London, Julia - The Perfect Stranger

by Radha

  To his credit, Arthur managed to hide his considerable irritation at that remark with an indulgent smile. Thank you for your advice, Kettering. I shall consider it.

  With a look of pure disdain, Julian tossed down his cheroot and ground it out with his heel. Very well, then, wallow in your guilt, he said irritably, and walked away.

  Arthur watched him, almost laughing aloud at the absurdity of his suggestion. But by the time he returned to the ballroom, the smile had faded, replaced by a feeling of distraction.

  He couldnt just up and go. Edinburgh was not an easy journey; it would take some time. And there was far too much to be done here. Or was there? A dozen or more highly trained solicitors handled the Christian family wealth; they hardly needed him for anything other than to lend his signature to papers and bank drafts. And he really was rather keen on examining the Scottish clippers that were outpacing every other ship on the seas.

  Still Arthur shook his head. A journey deep into Scotland was hardly the same thing as popping over to Paris. And it wasnt as if he knew anyone there at all hed be virtually alone. Yet it wasnt as if he was engaged in any meaningful activity here. His life consisted merely of another Seasons events, which included, he thought with a grimace, the constant parade of unmarried debutantes under his nose, the occasional outing with Julian and Adrian when they werent engaged with their families, and the periodic call to Madame Farantinos to tend to his physical needs. There was nothing: no purpose, no reason for him to be here. He did not really belong here.

  A movement to his right caught Arthurs eye and he glanced across the room, his gaze landing on Portia. She was smiling seductively at him while her husband chatted with another gentleman, fingering the pearl at her bosom again, openly stroking herself.

  No, it wasnt as if there was anything or anyone to hold him in London.

  He owed this to Phillip, didnt he? He had failed him miserably; the least he could do was try and clean up the mess he had left in Scotland and establish his good name again.

  Arthur pondered it until the early morning hours when the ball finally began to draw to a close. Julian and Claudia were among the first to escape. As they stood beneath the great stone portico and waited for a runner to fetch their driver, Claudia slipped her hand into Arthurs and smiled up at him, winking mischievously. Ive convinced my stubborn husband that we ought to have a supper party, Wednesday next. Wouldnt you please come, Arthur? Im rather keen to invite Miss Wilhelmina Bentson-Fitzmayor. She is a dear friend of mine and her father a rather generous benefactor to the Whitney-Dane School for Girls, but she hasnt been introduced as of yet. Youd be doing me a great honor.

  Arthur returned Claudias bright smile and squeezed her hand affectionately. I am terribly sorry, but Im afraid I must decline, he said smoothly.

  Julian chuckled as their coach pulled to the curb. I assure you, Miss Wilhelmina Bentson-Fitzmayor is a far sight lovelier than her name.

  Arthur bent to kiss Claudias cheek, then returned Julians smirk as he helped her into the coach. I dont doubt for a moment that she is, but I shant be in London Wednesday next, he said as Claudia settled herself on the squabs.

  Indeed? Julian drawled as he stepped inside the cab. And where exactly might you be, old chum?

  Arthur smiled. Scotland.

  Chapter Two

  Edinburgh, Scotland

  Mr. Jamie Regis, Esquire, stared at the man sitting across from him in the leather winged-back chair, quietly reading a letter. He didnt like the looks of Lord Arthur Christian very much; he had that air of suffocating wealth about him. Not that Jamie Regis had anything against wealth he just didnt like being summoned by it.

  And summoned was exactly what Christian had done, sending him a letter one month ago dictating exactly where and when he would be expected to show himself, without any thought as to how difficult it might be for Jamie to come all the way to Edinburgh. The English Ass had business in Edinburgh, and therefore expected the world to come to him, just like the rich sheep farmers Jamie often represented.

