In Your Wildest Scottish Dreams

by Karen Ranney

  As a child, Glynis had been difficult to contain, as wild as the wind and as fierce as her ancestors. The MacIains had come down from the Highlands to make their mark in the world. Somehow she’d inherited every bit of pride and rebelliousness from them.

  Eleanor and Hamish sometimes looked at her as if surprised to find this beautiful, untamed creature in their midst.

  On her return to Glasgow, Lennox had the impression she’d been pressed into a mold, shaped and trimmed until she represented the essence of propriety.

  At least until she’d kissed him.

  In his mind’s eye he’d always seen her as she had been in the anteroom, young and beautiful, poised on the edge of her life. He had no idea that the past seven years would give her a wariness she’d never before had. Even her mannerisms were smaller, as if she were afraid to call attention to herself. She didn’t reveal her emotions easily. Yet beneath the veneer she was still Glynis, still capable of surprising him.

  The kiss had reaffirmed it.

  WHEN DESSERT ARRIVED—lemon posset served with shortbread—Glynis almost sang hosannas because it meant she might be able to leave within the hour.

  Charlotte had other ideas.

  They stood up from the dinner table, but instead of returning to the parlor, Charlotte insisted on showing them the large lantern-lit patio and the hillside view of Glasgow.

  Glynis murmured the appropriate niceties at the shrouded plants, escaping back into the house when she could.

  In the parlor, she stood in front of the cold fireplace, staring down at the brass andirons. When someone entered the room, she glanced up, to find Lennox striding toward her.

  He was like those steamships he built, proud, dominating, the equal of anything on the oceans. Perhaps he gave part of himself to his creation, like a painter imbues a painting with his essence of himself or a writer gives over part of his soul to his work.

  She really shouldn’t be alone with him. Last night she’d kissed him. What would she do now? Throw herself down on the settee and demand to be taken?

  What on earth would Charlotte do if she witnessed a scene like that? Scream? She could just imagine the other woman’s expression.

  “Why are you smiling?” Lennox asked.

  She was definitely not going to tell him. Instead, she asked, “Did you admire the gardens?”

  “Admired, praised, admired and praised some more. I also thanked her for the dinner and threw in a bit more praise about the meal.”

  They exchanged a glance and she was the first to look away.

  Her mouth was suddenly dry. He really mustn’t have an effect on her.

  “I’ve met Mr. Lincoln, you know,” she said. “He’s an exceptionally kind man. He wanted to know where I was brought up and what Scotland was like.”

  “While I’m not exceptionally kind, is that the point?”

  “I haven’t heard anyone say anything bad about you,” she said. “In fact, people normally praise you in my company. You pay your workers more than the other shipbuilders. You donate to a great many causes. I daresay you even feed the poor, albeit anonymously. You are a paragon of virtue, Lennox, and the rest of us have no choice but to be in awe of you.”

  “Everyone but you, that is,” he said, nodding once at her. “Not with your experience of meeting the important people of the world. How I must pale in comparison.”

  “On the contrary,” she said, “you don’t pale at all. In fact, I would say, of all the people I met, you might rank as one of the most memorable.”

  Should she have really admitted that?

  No, she shouldn’t, because his eyes warmed. With that look, he created a hollow space in her chest, made her realize how foolish she was in his company.

  She went to sit on the settee and he joined her. He really should have sat on the chair opposite her, or farther down the settee. He was close enough to touch. Close enough that if he leaned over just a little, they might be able to kiss.

  She closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and tried to regain her poise.

  “I would say the same about you, Glynis MacIain. You’re one of the most memorable women I’ve ever known. Perhaps you’re at the very top of my list.”

  Her eyes flew open. He shouldn’t have the ability to twist her into knots with a few words.

  Thankfully, Mr. Whittaker chose that moment to stroll into the parlor.

  “I imagine the garden is nice in the daylight. I can’t tell a rose from the nasturtium, though. My Lucy says her gardens at home are more impressive.”

