Beloved Lies, Book 2 Read online

  Beloved Lies

  Book 2

  (The Lost MacGreagor Books)

  By

  Marti Talbott

  © 2015 All Rights Reserved

  At last, her father agreed to let debutante Blair MacGreagor sail to London to be presented to the King. She took a copy of a lost MacGreagor story with her, but finding time to read was not easy. Not only did she have to avoid being swept off her feet by a man eager to relieve her of her inheritance, her mother’s scandalous reputation quickly spread among the first-class passengers.

  Table of Contents

  CHAPTER 1

  CHAPTER 2

  CHAPTER 3

  CHAPTER 4

  CHAPTER 5

  CHAPTER 6

  CHAPTER 7

  CHAPTER 8

  CHAPTER 9

  CHAPTER 10

  Beloved Secrets

  CHAPTER 1

  More Marti Talbott Books

  CHAPTER 1

  RMS MAURETANIA

  “Her name is Blair MacGreagor,” the chambermaid whispered. It was not unusual for a chambermaid to be in the vast, dimly lit linen closet, for many were the linens required for first-class passengers on an ocean liner. What was unusual was the well-dressed man standing beside her.

  “She is wealthy?” he asked.

  “Quite. She is the daughter of Lord Edward Bayington.”

  “Lord Bayington? Did he not pass away?”

  “He did and it is said he left a good portion of his wealth to her.”

  The gentleman drew in an excited breath. “She is perfect then. How shall I recognize her?”

  “That, I do not yet know, but I shall slip a note under your door when I am told she is aboard. The captain said Miss Blair MacGreagor is to have the best this ship can provide.”

  “Does he not say that about all the first-class passengers?”

  “Indeed, but this one is beyond the means of any of the others, even the men. The captain hopes she and her family will always choose to sail aboard the RMS Mauretania. Her other father is a Scottish duke.”

  “Her other father?”

  The chambermaid put her hand up to stop his questions. “I have no time to explain it now. Be gone with you, and see that no one sees you leave.”

  He kissed her on the cheek and headed for the door. Cautiously, he opened it, peeked into the empty hallway, and then went on his way. Behind him, chambermaid Lucy Quinn grabbed some extra towels and went to put them in Blair MacGreagor’s stateroom.

  NEW YORK HARBOR, 1912

  The long awaited afternoon had finally arrived and Blair MacGreagor could hardly believe she was standing on the polished promenade deck of the fastest ocean liner in the world – the RMS Mauretania. It had been decided, and rightly so, that she should be presented at court. After all, she was the legitimate daughter of Lord Edward Bayington of England, as well as the adopted daughter of Cameron MacGreagor, the Scottish Duke of Glenartair. It was also decided, particularly since they were going later anyway, that Mr. and Mrs. Claymore Whitfield would accompany her. It meant trading their tickets on Titanic’s return voyage to the United Kingdom for an earlier sailing in March, but neither of them minded. They were just as excited to be sailing as Blair.

  “Is it not a splendid sight?” Blair asked. “Just think, in less than six days I shall be in London.” She stood at the railing next to her father with Abigail and Claymore Whitfield on the other side of her, and watched the last automobile being hoisted into the cargo bay. Dozens of people lined the dock while others hurried up the steps as if they might be too late to board. Beyond the wide waterfront, the windows in a multitude of large and small New York City buildings glistened in the sunlight.

  Crossing the Atlantic was deemed safer now than in years past. The massive RMS Mauretania had been in service long enough to prove her seaworthiness, yet it still looked in pristine condition. It was painted black with red trim along the bottom, and just below the bottom deck, large white letters announced its title. On top, four gigantic funnels were painted red on the bottom half and black on the top, making the ship a sight to behold both near and far away. The brochure touted it capable of holding over eleven hundred passengers, which was likely true considering the crowds on all eight decks waiting to wave goodbye to friends and family on the pier below.

