Beloved Lies, Book 2 Page 8

  Lucy shook her head. “I am hoping to catch one of Miss MacGreagor’s castoffs too, and I do not care if he is wealthy or not.”

  “Have you met David?” Blair asked. “Mr. Whitfield dinna care for him, but I find him very pleasant.”

  Lucy did not answer and instead went to the top drawer and chose a pair of white gloves for Blair. “There, I think that will do nicely. Stand up and let me see the back.”

  Blair did as she was told, and when there was another knock on the door, she went to answer it. “Mr. Whitfield, how dashing you look.”

  “Are you lovely ladies ready?” he asked.

  “We are.” She waited for Robin to join them, and then went into the hallway to join Abigail.

  Leading the way, Claymore let Abigail take his arm. “Let us please have one meal without David.”

  “I am beginning to grow a bit fond of him,” Blair argued.

  Claymore rolled his eyes. “It is just the sea air – you shall recover as soon as we are on land.” He made Blair giggle and when he looked back, she smiled lovingly.

  Unfortunately, it was the last smile he would see on her face for the rest of the evening.

  DAVID WAS AGAIN IN the main dining salon, serving, fetching and seeing to Blair’s every need, even though the room was crowded and the other stewards had more than their share to do. Claymore did his best not to make a verbal protest, but there was no mistaking his frown each time David approached. The upsetting events of the first evening had not been repeated, and for that Claymore was grateful. Yet, he did notice an odd sort of tension in the air, the kind he was hard-pressed to put his finger on. He blamed it on his own apprehensions and opened his menu.

  When he was not serving the few prominent and particular guests he was assigned to, David stood by the door of the elevator and watched. There was indeed a tension in the air, and the more he saw of the first-class guests whispering, laughing, and gawking at Blair, the more concerned he became – more so too, because he knew exactly what they were saying. It took all his courage, but David approached Claymore – even at the risk of being pounced upon. “Mr. Whitfield, might I have a word with you?”

  It was yet another interruption and Claymore was not pleased. “What is it?”

  David bowed his head. “I do not care to say in front of the ladies.”

  “Well, I do not care to speak to you in private. Whatever you have to say to me you can also say to all of us.”

  The young steward was taken aback, but what he had to say needed to be said, and now he had no way out. David leaned closer, partially covered his mouth with his gloved hand, and tried to whisper just loud enough for Claymore to hear. “...a lunatic asylum.”

  “WHAT!” Claymore shouted as he bolted out of his chair. “A LUNATIC ASYLUM?”

  David jumped back a full foot, the room instantly quieted, and at the head table the captain of the ship stood up. “Mr. Whitfield, I...” David tried.

  “I’ll have you know, young David,” Claymore said loud enough for everyone in the room to hear, “that she was put in the asylum to prevent her marrying any more unsuspecting gentlemen, and quite rightly so. A lunatic she was not. In fact, Alexandra Sinclair was clever enough to fool the best of them, as I am certain some of the older gentlemen in this room can attest.”

  All over the dining salon, the more mature women slowly turned to look accusingly at their husbands. Robin’s eyes were as big as David’s, while Blair had her head down and her eyes closed. Abigail’s expression was one of extreme worry and she kept her eyes on her husband.

  Claymore was not finished. “Let that be an end to all this foolishness about that ridiculous and unscrupulous woman. We shall have no more of it – no more, do you hear me?” In a huff, he sat back down and yanked his menu open again. This time, however, he held the half nearest David open and mouthed the words, “Thank you.” David heaved a sigh of relief, and hurried off to explain what had happened to the captain.

  After the room once more filled with the normal sounds of an evening dinner, and people stopped looking at them, Claymore slowly lowered his menu and stared at Abigail. “Wife, what have you to say for yourself? Just yesterday, you promised not to tell all you know about the duchess.”

  Abigail was nearly in tears and at first Blair thought only of her own misery, but she loved Abigail, set that aside, and was quick to come to her defense. “No true harm has been done, Mr. Whitfield.”

