“And before it slips my mind, please instruct the bank to disperse funds to the new housekeeper at Matheson House as I require.”
“Very well.” He stood. “A cheque will be sent.” He bid her farewell and crossed the room to a set of double doors with etched-glass panes.
Meg sighed. Inheriting great wealth had certainly eased some paths, but had created thorny thickets elsewhere. She had been able to help many, such as the Caransay islanders when she had purchased the island’s lease, and she was grateful and determined to continue using her good fortune to help as many as she could.
But she had a deep secret that she must protect at all costs. The gift of the kelpie, as her grandmothers called it, had brought Meg not only tremendous good fortune, but a beautiful son and a heartfelt hurt that she carefully guarded.
If not for the love of close kin and a windfall inheritance, she might have been in straits similar to the young women she intended to help through her charitable institution.
Never married, mother to a little son, Meg had been surprised to be named Lord Strathlin’s heir after his sudden death. Gradually adjusting to those changes with the help of her family, she found that wealth could grant true protection. She could keep her secret safe and protect her child, allowing him to grow and thrive on Caransay in a loving family. When he was a few years older, it would be time to introduce him to life as a wealthy heir.
The deepest part of her secret was that she had met the boy’s nameless, beautiful, unforgettable, despicable father on a rocky, storm-swept isle late one night. No one should ever know that. The man had vanished, and she was doing what she felt was right for her son.
Now, speculating on marriage to Sir Roderick, she gave a bitter laugh. According to ancient tradition and an old Scots law, she was already married.
She touched the little golden locket tucked beneath the neck of her blue brocade day gown. Inside its spring catch cover was a tiny portrait of her blond-haired son and a small ring woven of red thread and strands of hair. The locket was always around her neck; she would never forget the passion of that night, its reward, or its betrayal.
As for the child who had resulted from that encounter, she saw her son as often as possible, though the weeks and months apart were hard to bear. Strathlin Castle was a magnificent old ruin renovated in grand style, yet despite its luxuries, itnever felt entirely like home to her. The responsibilities of her inheritance, with its business ventures and wealth to manage, could not be done from a remote island. She wanted her little son to live with her, but even more, she wanted him to experience the freedom, tradition, challenges, and joys of life in the Isles, with kin to nurture him. Later, she would ensure that he had the finest education, but Nature’s power and beauty was education in itself. Caransay was a part of her, bone and blood and soul, and she wanted her son to feel that way too.
She glanced at the far corner of the library, where her friend and companion sat reading. Mrs. Elspeth Berry’s black skirts, a reminder of her widowhood of many years, billowed out of the leather wing chair. Looking around, Meg did not see her other faithful companion, Mrs. Angela Shaw, Sir John’s young widowed daughter-in-law. Then she remembered that quiet, capable Angela would be discussing menus with the housekeeper that morning as part of her duties.
Both ladies had been a great help to her since she had inherited Strathlin, and they even made sure to be nearby as unobtrusive chaperones when Meg met with male advisers and business acquaintances, as Mrs. Berry had done this morning. Years ago, they had warned Meg that her fortune would attract all sorts of men interested in marrying her; the ladies were sweet and determined about protecting her.
A knock at the door preceded a young maid, small and brown haired, dressed in dark gray with a white apron and cap; she looked into the room. “Ma leddy, Mr. Hamilton is here.”
“Thank you, Hester. Send him in, please.”
A tall, lean, dark-haired man entered the room to cross with a brisk step, his handsome face familiar and welcome, his brown eyes twinkling. Meg smiled up at her secretary.
“Good morning! Do sit,” she said. Guy Hamilton took a leather chair opposite her desk. His long body was relaxed and agile, and his natural verve made her feel more energetic.
“I apologize for being late, madam.”
“Not at all! Sir John was here and all in knots over my proposed home for young ladies.”
“He can be a sour old screw, but he has your best interests at heart. I stopped by Uncle Edward’s law office on my way here, or could have helped you fend off Sir John. Hello, Mrs. Berry! On duty again, I see,” he called pleasantly. Mrs. Berry waved and returned to her reading.
“Please look through these.” Meg pushed several letters toward him. “I’ve added a list of the replies I think necessary.”
“Very good. Where is Mrs. Shaw this morning?” As he glanced around the library, Meg saw a slight flush spill through his cheeks.
“Downstairs with Mrs. Louden making up menus. They are all in a kerfuffle over the soiree, though it’s two months away.”
“I am sure they enjoy helping to plan your event.” He smiled as he studied the letters.
Meg nodded, noticing an etching of sadness in his fine brown eyes. Widowed a few years earlier, Hamilton kept his grief private and his mood calm and uplifting. He efficiently attended to his secretarial duties, from correspondence to travel plans and even her social schedule. Guy Hamilton had been a new lawyer and recent widower when he had inquired about the position as her secretary. Since then, his humor and graciousness had made him a true friend.
“Sir John said Sir Roderick also disapproves of Matheson House for Young Ladies. He does not want the name associated with him or his family. Your family,” he clarified. “Frank Matheson made you his direct heir.”
“Perhaps Sir Roderick has forgotten that he is a third cousin, though he carries the name. At any rate, Roderick told him that we are engaged to marry.”
“He seems to have misinterpreted your relationship, perhaps due to your kind nature.”
“Whatever the cause, it is a true misunderstanding.” She tipped her head, considering. In the first years of her inheritance, she had relied on Sir Roderick’s counsel as her cousin and as a banker. Later, when he struggled after his wife’s death and she learned that his bills were mounting, she had helped him out of a financial deal that had gone sour. “It was important to me to show loyalty. I meant nothing more by it. He has the wrong impression.” She scowled.
“You are generous, as I myself can attest. Not just lovely and kindhearted, but also one of the richest women in Scotland. May I say, it is a perfectly lethal combination.”
“Is it?” Meg felt her cheeks heat.
