Love would be subjugated beneath practicality.
When they arrived home she thanked James as she left the carriage, knowing he would wait until she climbed the steps to the front door before pulling around to the stables. Having lived above the newspaper for years, she understood why Macrath had opted for a large home. But the house, with its three floors, twenty-two rooms, and a dozen fireplaces, was too big for the four of them. Eight people, if you added the maids.
Still, it seemed petty to complain about the luxury in which she lived. Macrath had derived a great deal of joy from providing for all of them. The least she could do was be silent and thankful.
Opening the door, she stepped inside, grateful for her work schedule. No one in the household would think it was odd if she were later than usual. She could attribute it to a dozen different things, all having to do with the paper.
“You missed our meeting.”
She jumped when Robert emerged from the darkness at the bottom of the stairs.
Placing a hand over her thumping heart, she looked at the man. “You startled me.”
“You missed our meeting.”
Every week, on Wednesday night, Robert insisted on going over all the bills again with her. Since he never let an amount go unchallenged, either with the vendor or with her, the meeting was not necessary. Even so, she always set aside some time for him to rail at her once again, since doing so seemed to give him pleasure.
Tonight, however, she’d gone to see the Lord Provost.
“Can’t it wait, Robert?”
“Not unless you’re determined to ruin the company your father built.”
She really needed to talk to Macrath about him.
“Very well,” she said, pulling off her gloves. “Let me make this short for you. I erred. I spent too much. I was wrong. There, our meeting is done.”
“You do not treat this with the solemnity it requires, Mairi.”
She sighed. “I am not wasteful, Robert. You seem to forget that all of the money I’m spending is money I’ve earned.”
“Because of your father’s company.”
Had he never paid any attention to how many hours she put in at the paper? Even when she didn’t feel well, she was at work. She often took her meals at the kitchen table while she wrote notes to herself or finished up a broadside. Did he think she didn’t worry about what she was doing or how to increase subscribers?
Evidently not, or he wouldn’t level that disapproving stare on her.
“You’re paying those boys too much.”
“I am not cutting the hawkers’ wages,” she said, not bothering to tell him that she suspected it was the only income their families had in some lean weeks.
He looked as if he would say something but only shook his head.
“I owe it to your father to keep your habits in check. And to Macrath.”
She was most definitely going to talk to her brother.
Without giving Robert another chance to comment, she walked away, hoping he didn’t follow her into the kitchen.
Grateful that the kettle was full, she made herself some tea. She sat at the table, staring down into her cup. Fenella purchased the most wonderful blend of teas. This one was what they drank at night, a fragrant, lightly colored tea that smelled like flowers and had a delicate taste.
What did it matter what she drank? After the incident at the provost’s house, she doubted she would sleep anyway. Even now she could close her eyes and see Logan’s teasing smile.
The door opened and she sighed inwardly, readying herself for another battle with Robert. Instead of the older man, however, Fenella stood there.
“We need to talk, Mairi,” she said.
“Has Robert been fussing at you, too?”
Fenella shook her head, coming to sit opposite her.
“I know exactly what you’re going to say,” Mairi said before her cousin could speak.
“You do?” Fenella asked.
“I’ve been rude and inconsiderate. I should have sent word that I wasn’t going to make dinner.”
“We don’t hold dinner for you most nights, Mairi. You’re often working.”
“I know,” she said, staring down into her cup. “I wasn’t working tonight. I was at the Lord Provost’s house.”
“You were?”
Mairi nodded. “You can’t say anything to me that I haven’t already said to myself. I’ve been a fool in a dozen ways.”
“You have?”
“I don’t know what’s happening to me,” she said. “I’m a blithering idiot around the man.”
She made herself meet Fenella’s eyes. “About tonight. I should have let you know but I had no idea I was going to stay. One moment I’m in his library and the next I’m eating soup.”
At Fenella’s silence, she continued. “I should have been prepared, but Harrison was entirely too charming.”
“Was he?”
“No man should be that charming,” Mairi said. “Especially him. He should be forced to wear a sign, something to warn an unsuspecting woman.”
“I would never have considered you an unsuspecting woman, Mairi.”
“See? That’s exactly what I mean. I went there to demand he stop trying to ruin the Gazette, and before I knew it . . .” Her words trailed away. She was not going to tell Fenella about reaching under Harrison’s kilt.
“How is he ruining the Gazette?” Fenella asked, her eyes wide.
Mairi stared down into her almost empty cup, took a deep breath, and told her cousin about the reversals they’d suffered in the last two days.
“Was that entirely wise, Mairi, accusing him?”
She shook her head. “No. Not wise at all. Nothing I’ve done around the man has been wise. I can’t even talk around him.”
She looked over at Fenella.
“There’s something almost wicked about the man. If I believed in such things, I’d think him enchanted. One of the wee folk transformed into the Lord Provost.”
Fenella smiled.
“I would very much like to say that I handled myself with comportment and decorum. I don’t think that’s true at all.”
“What is the truth?” Fenella asked, tilting her head to one side like an inquisitive bird.