  Look at him. He was awfully pleased with himself, wasnt he? Sitting there like the king himself, right in the middle of the drawing room of the fancy Kenilworth Hotel, one leg draped casually over the other as he read the banks letter. Jamie considered himself rather dapper in his grooming, but the Ass was wearing a dark brown coat made of a material so fine it had to have come all the way from Paris. And his waistcoatLord, the pale green waistcoat was silk, Jamie was quite certain of it, and embroidered with rose and dark brown thread that exactly matched his coat. His pale green and brown neckcloth was impeccably tied, and the cut of his hair a bit longer than the current style, Jamie thought smuglywas trimmed in such a way as to tame the waves in it. Even the mans side whiskers were, impossibly, perfectly matched. It just wasnt possible for a man to be that exacting on himself!

  He shifted his gaze to Christians hands and smirked. They were big, large handsperfectly manicured, a heavy gold seal of some sort on the left ring finger hands that had never worked a day.

  Jamies smirk faded as his gaze dropped to the mans feetand he quietly sucked in his breath. It was Christians boots that held him in awe. Rich, supple leather, tanned to shining perfection, rising up to a flawless fit just below his knee. Jamie Regis would have laid down his life for a pair of boots like that.

  Mr. Regis?

  Caught salivating over the mans boots, Jamie colored. He looked up, felt instantly overpoweredthe other thing the Ass possessed was a very sharp hazel gaze. Aye? he responded tightly.

  Im still a bit unclear. You handled Lord Rothembows investment in property in where was it again ah yes, Glenbaden, in Perthshire, is that correct?

  Jamie nodded.

  I imagine it is rather picturesque there.

  When Jamie refused comment again, Christian smiled knowingly. And you negotiated a settlement on the land and cattle with the Bank of Scotland for one-half the purchase price of eight thousand pounds to be paid at signing, and a loan against the other half for which the tenant had a responsibility to pay with proceeds from the sale of six beeves per annum over three subsequent years?

  He had to think hard about that succinct summary; slowly, he nodded.

  Christian cocked his head to one side. Please help me to understand, Mr. Regis. This letter from the bank clearly states that the debt owed on one-half the purchase price is in arrears and the taxes have not been paid since the loan was granted. I understood that a rather sizable herd of cattle was purchased with the landwas it not considered collateral against that loan? he asked smoothly.

  Lord, the mans gaze did not waver at all; Jamie felt as if it was actually piercing him all the way through his skull and to the chair behind his head as he waited for an answer. Unnerved, he hastily dropped his gaze and fumbled through a stack of papers he held on his lap. Milord, it appears that ah Christ, what was the tenants name again? He hadnt been to that glen in three years now, but God Almighty, whoever would have thought his practice would explode as it had Ah, Fraser, he quickly continued, latching onto the mans Christian name from some dust-covered memory. Ahem. Aye, milord, Fraser did not make the payments to the bank as was agreed. Now, in thirty-four, there was quite a drought, quite a drought indeed, and I rather imagine there was no grazing land to speak of. And then in thirty-five there was a great influx of sheep to the region. That would be

  Mr. Regis, Christian smoothly interrupted in a way that made Jamie grit his teeth, shouldnt this Fraser… have contacted you and asked for arrangements to be made with Lord Rothembows handlers in London when he missed the first payment? Or the second? Certainly the third?

  There was no arguing that point; Jamie stopped fumbling through his papers and met the mans gaze head on. Aye, milord, he certainly should have. But I did send a letter to Lord Rothembow at once upon receiving the correspondence from the bank.

  A slight frown crossed the Asss features and Jamie imagined that were he a solicitor here, he would personally call on his clients to see after th
ings instead of relying on them to tell him when something was amiss. Well bloody hell, he could hardly be blamed for the fact that his practice had tripled in the last five years. Surely even the perfect Lord Arthur Christian wouldnt have turned down the sheep herders that came to him, even if they were spread between Inverness and Fort William and Skye and

  Please take note, Mr. Regis, the insufferable man said, and templing his fingers, narrowed his eyes and stared into space for a moment before continuing. You will call on Fraser directly and inform him that, due to the deplorable state of his covenant with Lord Rothembow, the covenant is hereby and immediately suspended. He paused, sipped delicately at a whiskey, then glanced curiously at Jamie. You are making note, I trust?

