“Chalmers knows the man?”
“’Twould seem so, my lady,” said Duncan.
“Did you know of a previous association between them?” she asked, tugging her gloves into place.
“I did not, my lady. But then there are many things I do not know about Chalmers.” And better left in the dark, if she knew anything about him.
They’d all heard the growls of the men when introduced earlier. There was no doubt that the two men had some connection. Her question which she would not voice aloud was which man would win in a fight. A street fight. A no holds barred, bare-knuckle one.
As the carriage returned them to her residence in Edinburgh, she hoped it would be Chalmers. But between the look of Cairns and what she knew about Iain Buchanan, she worried he would not.
It took some time after they arrived back home for her to put off talking with Samantha and to calm the waters with her own advisors. By the time the butler interrupted them, her staff had their assignments to review their notes about the meeting and any new information that might have been slipped in with what they already knew. Chalmers had returned, though was quite close-mouthed about Cairns, and she decided she would speak to him privately about that and other matters.
When Poogan opened the door, he directed Richard to see the men out as he held out a silver tray to her. As he left, she saw Samantha in the foyer.
“Please ask Mrs. Hunter to join me, Poogan,” she said.
She put the letter on her desk and walked to the more comfortable seating nearer the fireplace. Clare had no sooner sat than Samantha rushed in. Instead of speaking, she paused and walked in a more sedate pace over to where Clare was and sat in the other chair.
“Should I call for tea?” Clare asked.
Samantha stood and walked to the cabinet in the corner. Tugging open the glass door, she reached inside and lifted out the crystal decanter of whisky kept there. Placing it on the table next to the cabinet, she turned to Clare and raised an eyebrow.
“Certainly.”
“Whisky or brandy?”
“Whisky.”
After this whole day, a wee dram might calm her nerves. She did not imbibe spirits as a practice; however, she would make an exception. Samantha poured two servings and brought them over to Clare, tucking the decanter handily under one arm. Now it was Clare’s turn to raise a brow.
“I’ve a feeling we may need more to fortify ourselves for the coming discussion.” Clare could not disagree.
They sat in companionable silence until they’d each swallowed several sips of the aged and potent drink.
“You are a widow,” Samantha said. Clare felt as though her friend had begun in the middle of some private conversation heard only by her. “And so, there is some leniency when it comes to relationships.”
“Relationships?” Clare nearly choked.
“Well, you are contemplating entering into one with that man, are you not?” Clare was going to object, but Samantha was not ready to stop. “From the way that man looked at you, as though he was waiting to devour you, and the way you looked at him, well...” Samantha put her glass down and waved her hand over her face as though trying to cool her skin. “And that doesn’t even take into account whatever happened between you two when you went off todiscusssome matter or another.”
Clare could not say anything. She wanted to argue, to explain, to say something. No words came. It was too soon. Too much had happened that she needed to think about before saying too much. Or saying the wrong thing. So many depended on her for their very lives for her to make a mistake in dealing with this man.
“Clare?”
“I beg your pardon, Samantha. It has been a very long day and—”
“And you do not want to talk about the thrill and excitement and terror and feelings of being attracted to a man like him?” Samantha took her hand. “It would be terrifying even if it were not as complicated as your life is. But, Clare, any moment of joy, and aye, pleasure, you can grab in the life is worth the chance you take.”
“Is that why you are with Peter?”
Samantha consumed the rest of her whisky in one mouthful and poured more into her glass, all without a word in reply. Only when she replaced the stopper in the crystal bottle did she speak.
“I am with Peter because he makes me happy,” she said. “And I believe I make him happy as well.”
“You deserve to be happy, Cousin. After—” Samantha waved off what Clare was about to say.
“Aye, my life... before... was a horrid existence. Aye, he was a miserable man intent on breaking me. Aye, I was relieved at his death,” she explained. “But, just because I suffered through that and now seek my own brighter future with a lovely young man.” She paused and took a breath. “That does not mean you cannot seek happiness now because you were happy.”
