Caroline bit her lip, flushing, but Dearborn merely
chuckled. It was a dry, raspy sound, and made Caroline think of
dust or old paper.
“We’ve taken her by surprise, Riddell. Give her some
time.” He smiled at Caroline, and she saw that his teeth were quite
yellow. “I find her entirely charming, as you promised her to
be.”
Caroline gave her uncle an uneasy look. Why was
Dearborn here exactly, she wondered. Surely such a man had nothing
to do with her.
“Keep pouring,” Uncle James barked, drumming his
fingers on the arm of his chair, and Caroline resumed her
serving.
Sir James Riddell was not one for
small talk, and he soon came to the reason for his
visit.
“I’ve news you should be pleased about, niece,” he
told Caroline. “As I said, it is high time I took you in hand. I
have travel to Boston for certain business, and I want you to
accompany me.”
“Boston!” Caroline repeated, shocked. She’d been
hoping for London... but all the way to America? She couldn’t help
blurting, “But I’ve heard the colonials are terribly
ill-mannered... some say even barbaric!”
Dearborn chuckled, the sound like the rustling of
paper, or dead leaves. James leveled his niece with a single
look.
“Perhaps a trip to the States will correct your
erroneous impression,” he said coolly.
“I certainly hope so,” Dearborn
agreed, and too late Caroline realized that the stranger’s flat
accent must be American.
She flushed in embarrassment, murmuring, “I
certainly hope so, Uncle.” There was a moment’s pause, while her
uncle sipped his tea with a tense, preoccupied air, and Dearborn
lounged back in his chair, entirely at ease, a smug smile on his
craggy features.
Caroline could not resist asking, “Will I have a
season there? In Boston?”
“A season?” James’s eyebrows rose to his hairline,
and he darted a rather anxious look at Dearborn, who gave an
infinitesimal nod. “Yes, I suppose so. From what I hear, the
entertainments to be had in Boston quite rival London or
Edinburgh.”
Caroline smiled in pleasure, although she privately
doubted whether Boston could rival London. She wondered briefly at
the relationship between her uncle and his guest; the way he kept
darting looks at Dearborn, as if seeking his permission, was indeed
strange.
As she did most things which bored or confused her,
Caroline dismissed both her uncle and Dearborn from her mind and
focussed instead on the prospect of a season in Boston.
A season meant new gowns and cloaks, boots and
shawls, reticules and gloves... her uncle would balk at the
expense, but Caroline was confident she could make him see it was
all an investment. An investment in her, and the rich, handsome
young husband she fully intended to ensnare.
Her lips curled into an almost predatory smile, and
Dearborn leaned forward, his eyes suddenly blazing with an almost
feral light.
“My dear, what thoughts are in your pretty head to
make you smile like that?”
Caroline turned, startled, and the sight of
Dearborn’s almost possessive look made her barely suppress a
shudder.
“I’m simply looking forward to Boston,” she said
after a moment, and he smiled in satisfaction.
“I am well pleased to hear it.”
The rest of the visit passed in a blur of
meaningless pleasantries, and all too soon her uncle was taking his
leave.
“But aren’t you staying at Lanymoor?” Caroline asked
in bewilderment. “I’m sure Mrs. Stimms has made up your
room...”
“I must travel to London immediately,” James
informed her brusquely, “and I’ll be going on to Boston from
there.”
“From London!” At last, Caroline thought. “Shall I
meet you there?”
James looked startled, and Dearborn smiled slightly,
almost indulgently. Once again Caroline felt as if she’d said
entirely the wrong thing, and she wanted to stamp in her foot in
both frustration and embarrassment.
“No, of course not,” James said,
his tone irritable. “You shall travel from Tobermory to Glasgow,
and take a ship there in a month’s time. I’ve arranged for a
chaperone for you for the journey.”
He spoke as if she should’ve
already known, and Caroline was tempted to be querulous, but she
knew no good would come from it. In the last few months, her uncle
had become more distant, and at times seemed to be so cross as to
actually dislike her.
In a rare bout of timidity, Caroline decided not to
cross him. The prospect of bidding Dearborn adieu rather than
having him stay at Lanymoor also vaguely relieved her, so she
smiled and bobbed a curtsey.
