A Forbidden Liaison with Miss Grant

by Marguerite Kaye

  She stared down at her bowl, turning it around in her saucer. ‘You know you’re not.’

  He longed to reach across the table and take her hand, but one touch would overset them both. ‘What I’m about to tell you, is to ensure that when we part, we’ll neither of us be in two minds.’

  ‘No doubts, no regrets.’

  ‘Precisely. What you need to understand, Constance, if you don’t already, is that my children mean everything to me.’

  She looked up at that. ‘No one who knows you could imagine any different. It’s one of the things I’ve admired about you from the first. You love them, pure and simple, and make no bones about it.’

  Her words brought a lump to his throat. She hadn’t touched her coffee. He poured himself the dregs. ‘I’m not one of those fathers who thinks he knows best, and who wants to map out their lives for them. I want both of them to think for themselves, make their own decisions. Of course I’m not ready for them to grow up and leave the nest just yet, but I know that they will, so right now, what I want is to enjoy every moment I can with them, without suffocating them.’

  He paused, because this was proving much tougher than he’d expected. Talking of his weans brought home to him just how strong his love for them was. His heart was racing. The coffee probably hadn’t helped. ‘I can see you’re wondering what my point is, but bear with me. I told you that when Eliza died, her parents wanted to take Shona and Neil from me, thinking they could do better by them?

  ‘What I didn’t tell you,’ he continued when Constance nodded, ‘is the reason they were so certain they could deliver on that promise. Murray is the family name. Eliza’s parents are more usually referred to as the Marquis and Marchioness of Glenbranter. Eliza was Lady Elizabeth Murray, before she married me. She was their only child. As you can imagine they had big plans for her, since the continuation of the precious Murray family line was reliant on her future offspring and in particular her first-born son.’

  Constance’s face registered shock, but not recognition. ‘Where are their lands—do they have lands?’

  ‘In the north-east. I know very little about them, I’ve made it my business not to ask, but there’s money, lands, and at least one castle which must be in good order since Shona likes her creature comforts. I never heard her complain of a cold bedchamber or worse, a cold breakfast.’

  ‘You married into the landed gentry!’

  ‘I married Eliza because I loved her, not because I hankered after high society.’

  ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to imply—I am astonished, shocked that’s all.’

  ‘I kept it from you, deliberately, I’ll admit that. I didn’t want it getting in the way of our brief time together. You’d ask me all sorts of questions I couldn’t answer, and more importantly I wanted a break from the reality of my situation. So, like I said, I kept it from you.’

  ‘Are they improvers, these relatives of yours?’

  ‘I don’t know, and they’re not my relatives.’

  ‘Your son is the heir to a marquessate. Is he being groomed to be an improver too?’

  ‘For—’ Grayson broke off, shaking his head. ‘This is why I didn’t tell you. I knew it would be all you’d be interested in, and what’s more that you’d be bound to assume the worst.’

  ‘With cause. It’s likely...’

  ‘Aye, it’s likely, but isn’t it the law of the land to presume a person innocent until proven guilty, and not the other way around? I need a drink. A proper drink.’ He hailed the waitress, ordering another pot of coffee and a whisky. ‘Do you want one?’

  ‘I’ll take a brandy, thank you. I am afraid that once again I’m going to spoil your notion of my Highland heritage,’ Constance said when their drinks had been set down, ‘by telling you that I can’t abide whisky. It’s the smell, it’s like medicine.’

  ‘Much-needed medicine in this case,’ Grayson said, tilting his glass. ‘Slàinte.’

  ‘Slàinte.’ Constance took a tentative sip of her brandy. ‘I had no idea you thought me tedious.’

  ‘You know fine and well that’s not what I meant.’

  She took another sip of brandy. ‘No, but you’re about to pour your heart out to me, and I’m being tediously single-minded. I’m sorry. Please, tell me what it is you want to say, and I will try not to turn it into a political debate.’

  ‘I suppose what I’m trying to say is that the Glenbranters want to take my son and daughter away from me, which is a far more heinous crime in my eyes than anything else they may do in the name of progress.’

