The thought of attending a social event thrilled her
more than she cared to admit, even though in her mind she wondered
which one of her few gowns would be suitable. None, probably.
Perhaps she could quickly add some lace at the cuffs, or a
fichu.
“If you like,” she said now, ”I could come here
before, and dress your hair. Then we could go together, if that
suits.”
“What about your brother?”
Eleanor did not miss the spark in Caroline’s eye.
“He is escorting Isobel Moore. I don’t wish to be a third
wheel.”
“Is that how it is?” Caroline took a sip of tea, her
expression carefully disinterested. ‘Is he courting her?”
“I don’t believe so,” Eleanor replied, “but all the
same, I think I shall meet them there.” She knew Ian would not be
pleased with this arrangement, but she’d no notion of ordering her
life to suit his romantic tangles.
“Very well, then, it’s settled.” Caroline smiled in
satisfaction, thinking of the evening ahead, her first invitation,
even if it had been issued to her uncle. Perhaps his presence would
encourage him to take more of an active interest in society. They
might even host a ball, or at least a dinner party.
Caroline’s hopes suddenly soared, given wings from
her own imagination, and the apprehension she’d felt about her
uncle evaporated.
She knew tonight was nothing but a small musicale,
but excitement raced through her all the same. She couldn’t help
it; this was her first chance at any kind of entertainment. She
certainly hoped Eleanor was as confident a hairdresser as she’d
said.
“Ian, you seem hopelessly distracted.”
“Do I?” Ian glanced down at Isobel, realising even
as he spoke how accurate her words were. They were walking down
Beacon Street to the evening musicale at a local society matron’s
house. Despite the pleasant evening, the purple twilight and the
bustling of carriages, his thoughts had been elsewhere. “I
apologize, Isobel, I was thinking of a case I had at the hospital
this morning.” He paused, remembering. “A man needed surgery, but
so many of the procedures are too painful to be endured--”
“Ian, please!” Isobel shuddered. “I cannot bear such
talk of pain and disease. You must forgive me my delicacy.” She
smiling prettily, no doubt expecting him to be charmed, and Ian
managed a small smile back.
He hadn’t really expected Isobel to share his
interest, but could he marry someone who thought the hospital and
all it implied indelicate? Ian sighed. He had not yet offered for
Isobel, and he had not yet decided if he would.
He’d been hoping to delay such conversations as this
by Eleanor’s presence, but his sister had more spirit than he’d
credited her with, and cried off.
He could hardly blame Eleanor for the tangle he was
in; the threads had been drawn by his own blundering maneuvers. He
knew Isobel and her parents were waiting for his proposal--perhaps
all of society was. Only the other day Margaret had remarked
pertly,
“Dear Isobel. You must see her nearly every day,
Ian.”
“A few times a week,” Ian corrected, and Margaret
gave him a knowing look.
“Ah, yes. Only a few times a week.”
He didn’t want to compromise her, Ian thought
miserably. He just didn’t know if he loved her. And even if he
refused to be such a romantic as to yield to love, how could he
know that Isobel would make a good doctor’s wife?
“You’re frowning.” Isobel touched his cheek lightly,
flushing as she did so and then dropping her hand quickly. “Is
something wrong?”
“No, I’m sorry. My thoughts were elsewhere, but I
promise to leave such worries behind. I’m looking forward to this
evening’s recitation.”
Isobel made a little pout. “It’s not a recitation,
Ian. It’s a musicale.”
“I apologize again. I gave my thoughts away, I
see.”
“Perhaps you will give a few more away, before the
evening is over.” Isobel glanced away, and Ian knew what her pretty
jest really meant. She wanted him to propose.
“I’m at your command,” he said, his throat dry but
his voice light enough for her not to take him seriously... or so
he hoped. What was he going to do?
“I’m looking forward to you meeting my sister
Eleanor,” he told Isobel as they strolled through the Common. “My
hours at the hospital have prevented me from presenting her to your
family. She arrived a week ago and she’s already had two
invitations to this musicale, one by us, of course, and one by an
acquaintance, Caroline Reid, also new to this city. She’s
travelling with Miss Reid, and we’ll join up there.”
“I’m sure we’ll get along,” Isobel said politely,
but Ian sensed no real interest and his discouragement grew.
The musicale was in the drawing room of one of
Isobel’s acquaintances, and promised, Ian realized, to be a
decidedly unsteady performances by amateurs. Combined with the new
awkwardness that had sprouted up between him and Isobel, he
reckoned the evening would be dismal indeed.