  They chatted about plants for a few minutes before Mr. Whittaker moved away, admiring the collection of music boxes in the corner.

  “Is she truly that miserable a person?” Glynis asked in a low voice. “Or am I simply not seeing her attributes? Mr. Whittaker seems to adore her.”

  “Men are sometimes blind that way,” he said. “Especially about the women they adore.”

  Her eyes met his.

  Had he adored Rose? If so, why had he broken their engagement? The gossips of Glasgow had probably spent months talking about it. Had he minded?

  “Now I have a little surprise for you,” Charlotte said, bustling into the room followed by four children, two of whom looked to be the same age.

  To Glynis’s dismay, Charlotte had an entertainment planned by her offspring. The smallest didn’t want to perform and whined through the entire performance conducted by Archie, with Charlotte beaming with pride.

  In Washington the evenings were more formal. The children of the elite were often neither seen nor heard. She’d known women months before she discovered they were also mothers.

  She clapped when the off-pitch warblings of the MacNamara clan were done, both in appreciation of their parents’ determination and the fact that the children were finished.

  Charlotte had other ideas.

  “He has memorized a poem,” she said before stepping back to allow her eldest son to be the focus of attention.

  For the sake of Charlotte’s friendship, she kept her face impassive. She’d endured many an opera diva’s recital in Washington. The last entertainment she’d attended, a day before Richard died, featured a soprano’s performance of war tunes. The woman’s high-pitched rendition of “Battle Hymn of the Republic” had been painful to hear.

  Now Charlotte’s poor child had to be prompted through the last part of the poem and looked ready to cry.

  She caught Lennox’s look. She suspected he was wondering how soon he could make his escape. His lips quirked as if he caught her thoughts.

  After they applauded, the children were led away to be tucked into bed. In his wife’s absence, Archibald moved to the sideboard, helped by a maid. Mr. Whittaker and Lennox were speaking, something to do with the Raven. Lucy chose that moment to lean close to her.

  “You’re not what you seem to be, Mrs. Smythe,” Lucy said.

  The woman’s eyes were narrowed, her mouth pursed. Any prettiness she possessed disappeared, replaced by a venomous look.

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “Everyone thinks you’re sweet and proper but you’re neither.”

  She stared at Lucy. What did she know? Nothing. She couldn’t know anything unless she’d talked to Baumann, and she doubted the man would confide in the wife of a Confederate captain.

  “I saw you. You were kissing him.”

  Lucy glanced at Lennox, still involved in a discussion with Mr. Whittaker.

  “You and Lennox in the garden. I saw you.”

  The maid’s sudden appearance prevented her from responding. She thrust a tray of MacNamara Candies in front of her. Since Archibald was beaming in her direction, she had no choice but to take one. The chocolate was so sweet she felt it in her front teeth, but she managed a polite comment all the same.

  She deliberately avoided looking in Lucy’s direction. With any luck the woman would leave Glasgow within a few days. The sooner, the better.

  Just when she was thinking of plausible excuses to shor
ten the evening, Lennox stood, extending his apologies for having to leave.

  “Oh, dear Lennox, I do understand,” Charlotte said. “You’re so busy nowadays. I’m so grateful the three of you could join us if only for a little while.”

  “Well, we need to skedaddle, too,” Mr. Whittaker said, holding out his hand for his wife. “We thank you for the dinner. And for the entertainment from the little ones.”

  Lucy sent one last frown toward her, then stood, accompanied by the two men.

  An unwritten rule in polite circles was that after the first guest departed, the second guest had to allow sufficient time to pass before also leaving. Otherwise, it gave the hostess the impression that all her guests were disappearing en masse.

  Lennox glanced in her direction, his small smile telling her that he knew he’d succeeded in trapping her here with the MacNamaras for a little while longer.

