, however. She’d ordered five day dresses and matching veils, all in a lovely deep blue. Not nearly as dark as she would have preferred.

This color blue would look lovely with her hair. No one would ever see the contrast, however.

He’d said she was beautiful. He’d kissed every inch of her. He’d been the most magnificent lover she’d ever had.

He was the most annoying man.

Where was he?

Bringing herself back to the present, she realized that her aunt and the seamstress were engaged in a fervent, yet polite, argument.

“We can’t possibly finish by next Tuesday,” the seamstress was saying. “It will be a month at least. I just lost my other apprentice and I don’t even have time to replace her with all the orders I have.”

The woman sounded on the verge of hysteria.

“I understand all that, Mrs. McPhee, and I am truly sorry for your predicament. But we must simply have two dresses ready within the week.”

What was the need for haste? Especially since she was only going to show her new dresses to the trees in the square.

She might show Mark, if he ever returned.

Surely she wasn’t longing for him?

“I can’t possibly have two dresses ready in that time.” Mrs. McPhee’s voice was rising. Soon she would be at a screech.

“Well, you must,” Aunt Dina said, standing there with her hands folded in front of her, a smile on her face, but an implacable glint in her eyes.

The seamstress might as well surrender now.

Mrs. McPhee, impeccably attired in white blouse and black skirt, an outfit that matched her apprentice, drew herself up to her not inconsiderable height and frowned down her long nose at Dina.

“It is impossible, madam,” she said, each syllable carefully enunciated.

“Mrs. McPhee,” her aunt said, in coaxing tones, “you will agree, will you not, that I have been exceedingly kind in telling all my friends about your skill?”

The seamstress nodded, her eyes never leaving Dina.

Was it her imagination, or had the seamstress paled, ever so slightly?

She ought to admit defeat now. Aunt Dina would use every weapon in her arsenal to win this dispute. Witness the fact that she was standing here being measured for dresses few people would see.

“I cannot provide two dresses in that time, madam. I do not have the staff, and we barely have time to sleep as it is.”

“Then one,” Aunt Dina said, smiling.

Mrs. McPhee sighed. “One, we can possibly do.”

One dress was probably all Aunt Dina wanted from the beginning.

Perhaps she should be like her aunt, the master strategist, ask for twice what she wanted and be more than willing to settle for half.

The sound of running footsteps interrupted her thoughts. A second later Elspeth was at the door, breathless, her cap dislodged and hanging by a pin from her hair, her face red.

“Mrs. MacTavish, come quick! Oh, Mrs. MacTavish, you’ll never guess.”

Aunt Dina frowned at the girl.

“Have we another emergency?” she asked.

“No, ma’am, it’s not a bad one at that. It’s a duke.”

She felt herself turn gradually to stone. First her feet, then her legs. By the time the sensation had traveled up her legs, Elspeth had calmed and was telling the tale.

“His footman, ma’am, announced the Duke of Linster was here.” The maid glanced over at her. “To call on Miss Cameron, ma’am. He’s getting out of his carriage right now!”

Yes, she had transformed into a statue. She should be placed in a garden, beside a path, perhaps. People would come and marvel at the depiction of a woman garbed in black, swathed in a veil, her hands clenched as if to hold back her emotions.

“Send him away,” Aunt Dina was saying. “No, better not. I’ll do it myself.” Dina looked up at her. “Don’t worry, my dear. It’s a nuisance that will be dealt with all too soon.”

“No,” she heard herself say. “I’ll see him.”

The statue speaks.

Every woman in the room turned to look at her.

She glanced at Elspeth. “The Japanese screen in the corner,” she said. “Could you move it in front of the flowered chair?”

Elspeth nodded rapidly.

“Are you sure, my dear?” Dina asked.

“I am.”

She wasn’t.

She was terrified. But she also knew Linster, having made a concerted study of him over the months in London. He was wealthy enough to command anyone in his corner of the world. Denying him only piqued his interest. If she didn’t see him now, he’d simply return.

But why now? Why, after all this time?

The girl she’d been would have been ecstatic at this sign of Linster’s interest. But that girl died on a foggy London street, and had been buried all these months, swathed in a black veil.

O
n the way back to Edinburgh, in a journey that blessedly took half the time as the one to Ballindair, Mark couldn’t forget the Earl of Denbleigh’s words. The man’s antipathy toward Catriona was pronounced. He understood now why she’d stayed in Edinburgh, even if doing so meant she couldn’t be with her sister.

Why bother to change when people didn’t believe you capable of it?

The woman he knew, shrouded in a veil and silence, wasn’t the epitome of all things decent, good, and kind. But neither was she evil. She was simply human, flawed and with failings.

So was he, because he wasn’t going to confess his charade just yet.

He thanked Brody and walked from the stable into the house, his mind occupied with all the duties he needed to catch up on since he’d taken four days from his practice. With any luck he could call on a few patients this afternoon.

Sarah met him at the door, hands on her hips, her mouth pressed into a thin line.

“You have a problem,” she said.

