by Karen Ranney
Catriona would have lambasted him immediately, even in the presence of her maid.
Not a good idea, comparing two women.
“You’re upset,” he began, deciding the frontal approach was best.
She looked indignant. “Yes, I’m upset,” she said. “I planned the party with you in mind, Mark. I reminded you more than once. I wanted you there early to greet the guests with me.”
He stared at her blankly.
“You don’t remember?”
She allowed a few more tears to fall.
He shook his head.
“I told you at your grandfather’s birthday. I told you that my parents were having a few friends over for dinner and wanted to introduce you. Except you didn’t appear. How could you?”
“When was this?”
Her eyes narrowed. “Last night.” She wadded up her handkerchief, realized what she was doing, and spread it out between her hands. “I’ve never been so embarrassed in my entire life.”
“I wasn’t here, Anne.”
“I know that. Your housekeeper told me. Why didn’t you tell me? Where were you? Why didn’t you tell me you were leaving Edinburgh?”
“I didn’t realize I was required to inform you of my whereabouts, Anne.”
She frowned at him. Was she annoyed because he’d missed her party or because he wasn’t apologizing to her?
He sat back in the chair, stretching his feet toward the fire. Sleet pinged against the windows. The wind was rising, the sighing becoming a presence in the silence of the room.
She blotted at her eyes.
“We aren’t going to be married, Anne,” he said.
Perhaps he should have regretted the bluntness of his statement, but she needed to realize the nature of their relationship. Once, he might have given some thought to marrying Anne. He wasn’t sure exactly when his opinion had changed.
She fisted her hands, pulling on the handkerchief with such force that he was certain she was going to tear it in two.
“I’m certain I gave you that impression,” he said, knowing he had. “I regret that.”
“You regret that?” Somehow, she managed to instill intense loathing into those three words.
He nodded.
The two spots of color on her cheeks seemed oddly out of keeping with the overall paleness of the rest of her complexion. He wondered if she was feeling well, then realized his concern would not be welcome.
Her brown eyes were not flashing at him now. Instead, they seemed dull and flat, as if she were attempting to conceal what she was feeling. Or perhaps ladylike rage made them appear that way.
“I see you as a friend, nothing more.” Was he making the situation worse with each word? From her look, it seemed he was. “I apologize for forgetting the event, but my patient came first.”
“You were gone because of a patient?” she asked.
Perhaps it wouldn’t be wise to continue that lie.
“I’m not going to explain where I was or why. The nature of our relationship does not mandate that I tell you my whereabouts or ask your permission.”
“What is the nature of our relationship?” she asked, her voice brittle.
“I consider you a friend,” he said.
She stood, impatiently twitching at her skirts.
“You are wrong, Mark. We are not friends. We are, from this moment on, no longer even acquaintances. I shall not greet you in public and I will tell my parents of this meeting, as well as your shameful behavior.”
“Do what you think is best,” he said, watching as she grabbed her cloak and made her way to the door.
Instead of following her, as a proper host and a gentleman, he sat back in the chair, staring at the fire. That was a relationship consigned to the bin.
He hadn’t thought about Anne at all in the last four days. In fact, he’d rarely thought of Anne with any intensity in the last few weeks. Instead, his thoughts had been filled with Catriona.
Stretching out his feet again, he felt the languor that came from fatigue. He needed to go and check on a few patients who concerned him, see Christel, perhaps. If nothing else, he should go and mollify Sarah. Instead, he sat there thinking of his errand and what he’d learned.
Not as much as he wanted, to solve the enigma that was Catriona. Or maybe he was seeing this all wrong. Perhaps she wasn’t the puzzle as much as his behavior was. He’d acted in a way that was alien to him. For the first time, he’d put medicine aside. He’d lost his dispassionate observation. He’d been a fool around her.
The time for his ruse was over. He needed to tell her who he was and get back to his practice full-time.
His reluctance to do so was curious and unsettling.
“It was nice for you to come to visit me, Your Grace,” Catriona said. “Especially since the weather is brutal.”
“I would have done so earlier had I known you were still convalescing. I am no stranger to injury, you know.”
The duke had fallen off his horse once, a tale he’d embellished so much that the horse had been portrayed as a wild and unruly beast. Of course, he also explained that he’d been extraordinarily brave during the setting of his broken leg.
“When you didn’t answer my letters, and wouldn’t respond in any way to my man, I knew I had to see you myself.”
“Your man?” she asked.
“I sent a footman to be my eyes. I gave him strict orders to see how you were doing. I even gave him a note to deliver into your own hands.”
For a frozen second in time she wondered if Mark was the duke’s spy. Then she immediately discounted that suspicion. Mark was so arrogant he would have told her. Or he might have even bragged about his position. Or, perhaps he was simply such a good spy that he was intent on discovering how injured she’d been in the accident.
Enough to bed her?
How convenient that Mark disappeared for a few days just before the duke’s arrival.
Her stomach clenched.