  That morning, Blair spent nearly an hour styling her long black hair, and piling it atop her head so hat pins would securely hold her fashionable, but modestly decorated hat on. Her hat was tall rather than wide to accommodate her long hair, and perfectly matched her blue traveling suit, which matched the color of her eyes.

  A tall, stout man, the Scottish Duke of Glenartair, Cameron MacGreagor, thought he was used to the way men gawked at his strikingly beautiful daughter, but just now he found it highly annoying. “I am tempted to go with you,” he said amid the loud and excited exchanges of the other passengers.

  She giggled and wrapped her hand around his arm. “And what would mother say to that?”

  “She would have my head,” he admitted. “Yet, I could say I have gone to check on the rebuildin’ of the castle.”

  “In Scotland? She would not believe it. You best say you mean to protect me from the silliest of lads, who are just now watching my every move.”

  He drew in a deep breath and slowly let it out. “I am pleased to know you think them as silly as I do.”

  “Father?” Blair asked.

  “Aye?”

  “You cannae...”

  “I know, I cannae be with you always,” he finished for her. “Dinna forget – Doctor McCormick has already asked for you and I find him a good match.”

  “Rest assured, I shall not let any lad tempt me away without your approval.”

  “Say he must come to Colorado to ask my permission.”

  “Have you not always required it?”

  “Aye.” Cameron put his other hand lovingly atop the one she had around his arm. “I’ve a surprise put away in your travelin’ bag.”

  Her eyes shined with still more excitement. “What is it?”

  “‘Tis a hastily made copy of the next MacGreagor story.”

  “Truly?” She reached up on tiptoe and kissed his cheek. “Thank you. I feared I should have to wait months to read it. What a darling lad you are. If I find a husband half as good as you, I shall be very pleased indeed.”

  Cameron sighed. “Darlin’ lad? You’ve not called me that before.”

  “Perhaps not, but I have always thought it. I am all grown up now and perhaps not as shy as I once was.”

  “You are hardly all grown up,” he argued. “You are but seventeen.”

  “Did you not just say I am grown up enough to marry the doctor?”

  Her father rolled his eyes. “My own words come back to haunt me.”

  She giggled, and then turned her attention back to the people on the pier below. Stevedores scurried to load the last of the supplies, people were already waving, and she began to worry her father would not disembark in time. As if right on cue, the ship’s horn sounded. “Father, I...”

  Cameron sighed once more, “I know. When you are landed in Fishguard, dinna get off the ship until you see Lady Bayington. I have given Mr. Whitfield ample funds should you need anythin’.” Cameron gave Abigail a kiss on the cheek, shook hands with Claymore, and then opened his arms to his daughter. He held her for a very long time before he said, “I shall miss you desperately. Call often, if not constantly.” With that, he tore himself away, wove his way through the other passengers, headed back down the stairs, and joined those on the pier waiting for the ship to leave.

  Soon, the last of the visitors had disembarked, the steps were taken away, and towboats began to push the ship out of its moorin
g into the middle of the Hudson River. As the ship moved down river, Cameron walked along the pier keeping his daughter in sight for as long as possible.

  Blair found the pain of leaving her father behind just as excruciating, and kept her eyes glued to him as well. Her bond with her adopted father was more special than most, for long ago he saved her from the fury of a woman who clearly did not want her. She was not the only one to benefit, for she filled an enormous void in his life having just suffered the loss of his first wife and unborn child. Since that time, they had rarely been separated and she had not realized just how painful it would be. At the end of the pier, her father stopped and waved one last time, while the towboats continued to push the ship farther and farther away from him. Of this one thing Blair was absolutely certain – she would have to love a man completely, before she would let him put an ocean between her and her father. Colorado was her home and home was where she fully intended to live her life – but perhaps not married to Doctor McCormick.

  As her father’s image grew smaller and smaller, Blair said nothing. Abigail Whitfield, she finally noticed, had a comforting arm around her waist, and it was not until then that she realized a tear had rolled down her cheek. She giggled, wiped the tear away with her white gloved hand, and then smiled.

