Island of the Swans (63 page)

“I know,” Arabella replied, sounding desolate. “There’s the question of the will… and Louisa… and…”

She didn’t finish her sentence. There had been no secrets between them during the year and a half they’d spent together, but the subject of Jane Maxwell was one they had both scrupulously avoided during the last few months, along with the topic of future commitments. Arabella was not going to replay the hand that had failed so disastrously before.

“You’re aware, are you not, dearheart,” he said, kissing her lightly on the tip of her nose, “that when you save another’s life, you’re bound to them forever? You saved mine
twice.
You’ll not get rid of me so easily.”

“I’m glad for that,” she said simply, “but you know, Thomas… sometime soon you’re going to have to choose between the present and the past—or you’ll lose both.”

He gave her a startled glance.

“And that’s
all
I have to say on this subject.”

She gathered her riding habit’s voluminous skirts and proceeded up the garden path toward the house.

Neither Arabella nor Thomas were aware of two figures standing on the veranda of Antrim Hall taking in the tender pantomime enacted between Thomas and Arabella in the rose garden.

Hamilton Maxwell took the porch stairs three at a time and strode in the direction of the colorful plantings. Beven O’Brien remained in the wooden rocking chair, sipping a tall drink.

“Thomas, my man!” Hamilton hailed, waving his arm overhead.

“Who is that?” Arabella demanded, shading her eyes in order to see the rangy figure approaching them at a lope.

“Why, ’tis Hamilton Maxwell! From my regiment,” he said, his surprise reflected in his voice. He walked quickly ahead of her with an outstretched hand extended toward the unexpected visitor. “And I believe the gentleman lounging on the veranda is your brother, looking a bit worse for wear,” he called over his shoulder. He pumped Hamilton’s hand, asking incredulously, “Ham… what are
you
doing here?”

“I’m here in an official capacity, laddie mine,” Ham said heartily, with an appreciative glance at Arabella, who had caught up with the two men. “Believe it or not, I’ve been ordered to visit all the so-called prisoners of war officers in this area. The Peace Treaty is on its way to Parliament, and
you
, my friend, are a free man… that is, as far as your prisoner status is concerned.” He laughed, pleased with his little joke. “What’s left of the 71st sails from Philadelphia in September,” he continued. “Forgive my blurting out my news before I have made the acquaintance of your lovely jailer,” he added, with a bow to her.

“And
your
hostess, as well. Captain Maxwell,” Arabella said smoothly, extending her hand. “I hope you will make Antrim Hall your home for as long as you like.”

“Your kind brother, Squire O’Brien, offered the same when we met so fortuitously in a tavern in Annapolis and he learned of my destination. I accept your kind hospitality with pleasure, madam.”

Arabella’s mind was beset with questions. Why had Beven suddenly returned after nearly two years of silence? What did Jane Maxwell’s brother know of the outcome of Simon Fraser’s will? She decided to concern herself with one problem at a time and turned to smile warmly at Hamilton. The more she could learn about the woman whose hold on Thomas had endured all these years, the better she could devise a strategy to induce her lover to surrender his past.

“I would imagine Hamilton can’t stay here much longer,” Thomas said stiffly. “No doubt he has many more men he must notify concerning the journey home.”

Arabella glanced at him, surprised. Thomas’s open, friendly countenance suddenly looked pinched, as if he had an excruciating headache. Clearly, he wasn’t pleased with the notion that Jane’s brother would remain at Antrim Hall for an extended period.

“Actually,” Hamilton said, oblivious to the undercurrents swirling around him, “I saved you for last, laddie. I thought ’twould be capital to spend time with an old comrade in this beautiful region before going home. You’re kind, indeed, madam, to extend such gracious and warm welcome to a weary soldier as I.”

“Please call me Arabella, Captain.” She smiled, wondering, as always, what kind of condition Beven was in. “Shall we go in? I’m sure you’d like to spend a moment speaking with Thomas alone and would also appreciate some rest and refreshment.”

“Your serving woman was kind enough to offer both while Beven and I awaited your return,” Hamilton replied cordially, offering his arm to Arabella. “But I do have quite a bit of news from home…”

“Then by all means, Captain, you and Thomas please retire to the library, and Mehitabel will bring you another cool drink. I’ll just greet my brother and go see to your comfort.”

“I have a packet, Thomas, from Archibald Fraser,” Hamilton said, patting his chest pocket as they entered the paneled library. Ham sank into a leather chair, grateful to be free of that sot on the veranda who seemed to keep himself perpetually inebriated. “This missive has been chasing you around the eastern seaboard for… oh… at least three months now.”

Thomas moved to place the letter on a desk that stood against the wall, but Hamilton urged him to open it while he examined the contents of the bookshelves around the room.

“Well, well…” Thomas breathed.

“Good news?” Hamilton asked hopefully.

“Apparently, Simon Fraser was in the process of purchasing back Struy House as my legacy when he died,” Thomas said, indicating the pages of fine script he held in his hand.

“Good show!” Hamilton said enthusiastically.

“Not quite,” Thomas replied soberly. “The transactions were not completed before he passed on. According to Archie, ’tis all in a terrible muddle, and that’s why he made no mention of the will in his brief letter telling me of Simon’s death. I may inherit the entire estate my father once owned, I may inherit just the house, or I may have only a few hectares of land left to me. ’Tis up to the lawyers, it seems.”