“I apologize for not responding to your correspondence sooner, Your Grace.”
“That is as it may be, my dear. We shan’t talk about it any further. Instead, may I beseech you to come out from behind the screen so that I can see your lovely face once more?”
He was evidently under the belief that she was playing coy or not looking her best, and for that reason had chosen to address him from behind a screen.
If he only knew the truth.
“I have come all the way from London, you see.”
“Have you? Is your footman from London as well?” Or was he blessed with a thick Scottish accent?
She could still feel his lips whispering against her skin.
“I regret, my dear, that the majority of my servants are from London. I would have felt better with Irish servants, but my countrymen don’t wish to be gone long from home.”
“Yet you, yourself, do not have such territorial restrictions,” she said.
He laughed merrily at that.
“I have missed you, my dear. When will you be returning to London?”
Never.
“Tell me about this footman of yours, Your Grace.”
“My footman? Dismiss the man from your mind.”
“I don’t remember him calling on me,” she said, determined to silence the little voice whispering in her mind.
“He called upon your aunt, I believe, who informed him that you were not receiving. He left and returned to my side, chagrined that he’d failed at his task.”
“He’s been at your side ever since?” she asked.
“I cannot say, for certain. I have a great many servants, you know.”
Now he would tell her how wealthy he was, a conversation they’d had on numerous occasions. She’d been taken with him because of his wealth, yet now she knew that wealth could not turn time backward. Wealth could not make her beautiful again.
What good was money when it couldn’t buy anything she wanted?
“I want to see you, my dear.”
&nb
sp; “Please honor my wishes, Your Grace. I would be more comfortable behind the screen.”
“As you wish, but are you certain?”
“I am.” Perhaps he would leave with memories of her from London, attired in a new frock, laughing at some old and tired jest. Perhaps he would remember the girl she’d been and carry that tale around Edinburgh.
“Are you in Scotland for long, Your Grace?”
She didn’t for a minute believe that he’d come to Scotland simply to see her. The Duke of Linster was too selfish a personage. Once, however, it would have been easy to convince herself otherwise.
“I’ve friends in Edinburgh.”
“It’s hunting season, isn’t it?”
“Is it? I believe you might be right, my dear.”
She smiled.
Was she an afternoon’s interlude? A mystery to solve, inserted into a blank space of time? Just what tale would he tell at the country party?
Just a short time ago she would have been thrilled to be an object of gossip. Now she cringed at the thought.
“Again, Your Grace, thank you for visiting.”
The screen both shielded her from view and hid the doorway to the dining room. She would slip away before his curiosity grew. Aunt Dina would be the apologetic hostess, offer him whiskey, some biscuits, and perhaps even solicit a donation for one of her causes.
But she would not reveal herself to the Duke of Linster.
She could just imagine the tale he’d spread of the monster she’d become.
Chapter 19
It was early afternoon by the time Mark instructed Brody to pull in behind the MacTavish residence. Before he saw Catriona, he wanted to speak to the coachman.
He’d never paid much attention to the bay where the carriage was stored. Now, as he walked to the opening, the smell of paraffin oil and wax was heavy in the air.
Johnstone, the coachman, was short and stocky with broad shoulders, the type of physique that made him think the man would be an admirable opponent in a fight. His face was florid and full, with jowls that nearly obscured his neck. His eyes were brown and unfriendly, narrowing as Mark entered the bay.
In the time he’d been here, he’d seen the man twice, and both times they’d nodded to each other, neither going out of his way to further the acquaintance.
He regretted that lapse now.
The coachman stared at him for a long unblinking moment before returning to his work.
He moved around the carriage, inspecting it. The vehicle was in perfect condition, dust free, the body polished to a high shine. Brody maintained his own carriage with matching diligence.
“Is there only one of you here?”
The coachman looked over at him. “I’ve a stable boy to help me.”
“Does Mrs. MacTavish attend a great many functions?”
“Enough.”
“You drive her to Old Town, don’t you?” He trailed his fingers over the leather of the guiding reins, an action that garnered him a frown.
“If I do?”
He shook his head. “I know a driver. He says that Old Town is dangerous, and he worries about his carriage.”
“I’ve much the same worries.”
“Mrs. MacTavish is a kind woman. Very generous.”
The coachman frowned at him but nodded. “Aye, that she is,” he said, continuing to rub down the driver’s seat of the carriage, even though it was so well polished that he could see the reflection of the timbered ceiling of the carriage house.
“Is that why you came back to Edinburgh after the accident and continue to remain in her employ?”
“I work for the Earl of Denbleigh,” the coachman said. “I came back to Edinburgh because it’s my home. I’d no objection to taking them to London, but I wasn’t going to live there.”
“So you were driving the night of the accident involving Miss Cameron?”
“Aye, I was.”
“How exactly did it happen? Have you any idea?”
“Why would you be wanting to know?”
“Because I’m curious,” he said, giving the man the truth. “It seems to be a mystery to most people.”