At least Eleanor would be present, with her new
friend Caroline Reid. She’d already left for Caroline’s residence
when he’d come in from the hospital that evening, but there’d been
a note from her explaining her whereabouts. Ian scanned the
mingling crowd in the salon, mostly matrons and their aspiring
daughters, for a glimpse of Eleanor.
His gaze rested on a man who looked vaguely
familiar, then his heart skipped a beat before pounding hard.
Despite the white hair and gaunt lines of his face, there was no
mistaking the man... Sir James Riddell.
Fury, white hot and consuming, surged through Ian as
he broke from Isobel, who gave a little cry of surprise. He could
see nothing but Riddell, hear nothing but the mocking laughter of
eleven years ago when the man had wrested Ian’s family property
from his boyish grasp.
“I never thought to see you again, Riddell,” Ian
said as he stood in front of the older man, his voice choked with
anger.
Riddell raised his eyebrows, smiling coolly, seeming
both unsurprised and unimpressed by Ian’s sudden appearance. “Nor
I. We’re hardly likely to travel in the same circles, are we?”
“Thank heavens for small mercies. I wouldn’t want to
be in the same room with a man such as you.”
Surprise rippled around the salon in a shocked
current. Riddell shook his head in warning. “I’d be careful with
your words, Ian, my boy. This is neither the time nor the
place.”
“I’m not a boy anymore, Riddell, not like when you
cheated me out of my family home.”
Riddell’s voice was low and controlled, but filled
with menace. “I told you to be careful.”
Ian took a deep, shaking breath. “And I’m calling
you a cheat.”
CHAPTER FIVE
The silence in the salon was taut. Ian stared at
James Riddell, his breathing ragged.
“What did you call me?” Riddell asked in slow,
deliberate tones.
Ian felt a hand on his sleeve, its warning pressure.
Eleanor, who had come quickly to his side, shot him a pleading
glance. He already knew this was neither the time nor the place for
such a confrontation; indeed, his behavior had already breached the
code of a gentleman. “I believe you heard me,” he said quietly,
once he’d reined his emotions back under control. “I’ve no need to
say it again.”
“You owe me an apology,” Riddell demanded
quietly.
“Ian...”
“No, Eleanor. It’s all right.” Ian raised his chin.
“I apologize for speaking to you in such a manner, and in such a
place. But the business between us is not finished.”
“It was finished a decade ago,
Campbell,” Riddell replied. “You simply have not accepted
it.”
Ian was conscious of the frank and curious stares of
the people gathered in the salon. Next to him Isobel was rigid with
the embarrassment of being party to such a confrontation. “No, I
haven’t,” he replied quietly. “And I never will.”
Riddell smiled suddenly, his eyes
glinting. “If I didn’t dislike you so much, Campbell, I’d admire
your tenacity. I might even have a position for you in my offices.
I could use a good clerk.”
Ian’s hands balled into his fists
and blood surged to heat his face. Riddell’s smile widened, and
even though Ian knew the older man was taunting him on purpose, he
could barely keep himself from hitting him.
“Ian, he’s winding you up,” Eleanor whispered.
“Resolve this another day. Not here, not now!”
The whispers and titters were growing louder, the
stares emboldened. Ian let his hands drop to his sides. “You’ve
barely begun to grasp just how tenacious I can be, sir,” he said
with cold dignity. “And now that you are in Boston, I have no doubt
that you will discover its full measure.” Without waiting for a
reply, he turned, leading Isobel to a secluded corner of the salon.
Eleanor, her face pale and worried, followed.
“Ian, what on earth was that about!” Isobel demanded
in a furious whisper. “You’ve made us both the talk of all society,
no doubt!” She did not sound pleased by the prospect. Ian let out a
shuddering sigh.
“Isobel, I’m sorry. I know I was out of place.”
“Who was that man?”
“An old adversary,” he murmured. “I didn’t expect to
see him here.”
“That much I could gather on my own!”
“Ian, how could you?” Eleanor looked at him in
despair. “After all this time...”
“It still rankles! Besides, a salon in Boston was
one of the last places I expected to see Riddell. I’d thought him
mouldering back at Lanymoor House, or worse! What on earth is he
doing here?”
“He was with me, as a matter of fact,” Eleanor said.
“I thought he’d looked familiar, but I’d no idea...!”