  ‘Don’t apologise.’ Constance tipped the remnants of her brandy into her coffee. ‘A rough Glaswegian shipbuilder, and the daughter of a marquis. My God, no wonder they took agin’ you.’

  ‘They did, and then some.’ Grayson followed her lead, tipping his whisky into his coffee. ‘Back then, when I met Eliza, I was hardly a prize. I’d lots of plans and a great deal of ambition, but success was something I had yet to achieve.’

  ‘I am embarrassed to admit that I imagined your wife to be one of those women who bend with every wind, and who thought herself rather above such mundane tasks as keeping house. I maligned her hugely. To have defied her parents and followed her heart must have taken an immense amount of courage. And demonstrates a profound love.’

  ‘Oh, we considered the world well lost for love, right enough. We were besotted with each other.’ He braced himself as he spoke, but the memory was hazy, the pain more like regret. ‘As for her courage, it was short-lived. It stuck in my craw, though I never told her so, that she went running back to visit the minute she was summoned, and didn’t even consider holding firm until her parents invited her husband to accompany her. There,’ Grayson said, feeling rather sick, ‘that’s something I’ve never admitted to a living soul before, and I’m not proud of it. I thought she was being disloyal, but it would have been wrong of me to make her choose.’

  ‘So you said nothing? Not ever?’

  ‘She seemed happy enough with the situation, her parents doted on the children when they came along, and how could I complain, it would have been churlish of me, when she’d sacrificed so much to marry me.’

  Constance frowned. ‘She wanted for nothing when your business flourished.’

  ‘I mean the life she was born into. The life that her parents want to give my children. Most people would consider being heir to a marquessate and all the lands and the castles and the connections that go with it as Neil is, a huge step up from being the son of a shipbuilder. Even a very rich shipbuilder. And then there’s Shona. There’s talk of a Season in London, which I gather would mean her attending a succession of parties in a series of fancy dresses in order to attract a queue of eligible young men keen to ask her to marry them.’

  ‘My God, you make it sound like an aristocratic drover’s market.’

  Grayson gave a bark of laughter, but his smile quickly faded. ‘The Murrays have thrown in a significant dowry to boot, to compensate for the questionable side of her parentage, I must assume. As if I can’t afford to provide handsomely for my daughter. But my money, unlike theirs, is tainted by the fact I’ve earned it. As opposed to having extracted it from the peasants, before you say it.’

  ‘I wasn’t going to say anything of the sort. Go on.’

  ‘As far as I’m concerned, it’s an antiquated way of life that’s dying out, and rightly so, but—parties, London, pretty dresses on the one hand, a title, a castle, endless heather-clad hills to roam on the other, you can see the appeal to a sixteen and a fourteen-year-old? Neil and Shona, when they come back from a visit to their grandparents, are always full of it, though they settle back down quickly enough, until the time comes for the next visit, and it all begins again. The Murrays are so bloody certain that what they can offer is superior to anything I can offer, and all I want is for my children to make their own minds up. So I steer a steady c
ourse.’

  Grayson grimaced. ‘I don’t rock the boat, to continue with my seafaring analogy. It’s worked so far. I’ve kept my promise to Eliza, and the Murrays know that. I’ve given them nothing to complain about, and there’s nothing about me they can point the finger at either. I’ve never considered replacing their daughter, I’ve never wanted to. Most importantly, my children are happy.’

  ‘And you intend to keep it that way. You needn’t worry, I’ve no desire to take your late wife’s place.’

  ‘I’m not trying to quash your expectations, I know you have none. I’m trying to say that the pair of us have been wandering about in a wee bubble for the last six days, and what you’ve just told me brought me back to earth with an almighty bang. Since I met you, I’ve cared about nothing except seeing you again, counted the hours, for the love of God, when we’ve been apart. It’s been wonderful, so wonderful that I’ve not given a moment’s thought, after that first day, to what the world would make of us.’