The coachman didn’t speak for some moments. He balled up his rag and tossed it on top of a nearby barrel.
“You’ll be solving a mystery for me first. Who are you? My nephew works as a footman for another house and he’s never given the freedom you are.”
Since he was on his way to tell Catriona the truth, he saw no reason why he shouldn’t divulge it to Johnstone, which he did.
“So it’s for Miss Cameron you’re here, then?”
He nodded.
Johnstone’s gaze moved to the left, then to the right, as if seeing the scene in his memory. A moment later his fleshy face firmed into an expression of resolve.
“I was told that I couldn’t be right. That I’d imagined it. That what I’d seen with my own eyes couldn’t possibly have happened. I learned to keep my mouth shut.”
Mark moved to stand directly in front of the coachman. “Who told you that? The earl?”
Johnstone shook his head. “The authorities in London. Still, it kept me silent well enough.”
“Tell me what you told them.”
“You’ll think me barmy, too.”
He didn’t respond, waiting.
Then, surprisingly, the coachman told him.
He was here.
He’d come back.
The most irritating man in the world was here, right at this moment, striding toward the kitchen door with his greatcoat open and his hair tossed by the blustery wind.
Catriona stepped back from the window, pressing her hand to her chest.
He looked angry.
What right did he have to be angry? He’d disappeared for four days, now he returned angry?
She would have him dismissed for certain.
Then she’d never see him again.
She’d never feel this pounding of her heart or the breathlessness that came from excitement.
She went into her bedroom, turned the mirror on top of the dresser, staring into it. She could see nothing but a veiled figure. Still, she wanted to be pretty. She wanted, desperately, to be beautiful at this moment.
Just once, to let him see what she had been.
When he entered the house, Elspeth greeted him. “Mrs. MacTavish wants to see you, Mark, the minute you arrive.”
He removed his greatcoat and hung it on the peg near the door. He removed his jacket also, not saying anything when the maid looked at him wide-eyed. A moment later he looked like a footman in a casual household, dressed in white shirt and black trousers. He bent and wiped the rest of the snow from his boots and stood.
She picked up a tray and handed it to him. “She’s in the parlor,” she said, tittering in that way young girls have. At any other time the sound might’ve coaxed forth his own smile.
He carried the tea things into the parlor but couldn’t find a place to put it. Every surface was filled with clothing of various types. Sitting in the middle of all the piles was Dina MacTavish, looking happier than he’d ever seen her.
“Isn’t this wonderful?” she asked, pushing aside a neat stack of shirts so he could set the tray down on the low table before the settee. “People have been so generous.”
“Is that all for Old Town?” he asked.
“It is. It couldn’t have come at a better time, what with the cold.” She beamed brightly up at him. “But that’s not all,” she said, waving him into a nearby chair. “The Duke of Linster called on Catriona yesterday.”
“Did he?” He sat and shook his head when she would have poured him a cup of tea.
“Yes, but that isn’t the most wonderful thing. What is the most wonderful thing is that Catriona met with him.”
“Did she?”
“Don’t you see, my dear Dr. Thorburn? You’ve achieved everything I wanted you to do. Catriona isn’t hiding in her room anymore, and the duke—the man who nearly offered for her in London�
��was sitting in my parlor. Imagine that.”
She twinkled at him, clapping the tips of her fingers together. “Yes. Isn’t it the most marvelous thing?”
He wasn’t certain how marvelous it was.
The Duke of Linster was wealthy, but the man’s reputation as a libertine was well known even in Edinburgh.
He didn’t have a title. Nor did he want one. His father couldn’t deny him the title of Lord Serridain when he advanced to the Earl of Caithnern, but that circumstance would be surrounded by the loss of his grandfather. Hardly cause for celebration.
Why the hell had Catriona met with the duke?
Every woman in his life was bedeviling him. Were they all corresponding with each other? Did they slip each other notes in the middle of the night? I’ll weep in front of Mark because he forgot a party. I’ll lose all common sense and be happy that an Irish duke is visiting my niece. Even his mother had joined the chorus, sending him a note that intimated he was in trouble on that front, too. Surely the rumors I’m hearing couldn’t possibly be true, Mark. I had always given you credit for having common sense.
Common sense? He’d lost his mind ever since he’d decided to play footman to Catriona Cameron. Common sense? He had no sense at all.
“I think it’s time we told her,” Dina was saying.
He nodded. It was beyond time.
Why hadn’t he told Catriona who he was before now? Did his reluctance have anything to do with the fact that she would have banished him the minute the words were out of his mouth? He knew how she felt about doctors. After having read the London idiot’s letter, he couldn’t blame her.
Today was the end to it all.
He stood. “I’ll see to that right now,” he said.
Mrs. MacTavish sent him a warm look, as if she knew just how difficult the next moments would be.
When Catriona answered the knock on the door, she was ready.
“I’m not hungry,” she said, pulling the door open and facing Mark.
