In Your Wildest Scottish Dreams Page 2

  He didn’t say a word as she swiveled on her heel and turned toward the receiving line.

  Pressing her fingers against her diaphragm, she drew in a deep breath. Her stomach gradually settled and her pulse slowed, yet a hollow feeling lingered in the center of her chest.

  Perhaps if she didn’t glance in his direction she’d eventually recover her composure.

  She tried to focus on something else, anything else, the chandeliers, for example. William Cameron had them imported from France. Hundreds of candles in the six massive chandeliers illuminated the space. Crystal droplets hung from each of the tiers of branches bouncing rainbows throughout the ballroom.

  The floors were marble and as slick as glass, forcing her to be cautious as she headed for the receiving line.

  The arched windows were polished like crystal, mirroring all the brightly dressed women and the men in their formal black.

  Catching sight of her reflection in her conservative mauve dress, she deliberately glanced away.

  She passed the two buffet tables, each stacked with ornate brass structures holding a dozen types of cakes, biscuits, tarts, and candies. An army of maids carrying food in from the kitchen ensured that Hillshead’s guests never lacked for any delicacy. Trays were filled with every sort of food from salmon to ices, and three different punch bowls offered beverages ranging from fruit punch to something more potent.

  William Cameron had built the house after the shipyard in Russia began to show a profit twenty years ago. Over the years he’d added to the structure until Hillshead boasted a staggering sixty-seven rooms. Two wings plus the main structure housed twenty-four bedrooms, twelve bathing chambers, an assortment of parlors, sitting rooms, music rooms, a dozen rooms set aside for the staff, a formal dining room, a breakfast room, and a family dining room.

  “How do you decide where to eat?” she asked Mary once.

  Lennox’s sister smiled at the question. “Mostly in the family dining room,” she said. “We use the formal dining room when we have guests.”

  Since Cameron and Company transacted business all over the world and Hillshead hosted many foreign visitors, she knew they must use the formal dining room often.

  Tonight the crowd was much too large to be accommodated in any place other than the ballroom. The whole of Glasgow, it seemed, had been invited to honor William Cameron for receiving the Imperial Order of St. Stanislaus. The elder Cameron had been rewarded for his efforts in expanding Russia’s shipbuilding industry.

  The impressive gilded medal with its cerulean and scarlet ribbon hung in a display case in the foyer. Russian dignitaries tended to be dramatic people and their awards no less so.

  The Camerons had changed the decor since she’d been here last, opting for cerulean draperies against paler blue walls. The alcove where she’d once waited for Lennox was no longer curtained. Instead, two settees upholstered in scarlet had been placed there with potted ferns on either side.

  The colors reminded her of the ribbon on the medal.

  Had Lennox opted for a Russian theme for his home?

  Why hadn’t he opted for a Russian wife? Why hadn’t he married Lidia Bobrova?

  He hadn’t married anyone. A successful and handsome man would be the catch of Glasgow. Why was he still unmarried?

  Richard’s voice echoed in her memory. “Curiosity is an unwelcome character trait, Glynis.”

  A shriek warned her seconds before she was enveloped in a brown silk hug. Her breath left in a gasp as arms tightened around her.

  “Glynis! Glynis! Glynis! Oh, my dear Glynis, here you are! I’ve missed you ever so much!”

  “Charlotte?”

  She took a cautious step back until her childhood friend reluctantly released her.

  “You’re just the same,” Charlotte said, her broad smile as bright as the chandelier overhead. “I’ve gained six stone and you’ve not changed at all.”

  She’d changed in hidden ways. Once, she wouldn’t have paid any attention to Charlotte’s effusiveness. Now her old friend’s praise and welcome, as well as the sidelong looks from others, embarrassed her.

  “You’re just the same as well,” she said, skilled at lying. She’d had countless opportunities to practice the art of prevarication in Washington.

  I’ve heard nothing about the course of the war, ma’am. I’m certain you’re correct and the unpleasantries will end soon.