  After he and the Whittakers left, the house felt strangely empty. She accepted another cup of tea, listened to Archie pontificate about the ruin of the family caused by the love of alcohol and discussed Charlotte’s children.

  All the while she wondered about Lucy. If a kiss had scandalized the woman, it was a good thing it hadn’t gone further.

  She was fool enough to lay down in the garden if Lennox had wanted to love her, an admission that should have shamed her but strangely didn’t.

  Evidently, the nineteen-year-old Glynis hadn’t disappeared entirely.

  Chapter 17

  “Do you think Duncan will be successful in London?” Eleanor asked.

  Glynis shared a look with her mother, thought about answering honestly, then padded the truth.

  “I’m sure he will,” she said.

  “I hate that the land must be sold, but these are difficult times.”

  Glynis nodded. She thought her brother was doing something other than selling their property, but Duncan hadn’t confided in her.

  The hour was early but she hadn’t been able to sleep, slipping downstairs to make herself a cup of tea, only to discover her mother and Mabel had the same idea.

  Now she sat with her mother at the kitchen table listing the economies they could implement. Mabel worked in the background, the smell of scones perfuming the air.

  They could start with eating less beef, only baking bread once a week, and reducing their clothing expenses.

  “I have a new dress on order,” Eleanor said. “I’ll cancel it.”

  “I doubt you need to do that. But perhaps no new garments for a while after that one?”

  Her mother nodded.

  “We have to keep Mary. If we don’t, heaven knows what will happen to the poor girl. She’s no family, and being with child and all . . .” Eleanor’s voice trailed away.

  Nor would her mother think of getting rid of Mabel and Lily. They were no longer simply servants. Now they were friends.

  If only Duncan had agreed to take a loan from Lennox, they wouldn’t be in this predicament. She should have been more forceful in her attempts to convince Lennox. Perhaps she should have offered him something in exchange.

  I’ll bed you if you help save the mill.

  What would he have said to that?

  Shame should have warmed her at the thought, but it wasn’t shame racing through her body, it was excitement.

  Would he have taken her offer? Would he have been interested? Would he be now?

  It wouldn’t be a sacrifice loving Lennox, not when she’d imagined it for most of the last seven years. What would it be like having his hands skim over her body? Having him kiss her everywhere?

  She pressed the back of her hand against her hot cheek. She needed to stop thinking of Lennox.

  When Mabel passed a plate of raisin scones to her, she smiled and took one.

  “I think you make the best scones in the whole world,” she told the cook. “I could eat a dozen every day.”

  “You’re a bit thin, Miss Glynis. You could do with that many or more.”

  Both her mother and Mabel smiled at her. She was not going to tell them she nearly starved in the last months in Washington. She’d do anything to prevent them from having to suffer the same fate.

  Last night Lennox had been charming, fascinating, and too alluring.

  I would say the same about you, Glynis MacIain.

  What had that meant?

  No, she would not think about him. He didn’t exist.

  She would have all the windows painted black to obscure the view of Hillshead. She would wear earplugs to deafen herself to the sound of his name. She would implore her mother and Duncan to treat the man as if he were a leper. Maybe they’d even ring a bell when he approached.

  Unclean! Unclean!

  She’d lived for years without the sight of him. Perhaps she thought about him periodically, but only when homesick. Or when a bit of music made her heart swell. Or when she was achy and wanting to cry. Or when the dawn broke over Washington and streaks of pink and blue reminded her of a Scottish sky. Or at times in a crowded room when she was surrounded by others but curiously felt alone on a silent island.

  He rarely entered her mind otherwise.

  She couldn’t stop herself from recalling his smile, the way his eyes gleamed when amused, and the sound of his voice.

  Why had he smelled of pine trees the night before?

  She wanted him to laugh again. This time she’d put her hand against his chest to feel the echo of his laughter and the reassuring beat of his heart. She wanted to charm him, delight him, and make him smile.

  Most of all, she wanted to kiss him again.

  She could imagine what Lucy Whittaker would have said if she’d kissed Lennox more than once.