  “She broke her word. No one would have known had she not...”

  “I might have accidentally mentioned it myself someday,” Blair argued. “Father said nothing about keeping it a secret and neither did mother.”

  “Still, some things are better left unsaid until given permission to say them.” When he looked, a tear had rolled down Abigail’s face. He instantly slumped. “I never can abide it when you cry, Abigail.” He took her hand in his and brought it to his lips. “There, there, I beg of you, do not cry. I did not mean to shout, my love. Do forgive me.” She nodded and tried to smile, but the hurt was still in her eyes. Abigail took the glass of wine Claymore handed her and drank fully half. It helped a lot.

  Robin had been totally absorbed by the whole affair. “Well, I say let them hear it all,” she said. “Mother says lying is never a good idea. Suppose Blair falls madly in love and marries some unsuspecting gentleman? She would surely face an accusation of intentionally concealing it when he found out. He might even divorce her because of it and break her heart.”

  “I agree,” Blair said, “not that I am inclined to marry anyone associated with the people aboard this ship.”

  “Nor am I...except perhaps the viscount,” Robin said.

  Having pulled herself together, Abigail was glad for a change in the subject. “After the way the viscount behaved this afternoon, I do not think your mother would allow an attachment to him.”

  “Why? What did he do?” Robin asked. She listened attentively as Abigail told about his encounter with an innocently spilled drink. “He sounds like a cad to me too, although I must say I am very disappointed.”

  “Fear not,” said Blair, “There are other wolves in the forest.” When Robin laughed, she laughed too, hoping all the rude people around her would not think they had ruined her evening. The truth be told, she was more than a little upset. It would pass, she told herself – it always had before. Just now, however, she longed to be in the protective arms of her father. Perhaps she was not as grown up as she thought. When Blair finally looked up from her menu, Claymore was watching her. She never could fool him, and the look in his eyes told her she had not fooled him this time either.

  AFTER DINNER, A CHAMBER orchestra began to play their violins, violas, cellos, and basses. Three married couples took to the dance right away, but it seemed neither she nor Robin would be asked. It worried Blair until Robin explained.

  “Do you see that very tall man near the orchestra? He is the Master of Ceremonies. If you wish to dance only with men whom he introduces, he will accommodate you. It is what I wish. Mother says we best enjoy the opportunity to make the decision, for once we are married, we shall be allowed to make very few.”

  “How frightening,” Blair muttered. She did not have a chance to agree to the terms before Claymore got up and went to speak to the master. When he came back, he announced he had made just such arrangements on both of their behalves.

  While Robin watched to see which men were approaching the Master of Ceremonies, Blair watched the Whitfields dance. Some of the other ladies were watching too, and although they wore colorful silks, satins, brocades and chiffons, none looked as elegant as Abigail, or seemed to have partners who danced as well as Claymore. Robin’s parents, she noticed, were sitting not far away, hoping the Master of Ceremonies would introduce one or two of the more prominent men to their daughter.

  Blair should not have been, but she was surprised when the Master of Ceremonies approached and asked if both she and Robin would allow an introduction to Lord Jaminson O’Dell. She agre
ed for Robin’s sake, but Robin paused before she thoughtfully gave her consent. Blair was forced to stifle a giggle.

  Lord O’Dell had already broken the rules by not only speaking to her, but by lifting her to help her get on and off the bench. Perhaps if you are the most wealthy man on the ship, Blair guessed, you need not obey all the rules and she found a man who was not so very stuffy about such things refreshing. Furthermore, he asked Robin to dance first, which pleased her even more – until the Master of Ceremonies came to inquire as to an introduction to the viscount. It was not that she minded, it was that Robin was not there to partake in the event.

  Before she knew it, she had accepted a dance with the viscount. It seemed to her his smile was pompous, he had no interesting conversation, and his skill at dancing was meant to impress her rather than to help her enjoy the dance. It was then she decided the rule concerning only dancing with a man once a night was in her favor after all.