“Very good, Uncle.”
They left soon after that, and conscious of wanting
to seem a good hostess, Caroline saw them to the door.
“Godspeed on your journey, Uncle. Mr. Dearborn.”
Dearborn took her hand in his, lifting it to his
lips. His lips were cold and wet and Caroline had to struggle not
to yank her hand away.
“Charmed to make your acquaintance, my dear. I look
forward to entertaining you in Boston.”
Caroline withdrew her hand as politely as she could,
murmuring her thanks. Although she’d no notion of what Boston might
be like, she trusted she would be able to find better
entertainments than men such as Dearborn.
Still, she smiled prettily, for she always liked to
be admired, and gave another quick curtsey as they left.
She watched her uncle and his
visitor climb in the carriage, the rain like a heavy curtain that
hid the vehicle from view as it went down the lane.
Caroline sighed, feeling a strange
mixture of elation and disappointment. She was finally leaving
Lanymoor House, and her life would surely begin at last. Yet she
still had many unanswered questions.
What kind of season could she have in Boston?
Despite her uncle’s words, Caroline wasn’t convinced such a new
city would truly have a social season for quality.
And Uncle James had not been
forthcoming about his purpose in Boston... or hers. A small seed of
doubt unfurled inside her. Really, why did Uncle James want to take
her to Boston at all? He rarely did things without some purpose of
his own.
“He’s gone, then?” Mrs. Stimms asked dourly as she
came in to collect the tea things.
“Yes...” Caroline smiled suddenly,
banishing her earlier qualms. “And I will be as well, in a month’s
time... to Boston, to find a husband!”
Mrs. Stimms sniffed, clearly unimpressed. “Is that
what he said?”
“Yes,” Caroline replied firmly, and she could just
about believe that was what her uncle had told her.
Mrs. Stimms clattered cups onto the tray. “I suppose
he’s got that older gentleman in mind for you?”
Caroline gaped for a moment, before giving a sharp
laugh. “Dearborn? How utterly absurd. He’s a cold fish, and
certainly not a husband I’d choose.”
Mrs. Stimms looked at her shrewdly. “Oh, aye? Will
you be doing the choosing then, miss?”
Caroline eyed her with cold dislike. “Of course I
will, Mrs. Stimms. Now why don’t you be careful with those tea
things? Those cups are Crown Derby, and my dear uncle hardly wants
them broken by your big, clumsy hands.” With a cool little smile
she flounced away, even as Mrs. Stimms’ words echoed remorselessly
in her mind.
CHAPTER TWO
Harriet Campbell MacDougall knelt
in front of the plain wooden cross. With her fingers she lovingly
smoothed the patch of early grass in front of her brother-in-law’s
grave. It had been eleven years since Archie MacDougall had died,
drowned when the mail packet to Prince Edward Island had foundered
in a late spring storm.
Archie’s mother, Betty, had tended the grave till
she’d grown too frail. Now Harriet, by unspoken agreement, had
taken over the chore. She leaned back on her heels and sighed. The
last ten years had been, in many ways, joyous ones for her and
Allan.
The years had passed quickly, preceded as they had
been by so much pain and uncertainty. Harriet's eyes grew dark with
the shadow of remembrance. When Allan had set sail for Prince
Edward Island, he'd asked her to wait... wait on him and his
fortunes, and who knew how long he would be.
Harriet could still remember the helpless anger and
despair she'd felt, hostage to her promise. Of course she'd
wait--she loved Allan. At the time, she'd no idea what suffering
they would both endure before they were together again.
She had been faithless, Harriet
still berated herself, doubting Allan's constancy when his letters
went missing, stolen first by Sir James Riddell, in an attempt to
intimidate the Campbell family into surrendering Achlic, and then
later by Andrew Reid, who had hoped to sever Harriet's affections
with Allan and transfer them to himself.
It had been an ill-begotten
engagement, when Harriet had accepted Andrew’s proposal. She'd done
it to save Achlic, lost in a foolish moment by her younger brother
Ian, as Riddell had promised the Campbells could live there with
Andrew as their overseer and Harriet's husband.