  A dear friend of the family, Abigail Whitfield was thought of by some to be a bit pretentious and by most to be over exuberant, but those who knew her loved her in spite of her shortcomings. Blair especially loved her, for Abigail had a heart of gold and simply saw things in a way others did not. She managed to maintain her slender figure, Blair noticed, and even now had but a smattering of gray in her red hair. There was nothing Abigail loved more than spending her husband’s money, and why not? She often said she struggled just as much as her husband before he found gold in the Colorado Mountains. As well, no one was as pleased as Abigail when Claymore sold the mines and became part owner in the Whitfield, MacGreagor, and MacGreagor Construction Company. The remaining two owners were Blair’s uncle and father.

  Claymore Whitfield was the more serious of the two, Blair knew, and little passed his notice without careful examination, particularly where those he loved were concerned. He was still robust in stature, even in his waning years and his hair had not just turned gray, it hosted streaks of white as well. Although he complained often about the amount of money Abigail spent, which always made the MacGreagors laugh, he did not truly mind. While Abigail constantly bought the latest fashionable clothing and furnishings for their home, she donated the old to families in need. Once, she even bought a coffin for an impoverished family. Indeed, Blair had always known that Claymore Whitfield not only loved his wife, he was proud to be her husband.

  Blair’s thoughts turned to the excitement that lay ahead and while others drifted inside to see to their first-class accommodations or to have morning tea, she and the Whitfields found the shrinking, yet magnificent New York City skyline a sight to behold. Amid barges and countless other ships of varying sizes, the towboats continued to pull and push the ship out of the mouth of the river into the Atlantic Ocean. Seagulls flapped their wings trying to land on the railing, only to be shooed away by passengers. Sailing in the opposite direction, people on the Mauretania’s sister ship, The Lusitania, looked just as happy to be arriving in New York as Blair was to be leaving. They waved to her and she enthusiastically waved back.

  Once the work of the towboats was done they moved away. Under the watchful eye of the Statue of Liberty, the huge ship shuddered slightly as the engines began to turn the massive, four-blade propellers. High above, black smoke rose out of the stacks while the churning of the propellers began to leave a distinctive wake in the water.

  “I cannae wait to see absolutely everything,” Blair breathed.

  “Nor can I,” Abigail admitted. This was to be the Whitfield’s first ocean crossing and for days they discussed what they wanted to see and where they wanted to go in the United Kingdom. Three months was not going to be nearly enough and at their age, this would probably be their only Atlantic crossing. “I particularly cannot wait to see Charles and this wife he claims to love so dearly.” Abigail bowed her head. “It has been so long, I hardly shall recognize him.”

  “I shall,” said Claymore. “Our son owes me a good deal of money.”

  “Oh Claymore, you need more money the way Pearl Hughes needs a traveling salesman for a husband.”

  “I hear Pearl is quite happily married,” Claymore argued.

  “You hear wrong,” Abigail shot back. “How could she be? He is gone nearly a month at a time.”

  The Whitfield’s lively discussions always made Blair smile. When she glanced behind her, the crowd on the deck had noticeably thinned, leaving only small groups of people chatting or as interested in watching the water and the land fade in the distance as she was. Two young men were much too obvious in their attention to her, but she ignored both of them.

  “Pardon me,” said a woman standing at the railing next to Blair. She was a pleasant looking, yet older woman with wavy brown hair under a wide brimmed white hat adorned with a large pink bow. Her traveling suit was dark and the amount of fine jewelry she wore left no doubt as to her wealthy station in life.

  “Aye?” Blair asked.

  “Are you not...” the woman paused when she realized her mistake. “Forgive me, I thought you were...”

  “Alexandra Sinclair?” Blair asked.

  The woman looked completely taken aback. “Why...yes.”

  “Did you know her?”

  “Not well, I confess. I merely saw her a time or two.”

  “I am her daughter,” Blair said.

  Honestly shocked, the woman could hardly find her words. “The book says nothing of a daughter.”

  Blair smiled to comfort the stranger. “Scandalous is it not, how easily she forgot me?”