“He’s very handsome,” Mairi said. “He has a way of looking at you that makes you want to spill all your secrets to him or tell him things you never dreamed of revealing to anyone.”
“Do you?” Fenella asked, wide-eyed. “Did you?”
Mairi sighed again. “I came very close. I have to stay away from him, that’s obvious. Very far away from him.”
“Whenever I hear a woman talk about a man in such a manner,” her cousin said, “I think it’s because she’s attracted to him. Are you attracted to the Lord Provost?”
“Yes. No. Perhaps. I don’t know.” She shook her head. “All those answers and maybe more.”
Fenella’s hazel eyes gleamed. Reaching across the table, she patted Mairi’s clenched hands.
“I think you’re attracted to him and have been from the very beginning.”
“I hope not,” Mairi said. “Nothing can come of it. He and I are opposites in every way. He’s an annoying man who has little use for women.”
“How can a man be charming and annoying at the same time?”
“I don’t know, but he can. I think it’s better to avoid him at all costs. From this moment on there is no Lord Provost of Edinburgh. Logan Harrison does not exist.”
“Are you certain it’s wise to make such a rash statement?”
“It’s not rash, just practical. I need to devote myself to the paper. I’ve allowed myself to be too distracted lately.”
“Mairi . . .” Fenella began.
“I know, Fenella. I know. I need to pay more attention to my work. I’ve even been impatient with Allan.”
“About that, Mairi—”
“Men are not worth the trouble or the aggravation. Any woman who devotes her life to a man is a fool, a
nd I’m most definitely not a fool.”
“He isn’t Calvin, Mairi.”
The words were said gently, but Mairi felt her stomach clench nonetheless.
“I know he isn’t.”
“Just because you had one bad experience doesn’t mean it would happen again.”
“It doesn’t mean it wouldn’t,” she said. “Right at the moment, I don’t want to think about attraction or love or anything remotely like that.”
She looked up at her cousin.
“Thank heavens you’re more sensible than that, Fenella.”
Fenella smiled, but remained silent as she left the room.
Chapter 11
Thomas had alerted Logan to the meeting tonight. His secretary had offered to attend in his stead, but he’d waved Thomas home. Tonight was Thomas’s first year anniversary, and Logan didn’t want to interfere with the occasion. Besides, it would do him good to see the Scottish Ladies National Association in person. He had yet to allow their petition to be voted on in council. Perhaps this meeting would give him a little more insight into the character of the group.
To his surprise—and why should he be surprised, when she was at the center of his thoughts lately?—Mairi Sinclair was the featured speaker.
Nearly a quarter of the large audience was men. Evidently, they found something of value in the SLNA. His curiosity grew along with his discomfort about being recognized.
Since he didn’t want to give the audience members the idea that he approved of the organization’s purpose or even this meeting, he pulled Mrs. MacPherson aside and explained that he was here personally and not in his position as Lord Provost.
Mrs. MacPherson smiled at him, revealing a charm that some much younger women would do well to emulate.
“I have just the spot for you, Provost Harrison,” she said.
She led him to an alcove not far from the entrance to the ballroom. From here he could easily see the stage as well as the audience, yet be hidden from their view.
“We call it the nest,” she said, “for girls who are not old enough to attend a ball. Here they can sit and watch the proceedings without being seen.”
He thanked her, and once again she smiled, her beauty evident despite her age.
Mairi was already seated, along with two women he didn’t know. She stared out at the audience dispassionately, as if she were bored with the proceedings. He wondered if that was the case or whether she was just better, in a public forum, at hiding her feelings.
She didn’t try to mask what she felt around him.
Mairi sat on the straight-back wooden chair on the back of the stage hoping her panic did not show to the audience. Her face was arranged in a rictus of composure; she could feel the strain in the muscles of her jaw. Beside her were two women to whom she’d been introduced but whose names she couldn’t remember now.
She was lucky to be able to recall her own at the moment.
Tonight she had dressed in dark brown, not because it was a color that favored her, although it did. The shade was also sober, making her appear more like a matron than a single woman.
Sound carried very well in the ballroom where she sat, a necessity for the small orchestra normally arranged on this stage. She could hear bits of conversation, scraps of talk between the audience members, none of which referred to her or even the topic for tonight’s speech.
No one had told her that the gathering would be quite so large.
There were at least two hundred people here. She had thought a few dozen would attend. At the most, perhaps fifty. Instead, Josephine MacPherson’s ballroom was filled with a sea of chairs, now occupied by people slowly turning to stare at the stage where she sat.
If they were expecting her to faint, they were going to be sorely disappointed. She’d never fainted in her life. Now might be the ideal time, however. Her hands were cold, her breath shallow, and her pulse was racing so quickly she wondered if she would even be able to speak.
Mrs. MacPherson, the woman hosting this meeting of the Scottish Ladies National Association, was moving to stand at the front of the stage. The woman was well known in Edinburgh, being a philanthropist of sorts. The widow of a wealthy cotton mill owner in Glasgow, she’d moved to Edinburgh to be closer to family. In the last year, she’d embraced the cause of women’s equality with open arms and reticule.