  Yes, sir, your wife is a charming, pleasant woman. I enjoy being in her company and anticipate meeting her at future events.

  No, husband, I won’t complain. I’m among the most fortunate of women.

  “Nonsense,” Charlotte said. “I’ve four children and I’ve gained three stone with each of the last two.” Her laugh bounced around the room until people turned to stare.

  Must she call attention to them? Warmth traveled up from her feet to lodge at the back of her neck.

  “You’ll come to dinner,” Charlotte said. “To meet all the MacNamaras.”

  “Yes, of course,” she answered, trying to recall a man by the name of MacNamara.

  Charlotte studied her mauve dress, her plump face crinkling into a mask of sympathy.

  “Did you love him very much? You’re too young to be a widow, Glynis. I’m so sorry. Did he die in the American war?”

  “No, a carriage accident.”

  If Charlotte hadn’t outgrown her love of gossip, any news she shared would soon spread like a winter breeze through Glasgow. All Glynis had to do was ensure her fellow Glaswegians knew nothing more about Richard.

  Charlotte once again swathed her in a brown silk hug.

  “God never gives you something you can’t handle.”

  How many times had someone told her that in the last nineteen months? Often enough that she only nodded in response now.

  “I must go and greet Mr. Cameron.”

  “You will come to dinner?”

  “Of course,” she said, hoping Charlotte forgot about the invitation.

  She moved away with a smile. There, the second person she’d escaped from tonight.

  Would the entire evening consist of her bouncing from one encounter to the next as the past reached out to swallow her?

  She turned and caught sight of Lennox standing like a king surrounded by a group of admiring subjects, all young and female. Glynis didn’t recognize any of the women, but she noted the rapt expression on their faces. She’d been the same once.

  Nineteen and thinking she knew everything about life.

  What a fool she’d been, what a naive fool.

  Let them fawn over him. She wasn’t going to act the simpleton. Washington had been filled with handsome, tall, narrow-waisted men with long legs and broad, straight shoulders.

  Yet none of them possessed the power to make her heart gallop with a smile.

  Glynis MacIain, flighty and outspoken, didn’t exist any longer. Richard had trained her well, pressing her into the mold of a diplomat’s wife.

  A pity, since she preferred the girl to the woman she was now.

  Chapter 2

  Lennox made his way through the crowd, speaking to those who’d gathered to honor his father.

  Tonight was William’s time, an occasion to celebrate the arduous years he’d worked in St. Petersburg.

  Was a medal worth all the sacrifices?

  Lennox wondered what memories the honor invoked. Did his father recall those years he labored in Russia and the strain doing so caused his marriage? Did he even think of his wife and her subsequent betrayal and abandonment? Or did he prefer to focus on each day as it came and abandon the past?

  He should do the same.

  Still, Glynis was on his mind when he answered a question for Miss Oldham. Yes, he was proud. Yes, it was an achievement. No, they had no plans to leave Scotland again.

  He’d done his time in Russia, beginning as an apprentice to his father, learning how to design ships, then overseeing their construction. Once the shipyards had been sold to Count Bobrov, there was no re
ason to return to Russia.

  Now Cameron and Company was concentrating on the shipyards in Scotland and involved in something lucrative and dangerous: building iron-hulled vessels for the Confederate States of America.

  He scanned the crowd looking for Gavin Whittaker and his wife. He saw Whittaker charming a group by the window, showing them his walking stick. Inside the handle was a razor-sharp stiletto, one he revealed with the delight of a child.

  At least, he thought, Lucy Whittaker wasn’t in sight.

  He’d opened his home to the Whittakers because of his concerns about Gavin’s safety. After three days he wished he’d directed them to a hotel.

  As his houseguest, Gavin Whittaker normally affected the demeanor of a southern planter from the United States, complete with flat-brimmed hat and buff-colored suit. Tonight he was dressed in black. His blond hair, nearly white in the sun, was longer than fashionable. Brown eyes the color of spring topsoil held humor and self-deprecation. When he wasn’t laughing, he was telling stories of his home in Georgia, to the delight of his easily acquired audiences.