  ‘When you say world, you mean your children and their grandparents, don’t you? My being such a fierce and vocal critic of their class was the final straw.’

  ‘It’s a class my children may choose to be part of, and if they make that choice, when they’re old enough to make that choice, and wise enough, then I’ll need to find a way to live with it. My point is, Constance, they have choices and I won’t prejudice them. I wish it was otherwise but...’

  ‘Don’t say it, there’s no need.’ She picked up a teaspoon, stared at it then put it down again, making a point of meeting his gaze directly. ‘You have sacrificed your life for your children. Why would you risk all that you hold so dear, for the sake of a woman you’ve known less than a week?’

  ‘I can’t.’

  ‘No. And even if you could, I wouldn’t have you do so. I’ve no more desire to force myself into a family that doesn’t want me, than you have to take me on. I have my own priorities. You may call Flora’s writing rabble-rousing, but to me...’

  ‘It’s something you need to do. You’re being true to yourself, Constance. I wouldn’t have you any other way.’

  Her face crumpled. ‘I wish you hadn’t said that.’

  It was like a punch to the gut. There, in that one sentence, in the face she was already hiding from him, frantically stirring her coffee, was all the proof he needed of her feelings for him. Grayson had to grip the edge of the seat tightly in order to stop himself from reaching for her, before taking a final swig of whisky-infused cold coffee to resist throwing caution to the winds.

  ‘I was very happy,’ Constance continued after a moment. ‘At least, I was quite content before I met you. We’ve escaped reality for a spell and it’s been lovely, but it’s given us both a false impression. We think that we’re...’ It was her turn to finish her coffee, grimacing as she did so. ‘When we look back, we’ll both see that we were mistaken. We’ll have some fond memories, but we’ll be glad we were not so foolish as to believe what we’re feeling now would last.’ She got to her feet. ‘You’ll see, I’m right.’

  He stared at her outstretched hand, for a moment unable to understand what she meant by it. No! The protest was so vehement, he was astonished that he hadn’t shouted it aloud. What good would come of a protracted ending? She was right, and it was his own fault, for he’d given her no option. But to say farewell like this, in a public coffee house.

  He got up, taking her hand. Their fingers clung. He wasn’t sure if he could speak without his voice breaking. ‘What will you do? I mean after—will you go back to teaching?’

  ‘The battle isn’t over yet, Grayson.’

  ‘You don’t win people over by preaching at them. They don’t take kindly to having the error of their ways pointed out. If you must carry on this crusade, stop trying to reason with them, tug on their heartstrings.’ He lifted her hand to his lips, turning it over to kiss her palm. ‘I won’t ever forget you. Say goodbye to Angus for me.’

  ‘He’ll miss you.’

  A tear stole down her cheek. There was such yearning in her eyes, it was all he could do to prevent himself pulling her into his arms. Helplessly, he watched her turn her back on him, picking her way among the tables. Through the window he saw her, head bowed, heading up the Canongate. Then he slumped back on to the bench before waving the hovering waitress over and ordering another large whisky.

  Chapter Eleven

  The tale I am about to relate is not one of Mr Scott’s confections, but the unvarnished truth of an event witnessed first-hand by Flora.

  There once was a Highland village. Let’s call it Clachan Bridge for the sake of argument, for that was its name, though it could easily have been a village in Sutherland or almost anywhere in the Highlands. Among the many cruel atrocities inflicted on its inhabitants while the land was being cleared to make way for sheep, one stands out for its heartless vindictiveness. As the cottages were being systematically burned, a young mother managed to drag the crib containing her newborn baby to safety in the nick of time. Seeing what she had done, one of the factor’s men strode up to the distraught woman and ordered her to remove the infant from the crib.

  ‘We’re under orders to torch all dwellings,’ he sneered. ‘I reckon this qualifies.’ He then set fire to the crib.

  ‘Where is my baby to sleep tonight?’ the young mother sobbed.

  ‘Under the stars with you,’ the man replied callously, ‘with a moss-covered rock as a pillow.’