A fine web of wrinkles covered her face, but you didn’t think of age when talking to Mrs. MacPherson as much as humor. Her mouth was always curved in a smile, and the expression in her soft blue eyes was filled with wisdom and understanding. Her crown of brilliant white hair made her appear taller and younger than her seventy odd years.
Her voice, soft yet resonant, calmed the audience immediately. People leaned forward to hear her better.
The SLNA had been turned down for every hall they wanted to rent for the occasion, which was why they were meeting in Mrs. MacPherson’s ballroom. Still, it felt a little odd to be delivering an address on such a serious topic when above her was a mural featuring scantily clad gods and goddesses cavorting among the clouds.
She was abruptly reminded of Logan Harrison.
The very last person she needed to be thinking about was the Lord Provost, especially since she was trying to compose herself.
Someone had a liking for fresh air and opened the windows along one wall despite the fact that it had only just stopped sleeting. The cold dampness seeped into her skin and made a disaster of her hair. Why was she concerned about whether her hair frizzed? People had not come here to see her. Instead, they wanted to know what she thought. At least, she hoped they did.
She looked down at her notes, realizing she couldn’t focus on what she’d written. She’d spent hours rehearsing her speech and couldn’t remember one single point.
A smattering of polite applause sent Mairi’s stomach to her toes. It was time. She would have to stand, walk the few feet to the front of the stage without tripping and falling.
Moving to Mrs. MacPherson’s side, she thanked the woman for her kindness and the fulsome introduction. She hadn’t heard a word of it, and hopefully Mrs. MacPherson hadn’t expanded on her qualifications too much.
She cleared her throat, looked out at all the faces staring back at her, and realized she couldn’t address this many people. She could, however, talk to one person, so she selected one in the third row, a young woman who’d untied the ribbon of her bonnet as if it chafed her under the chin.
Mairi had done that so many times she felt an instant kinship.
“I was born Mairi Anne Sinclair, in Edinburgh. I have always been proud to call myself a Scot. My family has lived in Edinburgh for as long as there was a city.”
She straightened her shoulders.
“When I was a little girl, I was conscious of the fact that my brother and I were different. Not only in the way we looked and how we wished to play, but in our futures.
“My father assumed my brother was going to run the paper when he got older. I was going to marry and have children. I didn’t see anything wrong with that future, but it hasn’t come to pass. There was no other option for me. That’s what I was told. That’s what I was shown.”
She cleared her throat again.
“When my father died, and my brother no longer expressed an interest in the paper, I took it over. I became the editor of the Edinburgh Gazette and worked very hard to ensure the paper survived. I worked in a job that was considered a man’s position. I did the job well even though there were many times when I had to pretend to be a man.”
She saw many women nod their heads.
“I’m here tonight to tell you my story. To explain that I am like a great many women who have taken on jobs that are not considered proper for our sex. None of us, I believe, want approbation for our actions. We do not wish to be lauded for what we are doing, only to be allowed to continue to do it.”
The room seemed to grow quieter, as if she’d caught their attention.
“But we are not martyrs
to our cause. We do not wish to toil in anonymity and merely be grateful to be given a chance to earn a living. What we wish is to be treated like any other citizen of Edinburgh, of Scotland. We want to matter. We want to be able to choose, to take our place with other citizens.
“Right now, if I disagree with a politician, I have no recourse. If I am married, I might try to convince my husband of my thoughts. If I am not married, I am disenfranchised. I am invisible. I am one of the anonymous people who labor in the shadows.
“It is time for women to stand in the sunlight, to say to every single man, ‘Look at me. I count. I matter. I think, therefore my thoughts should be heard.’ ”
She hadn’t much practice in public speaking. Logan could tell that from the moment she opened her mouth. Instead of the husky voice he remembered so well, her tone was high-pitched and almost shrill.
If she would accept his help, he could give her some advice. He’d given a thousand speeches in his life.
He found himself listening to her words, not the way they were delivered. She spoke simply, telling the audience who she was, neither elevating herself nor claiming false modesty. Her reasons for wanting the vote were sympathetic, her arguments well thought out.
He wasn’t against the vote for women. What rankled him was when a group demanded that the status quo be overturned without due deliberation. Or claimed that he had deliberately deprived them of their rights. He’d done nothing of the sort. Nor had any other man of his acquaintance. If they were guilty of anything, it was of following the law.
If the women of Scotland believed they deserved the vote, there was a way to change the law. Petition the government, convince representatives, sway Parliament, anything constructive.
It occurred to him that perhaps he’d misjudged the SLNA, because it looked as if they were attempting to do just that. Mairi’s speech was impressive. Her words were capable of winning over the men and women in the audience.
Four men suddenly appeared in the doorway behind him. Dressed as workmen with short coats, scarves knotted at their necks, and hats pulled low over their foreheads, they began speaking loudly. Their language was so foul that several of the women turned and glared, outraged, at the intruders.
The Witch Of Clan Sinclair Page 9