  “It certainly is.”

  “I was only just born when she gave me to Mr. Sinclair.”

  Protectively, Claymore came from beside his wife to stand closer to Blair. “Miss MacGreagor, you owe not one single explanation on your mother’s behalf.”

  The woman moved away from the railing, causing Blair and Abigail to turn until their backs were to it. “He is right,” said the woman, “and how rude of me not to introduce myself. I am Lady Julia Forrestal, of the London Forrestals. Please forgive my intrusion.”

  “You need not be distressed,” Blair assure her. “I have grown accustomed to it now that there is a widely read book about her. I am Blair MacGreagor, legitimate daughter of Lord Edward Bayington and adopted daughter of Cameron MacGreagor, Duke of Glenartair.” She slightly nodded toward Claymore. “I am escorted by Mr. and Mrs. Whitfield, of the Colorado Whitfields.”

  “The Colorado Whitfields? I do not believe I have heard of them,” said Lady Forrestal.

  “You should travel more widely,” an annoyed Abigail muttered.

  Blair smiled at Abigail hoping to calm her, and then turned back to Lady Forrestal. “Colorado gold mines.”

  “Oh, I see.” Lady Julia Forrestal half curtsied. “I am pleased to make your acquaintance.”

  Abigail Whitfield was not about to curtsy to anyone, particular one as rude as Lady Forestall, even if Claymore appropriately tipped his hat. “Tell me, are there any scandals in your family we should know about?”

  “Not as well loved as hers,” Julia Forrestal answered with a smile. Her attempt at humor fell flat, however, so she again addressed Blair. “Miss MacGreagor, I did hear that Lady Bayington would be presenting her daughter this year. Might you be that daughter?”

  “I am. My stepsister is to be presented next year.”

  “Then we shall be seeing a lot of each other. Laura and I are friends, you see.”

  “Oh joy,” Abigail whispered. Blair and the Whitfields had been invited to stay at Lady Laura Bayington’s home while in London and until this very moment, Abigail was looking forward to it. Now, she wasn’t so sure.

  Lady Julia Forrestal p
retended not to hear Abigail’s comment and instead glanced at a man standing near double doors that led to the interior of the ship. “Is it true that Alexandra is buried in America?” she asked Blair.

  “Do not answer that,” Abigail said.

  Blair conspiratorially lowered her voice. “I am not supposed to know, but my father has a photograph of her lying dead on the ground near some railroad tracks. Indeed, she is buried in Kansas.”

  Again, Lady Forrestal was taken aback. “Are you not a bit too cavalier about it?”

  “Well, I only saw her once and ‘twas under the most unpleasant circumstances,” Blair answered.

  Claymore drew in a sharp breath and turned to his wife, “Oh dear, here we go. My love, perhaps you might forego the telling of that story on this ship.”

  Abigail lifted her chin slightly but did not look him in the eye. “I’ve no intention of saying a word, not one single word.”

  Lady Forrestal was fascinated, but she let it go for now. “I dare say, Miss MacGreagor, there are sure to be eligible bachelors on this ship who shall be more than pleased to make your acquaintance. What sort of man would strike your fancy?”

  “None just now. I am hoping to attend a university next year.”

  “You mean to have employment outside the home?” Lady Forrestal asked.

  “She hardly needs to,” Abigail said. “Everyone of importance knows Hannish is one of the wealthiest men in Colorado, and Blair is certain to inherit from him as well as from her father.”

  “Which father?” Lady Forrestal asked.

  “Both,” Blair admitted. “Although there is a ghastly provision in Lord Bayington’s will. I shall not receive my inheritance from him until I reach thirty years of age.”

  It was the first time either of the Whitfields had heard of a provision, but both managed to hide their surprise. Lady Forrestal, on the other hand, was aghast for a third time. “Thirty?”

  Blair nodded. “So says the will and testament. And as far as inheriting from either my father or my Uncle Hannish, I am in line behind ten natural children already, and who knows when the size of the family shall stop increasing.”