“Bad luck!” Hamilton sympathized, but then he brightened, glancing around the well-stocked library shelves. “I’m sure ’twill all come right in the end, old boy. You seem to land on your feet, no matter what blows are dealt you by fate.” He winked slyly and sat down. “I imagine life as the laird of Antrim Hall would prove a tidy patrimony, eh what? Any chance you’ll not be sailing home with the regiment? It could take years to sort out that tangle at Struy, if the courts are involved. Certainly you don’t want to miss out on a sure bet with the Widow Boyd, do you now, laddie?”

“I took that oath to disband at Perth after the war, same as you, remember?” Thomas said lightly. “And what news of home? Is everyone well?”

“Aye… who do you want to know of first?”

Thomas shrugged and smiled, but his eyes seemed watchful and cautious.

Hamilton volunteered cautiously, “My sister Jane is very well and specifically said in her last letter that she’d welcome a visit when you return to Edinburgh.”

“She knows where I am?”

“Oh, aye!” Hamilton said smiling. “After the surrender, I wrote immediately to let them know we were all right. The post is still so unreliable, I thought it prudent to tell of your good fortune to have been made prisoner at Antrim Hall, should any missive you might write go astray,” he added.

“And Eglantine and Catherine?” Thomas asked quickly, wondering if Jane had rightly concluded that he had spent the last year and a half with the woman whose rash actions had dealt Jane and him such a blow sixteen years earlier. Not waiting for Ham’s reply, he queried unsteadily, “And what of the others? Is Lady Maxwell in good health?”

“Mother enjoys being mama to a duchess, to be sure, though Jane, I fear, does her best to avoid her company whenever she can. Catherine continues to be a happy matron at Ayrton House. And the scandal about Eglantine marrying that phony baronet and divorcing him is nearly forgotten. Now, she’s busy scribbling theatrical pieces, can you fancy? Jane says one may be performed at Covent Garden, though I can’t truly believe that, can you?” Thomas remained silent, almost brooding. “Since you seem to have found yourself such a hospitable situation with Mistress Boyd,” Hamilton continued cheerfully, “I wonder if you won’t, yourself, think of settling down soon, Thomas?”

“Of course not! Why should I?” he snapped. Then, he smiled bleakly at Hamilton, as if apologizing. “Arabella has been a… friend. A true friend. But I have much that awaits me in Scotland and I must hasten home.”

Hamilton Maxwell had always accepted the youthful relationship between Thomas Fraser and his sister at its face value. They had been childhood sweethearts, of course, but when Thomas had been reported killed outside of Fort Pitt in 1766 and Jane had married the Duke of Gordon, he chalked up her earlier romance with Fraser to mere puppy love. Hamilton had been posted abroad when the ducal Gordons returned from their grand honeymoon trip to discover Thomas was still alive. Indeed, Ham had utterly dismissed Thomas from his thoughts until Fraser returned from eight years’ service in Ireland to join the 71st Fraser Highlanders.

Ham’s eyes narrowed as he studied Thomas’s gloomy countenance. It struck him as odd that his comrade and boyhood acquaintance—who had obviously spent these eighteen months of the war in such comfortable circumstances—should be so testy at the mention of the possibility of marrying the winsome Arabella.

A startling notion was beginning to invade his thoughts. Hamilton surveyed Thomas’s gaunt features. The man seemed tense and extremely edgy. Could it be the flame still burned? Was it possible that even after all these years and Jane’s passel of six children, the man still felt an attachment for his sister?

“You wouldn’t still be harboring fond feelings for Jane, would you now?” he asked bluntly.

Thomas reared back slightly, a look of alarm etched plainly on his face.

“I will always feel deep affection toward your family who was so kind to me when I was a lad,” he said, avoiding Hamilton’s piercing stare. “But as for Jenny—the fates decreed ’twas not to be.”

Thomas busied himself folding the letter Hamilton had delivered and said no more. Captain Maxwell suddenly recalled the miniature portrait of little Louisa. He remembered Thomas’s look of utter astonishment when he had showed it to him in Charleston. Hamilton had been surprised himself to see all those red curls…

Poor blighter, Ham thought silently, staring with new eyes at Thomas’s burgundy-colored mane. The man’s hair looked slightly damp, as if he’d been swimming within the hour, but its distinctive roan color caused Jane’s brother to pause. He did some quick mental arithmetic concerning Louisa’s birthday. Nine months before that child was born, they’d all been at Culloden House—Alex, Jane, Thomas, and himself during the time the 71st’s recruits were being put through their paces.

He suddenly recalled that Jane had insisted she depart for Kinrara when Alex left Inverness so abruptly. His mind drifted back to that frenzied time before the regiment sailed for the Colonies. Had there been a quarrel that had rashly pushed Jane into Thomas’s arms—and into bed?

Hamilton dredged his memory. He vaguely recalled Alex leaving without warning for Gordon Castle the night of the officers’ reception, requiring that he, Hamilton, and Jane stand in for his ducal presence. And hadn’t Fraser requested leave about that time to go to Beauly that same week? ’Twas merely a day’s ride from Beauly to Kinrara.

So it was possible!

At that moment, Arabella entered the library, carrying a silver tray of refreshments. Hamilton watched the striking young woman set down her burden, imagining to himself how shocked his circle of family and friends would be if they knew Jane’s fourth daughter might not have been fathered by the duke. Another scandal to add to the Gordon Riots and Eglantine’s divorce would be disastrous for everyone concerned, including himself, Ham thought. In the reign of Their Most Prudish Majesties, King George III and Queen Charlotte, army promotions during peacetime went to people with powerful connections who kept their noses clean, along with those of their relatives. In the interests of family propriety, it would not do for Thomas to think Jane still cared for him, though her latest letter—upon reflection—more than hinted that she still did.