  Miraculously, Jamie refrained from saying what was on the tip of his tongue, bent his head, and gripping his pencil so tightly that his fingers hurt, scratched out the instruction he had just been given. I am taking note, milord, he said tightly.

  Furthermore, you may tell him that he is to be evicted forthwith from the property and the land and remaining cattle to be put to sale as soon as possible, the proceeds of which will go to retire the outstanding debt, the taxes owed, and the interest accumulated these four years. He paused again, quietly waiting for Jamie to finish writing his exact instructions. When Jamie at last lifted his head again, Christian leaned forward, commanding Jamies undivided attention. When you make this call, sir, he said low, you should be quite clear with Mr. Fraser that I fully intend to pursue all remedies afforded to me by Scottish law in an effort to recoup the losses he has caused the late Phillip Rothembow, and that I will do so as the lawful agent of the Rothembow estate and with the full authority of the British Crown. Is that understood?

  He spoke like a mercenary, as if he handed down such cold edicts all the time. Jamie nodded dumbly.

  Christian responded with a curt nod of his own. Very good. In the meantime, I shall travel to Dundee upon concluding my business in Glasgow and pay the interest due as well as the taxes owed so that we may dispose of the property without hindrance.

  He paused again, caught the eye of the servant across the room and nodded faintly at the whiskey glass next to his elbow before turning to Jamie again. I shall expect to hear from you as to a date we might meet again and conclude this ugly business. But please understand that I fully expect to be on a ship to London by the end of the month and will brook no delays. I believe that is all, sir. Thank you for coming.

  Jamie blinked. He couldnt be entirely certainthe Ass spoke awfully fast in the clipped tone of the aristocracybut he thought he had just been dismissed. His eyes narrowed slightly; he puffed his cheeks and loudly gathered his belongings, fuming over the notion that he had come all the way from Inverness like a dog at this mans summons, only to be ordered about and dismissed like a servant. The thought so angered him that he stood abruptly and immediately dropped several of his papers.

  The King leaned over the arm of his chair and retrieved them. Your papers, sir.

  Jamie quickly snatched them from his hand. Why, thank you, milord, he snarled, and turned on his heel, fully intending to march away.

  Mr. Regis!

  Jamie stopped, debating whether or not to turn for fear that he might actually explode. Slowly, he glanced over his shoulder.

  You forgot to inquire as to where you may reach me. When you have completed your task, you may send word to the Sherbrooke in Dundee to the attention of Lord Arthur Christian.

  The Sherbrooke, Jamie managed to echo, and turned sharply, marching quickly from the posh drawing room of the Kenilworth before he did something foolish, like snap the mans neck. As he paused just outside the door to straighten his things and himself, he glanced backLord Arthur Christian was sipping a fresh whiskey that had materialized, casually reading a newspaper.

  No, he did not like that haughty English Ass one bit. Not one bit.

  Later, at a tavern near the highway where Jamie waited to board an overnight coach to Stirling, he looked at the notes he had made while suffering through that interview. He knew that Christian fully expected him to call on Fraser? What in the devil was his name, anyway? But a trip to the central Highlands really wasnt practical just now. Jamie retrieved a leather-bound book from his satchel and opened it. There, in his neat script, was a list of appointments and legal matters he had pending. It was obvious from the extensive list that there was no time to go tramping about the Trossachs. Actually, he was desperately needed in Fort Williams where one of his clients was in a terribly heated dispute about a shipment of tobacco that sank off the French coast.

  Lifting a tankard of ale to his lips, Jamie Regis pondered his dilemma.

  In all honesty, a letter would have as much impact as his calling. He could simply write Fraser Whatever his-name, explain the details of the eviction, and fix a date for his final call. The arrogant Ass would never know the differencehed get what he wanted, which was the settlement of the estate. Aye, this course was justifiedhe had far too much real work to take the additional time. He would simply pen a letter, inform Fraser that he would call four weeks hence to conclude this ugly business, as Christian put it, and tend to his business in Fort William.

  Right.

  A letter.

  Thats what hed do. Just as soon as he found the mans blasted name.