  In fact, Whittaker wasn’t a southern planter but a ship’s captain, and from what Lennox had discovered, a good one. He was probably a little too reckless and no doubt courageous. A blockade runner needed to be.

  Whittaker had a blind spot: his wife. He didn’t notice the woman’s endless complaints. To Gavin, Lucy was delicate, shy, and fastidious.

  Evidently, she was too shy and delicate to be worried about her husband. In a matter of weeks Gavin was going to be in danger, captaining a ship through the Union navy’s blockade. If Lucy was worried about her husband, she didn’t show it.

  To Lucy, this trip to Scotland was a wedding journey of a sort, one proving to be a disappointment. Nothing about Scotland pleased her, from the food to the weather to the way the Scots spoke.

  Lennox recognized her contempt for Scotland. It was similar to the derision the English had displayed toward his country for centuries. He could understand his ancestors’ irritation and desire to go to battle. He felt the same every evening after dinner.

  He took Whittaker to the shipyards with him each morning. To his surprise, the man gave him good advice on the changes on the Raven, plus he had ideas worth exploring on future blockade runners.

  As for Lucy, he tried to avoid her when he could. Perhaps Eleanor MacIain might be persuaded to take the woman under her wing, show her Glasgow and find something to keep her occupied.

  Only fourteen days separated him from peace. In two weeks Gavin would sail off with his English bride and a skeleton crew for Nassau. He could survive anything for two weeks.

  “He’s very tired,” Mary said at his elbow.

  He glanced down at his sister. She worried him, and had ever since their father’s accident. Stress pinched her features and changed the whites of her green eyes to gray. Her black hair appeared dull and her expression listless. Despite being a young woman, she behaved like someone tired of the world.

  She acted more the widow than Glynis, a thought jarring him into violating the privacy each accorded the other.

  “Are you feeling ill, Mary?”

  She blinked up at him, obviously surprised at the question.

  “Is there something wrong you haven’t told me?”

  She opened her mouth to speak, shut it again, then shook her head.

  “Are you certain?”

  “Yes,” she said.

  Her tremulous smile was no doubt meant to reassure him, but failed.

  “See to Father,” she said before he could question her further. “He should rest.”

  An answer, then, and the only one he suspected he would get.

  He glanced over at William. Although he smiled at his well-wishers, fatigue etched his face.

  After making his way to his father’s side, he bent down and whispered, “Are you ready for me to banish all of them, Father?”

  William’s smile deepened the vertical lines bracketing his mouth.

  “Not yet, my boy,” he said, his sightless green eyes staring out over the ballroom as if he could see the line of people waiting to greet him. “A man can’t have too much admiration, do you think?”

  Lennox clasped the older man on the shoulder, a little alarmed when he felt bone where there should be muscle. He smiled and moved away, determined to talk to Mary about taking their father to Rothesay on the Isle of Bute. The hydrotherapy retreat would do them both good.

  “You throw quite a shindig, Lennox.”

  He turned. Gavin stood there, a full plate of food in one hand, a cup of punch in the other, and the ubiquitous walking stick on his arm.

  “You should at least try some of the salmon,” Gavin said, thrusting it at him. “Avoid the haggis.”

  Lennox held up his hand to block the plate. “Thank you, no.”

  “I tried to interest Lucy in the food, but she’s not hungry, poor darling.”

  Whittaker motioned to the opposite side of the ballroom where a series of couches were arranged for the convenience of the older guests. “I thought she would be happy talking to the other women over there, but she’s a shy little thing and all these people are overwhelming. I think she’s gone back to our room.”

  At least she wouldn’t be insulting the guests here to honor his father.

  Lennox glanced around the room, caught sight of his best friend and excused himself.

  The shoulders beneath Duncan’s black evening attire were tense, his nervous energy expressed in the tapping of a shoe on the ballroom floor.