  The child died from the cold that night, and his mother three days later from a broken heart. They were buried together under a moss-covered rock. Remember this true story when you cheer the Staffords of Sutherland, Glengarry and their ilk, parading proudly in their plaid during the King’s visit. The truth is not only stranger than fiction, it is infinitely more unjust and cruel.

  Flora MacDonald, New Jacobite Journal

  Leith Docks—Thursday, 15th August 1822

  Constance huddled into the shadow of the Custom House, surveying the massed crowds waiting to welcome King George IV ashore with a mixture of astonishment, disbelief and disgust. Even though she’d watched the city fill to overflowing in the last month, she’d managed to persuade herself that there would be enough who felt like her to temper the whole-heartedness of the welcome. Yet here was what looked like the whole of Scotland decked out in its finest. And out there anchored in the Forth estuary could be seen the three masts of the Royal George, where the King would be donning his finery ready to disembark. A King who, the loyal Edinburgh Observer had claimed without a trace of irony, was a true Jacobite and royal Stuart. Aye right, as Grayson would have said.

  Grayson. She ought to be used to the squeeze of her heart each time she thought of him. Her hand went automatically to the silver brooch depicting two figures in a small boat holding hands. She’d it worn every day since it was delivered to Coates Crescent on her birthday. There had been no message to accompany it. There had been no need for one.

  Had her memories of Grayson become merely fond, in the month since she’d seen him? Had her feelings diminished, as she had so confidently predicted they would? Not a whit of it. No matter how many hours she worked, she had never been too tired to think of him. He’d been in her thoughts when she fell asleep and he was still there when she awoke. Everything reminded her of him, not least poor Angus. Walking the dog alone made her realise how lonely she was. Had she been content before, as she had claimed that last day in the Canongate coffee house? She was having to work blooming hard not to let Pearl see how miserable she was now, that was for sure. Absence, she could all too easily convince herself, had made her heart grow much fonder. Which was why she was here, hoping to catch a glimpse of him in the earnest hope that the reality would disappoint. And if it didn’t, then seeing him in his chosen role as father would surely do the trick.

  The unseasonable torrential rain which had forced the King to delay his planned disembarkation yesterday
had given way to light cloud and patches of blue sky, and the gale had died down to a gentle breeze. Just as well, Constance thought darkly, for a display of just what, exactly, a Highlander kept under a kilt whipped up by the wind was most certainly not on Sir Walter’s lengthy list of planned entertainments. Dear God, it was to be hoped the King would decide against the Garb of Old Gaul in which to disembark. Smiling, she recalled Grayson’s description of George being landed flapping like a monster cod from the royal barge to the Shore.

  Grayson again! She had come early to secure this vantage point. Not only did it give her an excellent view of the landing point across the Shore, it gave her an excellent view of the reserved seats on the other side of the Custom House. She couldn’t know for certain that he would be there with his children, but she knew him well enough. It was the best location, and he’d want the best for Shona and Neil. Eyeing the crowds, she wondered if she’d been overly optimistic. It was highly unlikely that she’d be able to pick him out among the throng. She was doomed to disappointment. But since she was here in her capacity as Flora to watch the shenanigans unfold, she might as well keep a look out for him.

  It was, she reluctantly conceded, taking mental notes, a fine spectacle that Sir Walter and his band of merry men had orchestrated. Leith was alive with Highlanders, soldiers, dignitaries and tradesmen, all dressed in their finery, women bedecked in tartan sashes with tartan bows in their bonnets and hordes of children getting under everyone’s feet. The denizens of Edinburgh and many thousands more were here in their Sunday best with their families and in some cases even their dogs, waving flags, brandishing tartan banners, cheering and smiling. The Highlands must have been stripped bare of heather right enough, for everyone wore a sprig of it—another of Sir Walter’s decrees. Crowds were already lining the route the King would take, up Leith Walk to Picardy Place, where he’d be formally presented with the keys of the city. Would Grayson wait there, rather than make the journey to Leith? It was too late for her to change her plans now.