  Chapter Three

  Glenbaden, Central Highlands, Scotland

  When the hapless young Willie Keith delivered the weekly post to the scattering of modest homes in Glenbaden each week, the residentswhat few of them were left, anywaygathered in their yards and waited. Not for Willie, of course, but the widow Kerry McKinnon. Mrs. McKinnon had the task of actually delivering the post because young Willie was so desperately in love with her, he couldnt rightly read the names on the vellums, much less find his way down the rutted lane snaking through the glen.

  So every Wednesday, Willie Keith rode through the barley field of their peaceful little glen on the back of his mule. He looked neither left nor right, but simply disappeared over the knoll that led to the big white house of the late Fraser McKinnon. And every Wednesday, shortly after Willies arrival, Mrs. McKinnon would appear on the knoll with a basket in her hand, leaving the poor young Willie to stare after her with such longing on his freckled face that the residents couldnt help but worry that this would be the week he would actually expire with it.

  Yet there wasnt one of them who didnt feel his obvious longing stir something deep inside their own venerable souls. Not that a casual observer could tell from looking at any of them, but once they had all been just as young as Wee Willie.

  On a particularly clear and cloudless summer morning, however, no one was chuckling at poor Willie Keiththey were far too concerned with the urgency they sensed in Kerry McKinnons step as she marched down the rutted lane with the basket of letters clutched in her hand. The dozen inhabitants stood in their little yards with their chickens, dogs, and children at their feet, warily exchanging looks as she handed out the neat bundles of letters. It was unusual to see her so distractedshe had forgotten her always-cheerful greeting, her inquiry into their respective well-being.

  She hardly spoke at all.

  More than one wondered if the pretty, dark-haired lass wasnt feeling a wee bit ill. Little wonder if she wasthe lass worked like a dog to keep them all going, rising with the first gasp of the day and toiling well after its last sputter into the night. In spite of the work it took just to keep the crops growing, the livestock fed, the house and barn in repair, Kerry McKinnon also found time in every day to see after them, each and every one. She called on Red Donner to see after his gout, made sure the old hag Winifred had awakened to another sunrise (and blast it if she hadnt), helped the young mother of three, Loribeth, with her chores. She was the glens lifeblood, and to see even the slightest crease of a frown on her fair brow made them all feel a little out of sorts.

  But unbeknownst to the residents, Kerry McKinnon had started the day in perfectly fine health. In fact, she had been feeli
ng so robust that she had tackled the very daunting task of cleaning the old barn, attacking it with gustountil Willie brought her the weekly post. She smiled at the carrot-topped lad, asked after his sister who had been ailing. Even though she saw her mothers handwriting on one folded vellumwhich caused her to shudder involuntarily as it always didit was the neat little signature of Mr. Jamie Regis, Esquire, on the back of a very heavy vellum that caused her stomach to churn.

  Kerry remembered the name of Regis all right, but worse, she remembered Fraser had done something through him that she had never fully understood and had suspected was quite ill-advised. A sense of impending doom had immediately tightened her throat. She snatched the letter from the little basket, hastily broke the seal, and unconsciously lifted a hand to her neck as she began to read, choking on the contents.

  After the necessary and extremely wordy felicitations, the letter very simply said that the land she was standing on was forfeit and marked to be sold, that she was to be sued for Frasers debts, and oh God immediately evicted.

  Evicted!

  Her hand suddenly shaking, Kerry had quickly grabbed the left side of the letter to steady it and read it once more, certain she had misunderstood, positive there was a clause that she had missed.

  Unfortunately, she had understood it all too well.

  Somehow, she had managed to smile at Willie, to send him to the kitchen and the freshly baked biscuits there. Somehow, she had managed to put the post in her basket and start down the lane toward the cottages that dotted the glen. She had forced herself to smile and greet her neighbors as she handed out the mail, and now, she was miraculously managing to walk out of their midst, away from their curious gazes, turning at the end of the lane toward the loch, her head high.

  Blind to the path in front of her, she walked, seeing nothing but Mr. Regiss neat script citing irreparable debt and mismanagement, and the ridiculously short time of four weeks allotted her to pay her debt and avoid any legal consequence.