  Lennox moved toward him, accepting well wishes, answering questions, smiling and thanking his guests as he made his way to Duncan’s side.

  “Is it going that bad?” he asked, reaching his friend.

  “As bad as it can be,” Duncan said, spearing a hand through his hair.

  His features were drawn, his eyes haunted. He probably hadn’t slept well for days.

  The Glasgow mills were suffering for lack of raw materials. The same blockade of the southern United States proving so beneficial to Cameron and Company was slowly starving the Scottish textile industry.

  He motioned Duncan into the hallway and down the two flights of stairs to his first floor library. No one would bother him there and they could speak in privacy.

  “Will you let me help?” he asked, closing the door.

  An infusion of cash would keep the mill going until Duncan found a source of cotton.

  Duncan’s lips curved in a humorless smile. “By magically ending the war? If you can do that, yes. Otherwise? No.”

  They’d been friends since they were six, confided in each other like brothers. The day the first ship he’d designed was launched, Duncan was at his side. When Duncan took over the helm of the mill, he’d celebrated with him.

  Now, their fortunes were on separate paths and he felt compelled to help, only to be blocked by Duncan’s pride. He might have acted the same had the situation been reversed. Hopefully, though, he would have possessed more business sense and accepted the assistance.

  He didn’t like knowing the MacIain mill would close unless something miraculous happened.

  Instead of building ships for the Confederate navy, maybe he should construct his own fleet to run the blockade.

  “How many days until the new ship is finished?” Duncan asked, sitting in one of the chairs in front of the cold fireplace.

  “About two weeks,” Lennox said, taking the adjacent chair. “The changes in the hull design proved bothersome, but we finally finished the modifications.”

  They talked of business matters, shared news of the war. Both the Union and the Confederacy had their fervent supporters. Each side in the American Civil War had good points and bad. Lennox disliked slavery. He also despised bullying. Knowing what he did, he suspected the Confederacy would ultimately lose. They didn’t have the manufacturing might of the northern states.

  Duncan probably didn’t give a flying farthing who won as long as the mill got cotton.
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  A great many Scots had volunteered in America’s war. A few official letters had come to parents and wives of Glasgow indicating their beloved son, husband, brother, or father had fallen in another nation’s cause and would forever be interred in American soil.

  Just yesterday he learned one of his ships, the Elizabeth, had been grounded off the coast of North Carolina. She’d been burned to escape capture, but her crew hadn’t been so fortunate. They were probably incarcerated in a Union prison now.

  The majority opinion—that the conflict would be of short duration—looked to be wrong. The war might drag on for years—advantageous for his company and disastrous for Duncan’s.

  “Are you sure there’s no way I can help?”

  Duncan shook his head, his narrowed eyes warning him not to ask again.

  There was no one as stubborn as a Scot, a comment his father uttered often. He managed not to laugh since William Cameron had to be the most stubborn and opinionated Scot that Lennox knew.

  He’d already ventured into forbidden territory. He might as well compound his sins by asking about Glynis.

  “I’m glad you were able to convince your sister to come.”

  One corner of Duncan’s mouth turned up as if he appreciated Lennox’s courage.

  “I’m also happy you decided to emerge from your hermitage.”

  “I wouldn’t miss it,” Duncan said. “I consider your father partly mine. How is he?”

  “I’m concerned about him,” Lennox said. “He’s getting increasingly frail.”

  One day he would lose his father just as Duncan had a few years ago. Working at his father’s side was important to him. Not only was the older man’s greater experience invaluable, but Lennox genuinely liked him.

  “Do you find Glynis has changed much?” he asked Duncan.

  “Do you?”

  Her triangular face and soft blue eyes were arresting. That mouth of hers with the full bottom lip and pointy top lip fascinated him. Yet something was different about Glynis: a wariness, perhaps. Or the way she had of holding herself immobile.

  The girl he’d known, the irrepressible Glynis, had constantly fidgeted, as if impatient to be living her life. This woman gave him the impression of a fragile statue on the verge of shattering.