When Harriet had discovered Andrew’s perfidy, she'd
broken off the engagement and gone to the New World with Allan's
younger brother Rupert, uncertain of what she might find. She'd
already told Allan she was to marry another, and Harriet had been
afraid that he would now reject her.
The news on the other side of the Atlantic, however,
had been far worse. Sandy, Allan's father, had told Harriet that
Allan and Archie had both drowned when the mail packet sank.
Harriet had been devastated. Eventually she'd left the island and
the MacDougalls' farm to seek her fortune with a new Scottish
settlement out West, the Red River Colony.
It was there that she'd met Allan again, with him
unrecognisable, staring down the wrong end of her shotgun! Harriet
smiled slightly in memory. As it had happened, only Archie, Allan's
feckless brother, had been lost on the mail packet. Allan had
already left to be a fur trader in the wild western country. Archie
had been entrusted with the message of Allan's whereabouts--a
message which had been lost with him.
Since that strange reunion in an abandoned shack,
the Métis furtraders and Indians having attacked the Red River
colony fort, Allan and Harriet had experienced both joy and sorrow,
although Harriet knew the former far outweighed the latter.
They’d built up their farm on a neighboring lot to
Allan’s father, Sandy, and it was now one of the more prosperous
settlements on the river, if not the whole island.
The island was changing too... Charlottetown was now
a bustling town, with schools and shops. The ferry to the mainland
ran more regularly, and the wilderness was slowly but surely being
tamed.
“Mama!” Harriet turned, and
smiling, saw her oldest daughter, Maggie, making her way from the
homestead to this little copse. Maggie was nine years old, and a
great blessing to Harriet with the little ones. Her gaze
instinctively slid to the second, smaller cross next to Archie’s.
It would be five years ago this autumn that the scarlet fever had
taken her oldest son, David, when he was only six years
old.
Harriet’s smile was bittersweet as she remembered
her impish, curly-haired boy. These years with Allan had been happy
ones, but they’d not been without their share of trials and
sorrows.
“Mama?” Maggie’s voice held a questioning lilt. Even
at nine years old she knew her mother liked to have a quiet moment
at her son’s graveside.
“Yes, Maggie?”
“Papa’s home!”
“Is he, now?” Harriet smiled as she stood up and
brushed the dirt from her apron. Allan had gone to the town market
to fetch supplies. Now that the long winter was finally over, it
was time to clear the fields once more and plant their harvest.
“George saw him coming up the river,” Maggie
continued in excitement. “Do you think he’s bought us a treat?”
“We’ll just have to go and find
out.”
Although the island roads were
improving, they were still rutted and hopelessly muddy this time of
year. Often it was easier to take a canoe up the river to the
market instead of hitching the wagon.
Allan had left yesterday, and Harriet had had some
worry, for the river was cold in early spring, with ice floes still
breaking up.
She’d heard many times the story of how Archie and
Allan had taken an iceboat across to the mainland, and been trapped
by the floes. It was only because of Archie’s courage in finding
help that they’d survived the experience.
Maggie slipped her hand in her mother’s, and they
left the secluded little spot in the birch grove to walk back to
the homestead.
The MacDougall farm was nestled in a bend of the
river, with the fields of rich soil and verdant grass spreading out
from the water in a patchwork of red and green.
From the porch of their home Harriet could see Allan
securing the canoe to the dock, its frame weighed down with boxes
and crates.
“May we go see him, Mama?” Maggie asked. George, her
younger brother by three years, was bouncing up and down with
excitement.
“Please, please?” he begged.
Harriet nodded, and the two children needed no
further encouragement. They raced down to the water like two
puppies, eager to see their father and the things he’d bought.
“Mind the water!” Harriet called after that. “I
don’t want you falling in, not this time of year.” She shivered
slightly, for, living close to the river, the fear of drowning was
always present.
She could hear the children’s gleeful cries, and
Allan’s responding laughter. With a smile, Harriet went inside. The
scent of fresh baking filled the air, and she saw that the baby,
Anna, was still sleeping peacefully in her basket, one fist loosely
curled upwards on the blanket. She glanced around her neat home
with pride, glad Allan would have a welcoming sight to greet
him.