  No, she would not think of Lennox. She must apply herself to the task at hand, ensuring the household could function more frugally.

  She showed her list to her mother, along with the sums she’d totaled. If they practiced a few economies in purchasing food, sold one of the carriages and two of the horses, they could save twenty-five percent of the monthly budget.

  Eleanor sent a quick glance in Mabel’s direction.

  “We wouldn’t have to make any staff changes?” she asked in a low voice.

  “Not now.”

  If things didn’t change, however, they’d have to let everyone go. Either that or all starve genteelly together.

  Her mother nodded and sighed.

  “It isn’t Duncan’s fault,” she said, compelled to defend her brother.

  Her mother patted her hand. “Of course it isn’t, dear. I know. I wish there was something more I could do.”

  She wondered what her mother would have said if she confessed the same. Or told her she was more than prepared to act the harlot in order to save the mill.

  How altruistic she sounded, when it was anything but the truth. She wanted Lennox to love her, toss her on the ground, and end all the years of curiosity and wondering. With him, physical love wouldn’t be abhorrent. If he touched her, she wouldn’t want to scrub her skin for hours.

  When the knocker at the front door sounded she looked at her mother.

  “Are you expecting anyone?”

  “Not this early,” Eleanor said, shaking her head.

  Rather than send Lily, Glynis stood and walked down the hall. She swung the door open, staring at the man standing between the Grecian columns, and felt her stomach fall to her toes.

  “What do you want?” she asked Matthew Baumann.

  LENNOX’S DAY had begun at dawn, which was not unusual. The list of tasks to be done before turning over the Raven to Gavin tomorrow had grown exponentially over the last few days.

  He made his way downstairs, encountering Hillshead’s cook as he passed through to the stables.

  “What is it, Peggy?” he asked.

  Their cook was a diminutive woman with a shock of white hair she kept wound in a braid at the back of her head. Tendrils of hair always managed to escape, surrounding her wrinkled face and giving her a halo.

  Sh
e surprised him today by turning to him with tears in her eyes.

  “It’s Garrison, sir. He has a cough something awful,” she said. “I’ve tried me mam’s recipe and he goes on coughing.”

  “I’ll send my doctor over to see him,” he said.

  She sighed. “I’ve been told there’s an English syrup that’ll help.”

  “Let’s see what the doctor says first.”

  She nodded.

  Her husband had worked for Cameron and Company for years before retiring a few months ago. Garrison was a talented woodcarver who’d been responsible for the balusters surrounding the deck of their ships, the decorative trim of the captain’s wheel, and other details in the captain’s cabin. When he was a boy, the old man had carved him small animals, each one a perfect miniature. He still had them, carefully stored in a trunk in the attic.

  “I’ll send my doctor over to see him. Don’t worry.”

  Peggy nodded, her smile tremulous.

  He patted her awkwardly on the shoulder, then made his way to his carriage.

  The day was humid, the threat of a storm graying the sky. The rain wouldn’t slow up the finishing touches on the Raven. All the painting had already been done and had a few days to dry so the excess moisture in the air wouldn’t bubble the finish.

  Nothing was going to delay turning over the ship to the Confederacy.

  “Where to first, sir?” his driver asked, standing at the open door.

  “The MacIain home.”

  Tim nodded.

  Duncan’s problems continued to bother him. Lennox knew enough about the mill to know that if maintenance of the Lancashire looms wasn’t being performed, there would be even more problems when they were finally put back into service.

  He doubted Duncan had the money to perform the necessary work, just as he suspected his friend was using his personal funds to support the mill.

  Duncan’s pride was a wall between them, one he intended to knock down. He was early enough that he could intercept Duncan before he went to the mill.

  A few minutes later the carriage slowed before the house. He frowned as he saw Glynis standing at the front door.

  What the hell was Baumann doing here? Even more importantly, why was she talking to a man she professed to despise?