  “I am quite put out,” Robin said. After more introductions and more dancing, the two finally sat out the fifth dance together. “The viscount did not ask to be introduced to me.”

  “Robin, I dinna like the lad.”

  “Why? What did he do?”

  “Nothing in particular. There is just something unpleasant about him.”

  “Even so, he is still the most handsome man in the room, and I feel quite slighted.”

  “What did you think of Lord O’Dell when you danced with him?”

  “I thought him very pleasant,” Robin answered. “He asked if I would be coming out this season.”

  “Did he? I find that encouraging.”

  “He asked if you were as well.”

  “Oh, never mind then.”

  Robin giggled. “I swear I could not stop staring at the diamond pen on his jacket lapel.”

  “I noticed it too. It must be worth a fortune.”

  “What opinion have you of Lord O’Dell?”

  “Hardly any. He said very little even though I attempted a conversation. He politely answered, but he seemed wholly uninterested in me. I suppose he had something else on his mind.”

  “I hope it was me,” Robin grinned. “He is not as handsome as the viscount, but he is extremely wealthy and he did look at me twice while dancing with you. Mother would be so pleased if he were to take an interest in me.”

  “Perhaps...” Blair was interrupted when the Master of Ceremonies approached and asked if she and Robin would care to meet Mr. Dedrick. Blair quickly agreed for she had questions for the man with the jingling coins. When he asked her to dance first, she was delighted, though she was concerned to be leaving Robin alone. Just in time, the Whitfields returned to the table and the Master of Ceremonies was heading their way again.

  Mr. Dedrick was a tall man, of slender build and neatly combed sandy hair parted in the middle. His face was clean shaven, and fortunately, holding her in his arms prevented his jingling. His white bow tie attire included a white shirt and vest, black pants and a matching fitted tailcoat jacket with a pointed collar. The jacket was adorned with three buttons even though fashion dictated that the tailcoat never be buttoned and in fact could not be. On his shirt cuffs, he wore enameled pearl cufflinks and naturally, he had on white gloves.

  “You are quite beautiful, Miss MacGreagor.”

  “And you are quite perplexing, Mr. Dedrick.”

  “How so?”

  “Well, I hear you sail across the ocean quite regularly.”

  “I do. I am often sent to survey a property in America for my patrons. I hear you are from Colorado.”

  “I am and we have a good deal of unclaimed land in Colorado.”

  “Perhaps I shall have a look at it someday.”

  “‘Tis mostly mountains, rivers and streams, but we are happy there. Why did you argue with the viscount?”

  Mr. Dedrick frowned. “Let us not ruin this dance by talking of him.”

  “Very well, but you did imply that I should not associate with him.”

  “I had hoped you would turn down an introduction, but I see you did not.”

  “I might have, but Miss Robinson wished to make his acquaintance.”

  “I see. I shall say only this. The viscount is not what he pretends to be. He cannot be trusted and I pray Miss Robinson does not succumb to his charms.”

  “As do I.”

  At last, he smiled. “We are in agreement, then?”

  “We are. Tell me, are you acquainted with my father?”

  “The Duke of Glenartair? We have not yet met, unfortunately.”

  She longed to question him further, but too soon the music stopped. He escorted her back to the table and then asked Robin to dance. Blair watched them for a time, and then noticed the Whitfields were looking weary. Claymore looked especially tired, and when she suggested the three of them retire for the evening, both he and Abigail looked relieved.

  As soon as they got up, she went to say goodbye to Robin’s parents, and then followed the Whitfields out. As they waited for the elevator, she took one more look around the room. Lord Jaminson O’Dell nodded his farewell, Braxton Dedrick looked content to be dancing with Robin, and the viscount was nowhere in sight.

  THIS TIME, LUCY WAS not in her stateroom to help her, and if she had not needed someone to unfasten the back of her gown, Blair would have gotten ready for bed by herself. She picked up her book, sat in one of the chairs and turned on a reading lamp.