“With you?” Ian stared at his sister in
disbelief.
Eleanor sighed. “Perhaps it is not for me to
explain. We’d only just been introduced.”
“You forgot that bastard’s name?” Ian asked, his
contempt evident. “After he destroyed our family...”
“No, Ian,” Eleanor said coldly, “Sir James Riddell
did not destroy our family. You did that when you ran away, unable
to face your own shame. And I’d thank you to watch your language
with ladies present.”
Ian’s face was chalk-white. “You blame me for what
happened?”
“It was an accident, I well know! But you shouldn’t
have run away, and you need to stop blaming Riddell for every
injury or hardship our family has ever faced.”
“He tricked me...!”
“Well, I know it.” Eleanor drew in a ragged breath.
“This is neither the time nor place for such a discussion. I have
not even been introduced to your companion.”
Ian’s pallor was replaced with a hectic flush as he
realized how badly he had conducted himself, and in front of half
of society, as well.
He drew Isobel forward. “I beg both
of your pardons. Isobel, my sister, Eleanor McCardell. Eleanor,
this is a...” Ian floundered briefly, coloring even more. “a dear
family friend, Isobel Moore.”
Eleanor took Isobel’s flushed face and bright eyes
in one swift, appraising glance. She knew immediately whose
affections were engaged, and whose were not, and wondered how Ian
planned to extricate himself from such a delicate situation.
“I’m very pleased to have your acquaintance.”
“Likewise,” Isobel murmured, but her clouded
expression told otherwise.
“That was quite exciting, to be
sure!” Caroline’s eyes sparkled mischievously as she joined their
little group. “I’d hoped to see you again, Mr. Campbell, but hardly
under such circumstances!” She smiled prettily, and Eleanor saw
that Ian was not unaffected. She watched as Isobel’s eyes narrowed
at the intrusion of this unwelcome stranger. “What on earth
possessed you,” Caroline continued, “to speak thus to my
uncle?”
Ian made a choking sound. “James Riddell is your
uncle?”
Caroline’s pretty manner dropped as she looked
uncertainly between Ian and Eleanor. “Of course he is. It’s on his
behalf that I’m in Boston at all.”
Ian shook his head slowly. Isobel clutched at his
sleeve. “I believe the musicale is about to begin,” she said
pointedly. “Shall we take our seats?”
“Yes, of course.” Ian nodded to Caroline. “Good day
to you, Miss Reid.”
Caroline watched him depart with a childish mixture
of annoyance and hurt clearly apparent on her face. She turned to
Eleanor. “What is this about?”
“Your uncle and my brother had a falling out,”
Eleanor explained quietly. “To tell the truth, I can’t remember all
the details. I was only a child at the time.”
“You mean they knew each other, back in
Scotland?”
“Yes. A strange coincidence, is it not? Although
perhaps not as much of one as we think, considering we both sailed
from Glasgow.”
Caroline plucked nervously at the
sleeve of her gown. “Why was Ian--Mr. Campbell--so angry with my
uncle? I’d never seen him in such a rage!”
“You barely know him,” Eleanor
reminded her a bit tartly, then sighed, the memories tumbling back
in her mind, clouding her thoughts. “I’m sure your uncle has his
own story to tell, but I remember Ian coming home one day, filled
with happiness. Then Harriet--my older sister--lit into him. She
was furious. I’d never seen her so distraught.” Eleanor shook her
head to clear the memory. “The next day, Ian was gone, and Harriet
told me that we’d lost Achlic, our farm.”
“I fail to see what that has to do with my
uncle.”
“He was the one who took Achlic. We never spoke
about it much after that. We left to live with Jane McCready, and
Harriet went to the New World to find Allan.”
“Allan?” Caroline turned sharply, and then she
laughed. “Harriet! Harriet MacDougall! My pianoforte tutor! Of
course. She was going to marry my brother Andrew.”
“Yes, she was,” Eleanor said slowly. “I’d almost
forgotten. So much has happened since then. It almost seems like a
dream, another life. I never understood what happened, why she
never did marry him, but I was always glad she went to find
Allan... even if it left me alone.” Eleanor bit her lip,
remembering that fateful day, when Harriet had said goodbye. She’d
refused to cry, not wanting Harriet to feel guilty, yet there had
been an aching loss inside her, and a terrible fear that she would
never see Harriet or Ian again, that she’d lost them already to the
chasing of their own dreams.