“I have many problems,” he said. His father, Catriona, and his patient load, to mention a few. “Which one are you talking about?”

“Anne Ferguson is here, Doctor, and she’s not a happy woman.”

She was right. He had a problem.

“Why is she unhappy?” he asked, genuinely curious.

The last time he saw Anne had been at his grandfather’s birthday party. When he said as much to Sarah, her mouth twitched up in a smile.

“You don’t think that’s reason enough for a few tears, Doctor?”

He shook his head, moving past her and down the hall to his apothecary, where he placed his bag on the broad oak table. Even though he hadn’t used the contents on his visit to Ballindair, the bag was never far from his side.

Leaning his back against the table, he folded his arms and regarded Sarah.

“She’s crying?” he asked, hoping Sarah had exaggerated.

The sound Sarah made was one he’d often heard in the stables when one of the horses was impatient at being harnessed.

“She was when she arrived here with her maid. I’ve given her tea and biscuits, so she’s had time to compose herself.”

Thank God Anne had the foresight to bring her maid. They both had their reputations to consider. A thought he should have had before posing as a footman.

Was that why she was here?

“How did she even know I was home?” he asked, frowning. “I could have been delayed at Ballindair.”

“She’s been here two hours, Doctor. She gave me to understand that she wasn’t leaving until the two of you talked.”

He did have a problem.

“Do you think she knows about my posing as a footman?”

“I’ve a mouth like a trap,” Sarah said. “But what about the staff at Mrs. MacTavish’s?”

“They don’t know who I am.”

“Are you sure about that? Servants know everything before anyone else, and some of them love to gossip.”

“What do you suggest I do?”

She shook her head. “I’ve no idea. But must you pretend to be someone you’re not? Can’t you come out and tell the girl who you are?”

“That would be best, wouldn’t it?” he asked, not mentioning that he’d meant to do that very thing more than once.

Never bedding Catriona would have been the best thing, a comment he wouldn’t make to another living soul. The sight of her, naked and lit by firelight, standing there with her back turned to him, had been the single most erotic vision he’d ever seen.

Was he never to see her again?

Sarah sighed. “You’ll do the right thing, I’m thinking. If you weren’t that kind of man, I would never have come to work for you. Miss Ferguson evidently feels neglected, and you need to make it up to her.”

She was more than his housekeeper. Sarah was also his nurse, and his friend. When he once said that to her, she beamed with pride. Now, if he could only keep her in those roles—and away from being a matchmaker—he’d be content.

Well, if not content, then at least not miserable.

“I’m not the type to tell you what to do,” she said, a comment that had him smiling.

“But?”

“But you need to stop rescuing people,” she said. “Especially if you’re to be married. What would your wife think?”

He tried to envision himself explaining the circumstances to Anne, and realized it wasn’t an image that came easily.

“Perhaps it would be better if I gave her time to compose herself.”

She shook her head.

“Perhaps you could explain to her—”

Once again she shook her head. “Are you afraid of her, Doctor?”

The word wasn’t afraid as much as cautious. Females who were given to overemotionality were also given to tantrums, hysteria, and unexpected behavior.

He knew better than to say that to Sarah, however.

His housekeeper was an eminently practical female. She wasn’t given to hysterics or histrionics, and he’d never known her to be unreasonable.

But he’d once thought that about Anne, too.

Chapter 18

T
he sitting room was warm and comfortable. The best pieces had been reupholstered after he’d moved in, and the fireplace was large enough to offset the cold of the day.

The last time he’d been in here, he’d entertained some family members and friends. During that occasion, his grandfather had grumbled that the furniture was possessed. Pointing to an overstuffed chair with a frown, he’d said, “The damn thing has a spring with an arrow targeting my backside.”

Because his grandfather was the Earl of Caithnern, his assembled guests only smiled. Because the earl was also wealthy, society labeled him an eccentric and excused behavior that would be considered coarse in another man.

Any pleasant memories in this room were soon going to be overlaid with other, weightier emotions. If Anne was weeping, that didn’t auger well for a reasonable discussion.

What could he possibly say to excuse himself?

Catriona Cameron has held a fascination for me ever since I first saw her.
Hardly something he could tell Anne.
Mrs. MacTavish wanted me to treat her niece.
But the woman didn’t insist on his ruse as footman. That had been his idea alone.

He didn’t have one idea of what to say, either to explain or excuse.

Anne occupied one end of the settee, her maid, Marjorie, opposite her in the chair his grandfather had sworn was possessed.

He wished he’d had the chance to bathe and change his clothes.

Would he be a better man if he was suffused with guilt? If he felt remorse for having been with Catriona? Each of them had entered into a sensual relationship as adults, with no expectations and no pretense.

Such things rarely happened in the world in which he lived.

The fact that it had meant more to him than a casual encounter would have to be examined later. He had a great deal of examining to do.

When Anne turned her head and followed his progress into the room, he forced a smile to his face.

Sarah had made his visitors feel comfortable, as she always did. A fire warmed the room; a tea tray, nearly empty, indicated that Anne and her maid had been fed.

All that was left was for the conversation to begin.