  MACGREAGOR GLEN

  The next day, there was a clean floor in the castle’s supper room, and if not truly clean, at least Jamie moved most of the dirt around. The clan’s morning chores were done and word spread that the Kennedys would be coming to challenge the men at archery – but they had days yet with plenty of time left to practice. Meanwhile, a game of futeball couldn’t hurt. Dark and forbidding storm clouds were gathering, but even that did not dissuade them.

  Hoping to set a good example, Donnan and Cullen stood on the other side of the glen, shooting arrows with their longbows. Cullen tried very hard to beat his older brother, but so far he had not managed it. Each time he hit the target, Donnan looked to see if the men getting ready to play futeball noticed. They were not even watching.

  “I have lost all control over them,” he muttered. “Must I command them to practice?”

  Cullen just shook his head. “‘Twould do no good.”

  The futeball game had just begun and a kicked ball seemed to mysteriously hang in the sky as Beathag ran to catch it. Abruptly, he stopped. He did not seem to notice when the ball hit him on the head and bounced off, nor did he hear the angry shouts from the men on his team. For a time, he simply could not discern if what he was seeing was part of the storm, or something far worse. At length, he pointed and yelled, “SMOKE!”

  The other men stopped dead still too, followed his gaze and faced their greatest fear – smoke rising from a possible forest fire.

  “Tis it the town?” one asked.

  “Nay,” said another. “‘Tis farther.”

  “The Kennedy village,” Beathag muttered.

  Donnan and Cullen were already running back toward the castle. With all due haste, the other men began to run as well. Some went to gather horses, while others collected shovels, picks, and sickles with which to cut away the undergrowth. Still more told the women to empty their water buckets, and bring them forthwith to the middle of the glen. Soon, men swung up on unbridled horses, were handed all they could carry and hastily rode out of the glen.

  In the center of the outer courtyard, those too feeble to fight a fire stood with the women and children. Fear was in every eye, but there was little they could do to help, save be ready to feed and care for them, if and when their men returned safely. Even in such a short time, the increase of smoke in the distance was a clear sign the fire was spreading.

  “What shall we do?” Annella asked Isabell.

  Isabell quickly gathered her thoughts and looked up. Both towers were devoid of guards. “Some of us should keep an eye out from
up there. Just take care no one falls out.” She was pleased when more than one woman nodded and headed that way.

  “We can prepare bandages too,” one of the women said. “My husband burns himself just lighting a fire in the hearth.” Her words were met with a few muffled giggles and then the women began to disperse.

  Isabell quickly looked around, and for once Jamie was right beside her. “Son, ‘tis up to you to protect us.”

  Jamie puffed his chest, set his dog down and nodded. “Aye, Mother.”

  “From in there,” she said pointing to the castle.

  Quickly deflated, he begrudgingly fell in behind his sisters and followed her inside.

  BY THE TIME THE MACGREAGOR men reached the town of Glenartair, it was nearly deserted and just as they thought, the smoke appeared to be coming from the Kennedy village instead. Donnan raced down the road and then turned up the lane leading to the Kennedys.

  Even before they arrived, they could hear the fierce roar of the blaze and soon it would be impossible for the men to hear each other. At first sight, there was no doubt that a great disaster had befallen the Kennedys, for nearly half the cottages were on fire. Yellow and red flames licked at the roofs of other cottages while blackened walls smoldered and then collapsed.

  Other men had gotten there ahead of the MacGreagors, some from town, and some Cullen recognized as being from the Swinton village. Normally, the two clans did not get along, but a forest fire threatened everyone. Just now, two trees at the edge of the forest were on fire. Men with shovels tossed dirt on the trunks and the foliage around them, doing as best they could in the intense heat. Others were hauling buckets of water from the river to the nearest flames. Soon, most of the MacGreagors were off their horses and running to help.

  “Look,” shouted Cullen as he pointed. Surrounded by fire on both sides, Mistress Kennedy and several women and children were sitting in a shallow pond, trying to ward off any sparks that might land on them. As well, there were men in a far off unharvested field, using hoes to make a fire line of sorts. One of the Kennedy fields had already burned.