“It is. Any man could fall in love with you, and some might scheme to marry you just because of your fortune.” He smiled. “As for me, I adore you, but I have no illusions. I keep you firmly on a pedestal where you belong.”
“I shall only topple.” Meg laughed a little. “Guy, thank you, but you are wrong. Sir Roderick has asked for my hand, but no other.” A little quiver went through her—long ago, she dreamed another might ask for her hand. But he was long gone, never to be seen again.
“And I am sure many others have considered it. Should anyone make unwanted advances, I want to know about it.” He frowned. “I shall speak to Matheson if you like.”
“I should do that myself, after I return from the Isles.”
“Very well. We have quite a few letters to look through this morning, I see.”
“A good number of these are acceptances for the soiree for Miss Jenny Lind in September. And there is much to do if we are to be ready. How did Angela Shaw ever convince me to host an event for the celebrated Swedish Nightingale?”
“Mrs. Shaw had an excellent idea, and you saw the worth of it. I believe all the invitations have gone out by now.”
“Do you recall if you sent one to Mr. Dougal Stewart?”
“The engineer? It was delivered to his address here in Edinburgh last week. The man was deuced difficult to find, so the invitation could not be sent by daily post. Apparently, he is often in some remote place putting up a lighthouse, and his family seat is far off in Strathclyde. Fortunately, I discovered that he keeps rooms in town near the Canongate.”
“I have second thoughts about inviting him, but I suppose it is too late.”
“Let it be a gesture of truce.”
“No doubt he will see it as a gesture of surrender.”
“When you finally meet, we will hope it does not come to blows,” Guy drawled.
“His letters over the past several months have been insistent, and his latest action is practically a declaration of war. Obtaining parliamentary permission to construct barracks on my island, when we had denied him the right, took me by surprise!”
“He had the right, apparently. Parliament overrides such things.”
“This Mr. Stewart does what he wants, it seems. He can be impatient and demanding.” She sighed. “In his letters he shows great concern for the welfare of his men. I respect that. Otherwise, he can be obstinate, according to my solicitors.”
“I hear that in person, he is the very devil for charm. Perhaps that helps him get his way.”
“His actions do not reflect charm,” she snapped.
“My sister-in-law knows him, and says Mr. Stewart is seldom seen at parties, rather like his nemesis, Lady Strathlin.” Guy smiled. “When he does appear, she says young ladies act faint and overcome.”
“I suppose he is simply terrifying.”
“A very handsome fellow, says my sister-in-law, and his daring heroics give him a romantic aura. He saved several workmen who fell into the sea in the bridge disaster in Fife last year in frigid waters. Remarkable. I admire any man who risks his life for others like that.”
“I remember hearing about that.The Edinburgh Reviewreported that Mr. Stewart dove into a frozen sea to pull each man out of the water before assistance could arrive. True, it is admirable. Mr. Stewart has his good qualities—if we should fall into the sea. But other matters speak differently of him.”
“You and Mr. Stewart have something in common, then.”
She lifted a brow. An odd ripple went through her, a memory just out of reach. More likely a warning to stay away from the man. “What could that possibly be?”
“You both saved lives in the Fife bridge disaster. Your generosity in paying medical costs and lost wages for the injured men, and donating funds toward repairing the collapsed bridge were admirable deeds as well.”
“If Mr. Stewart knows that, it did not melt his heart toward me,” she said wryly.
“I wonder. Oh, I am reminded. You asked my uncle to send over Stewart’s latest letter.” Guy removed an envelope from a pocket. “He included a copy of the order signed by Queen Victoria.”
“Along with more plans?” She skimmed the pages he handed her. “He is persistent as well as infuriating. He sends letters and plans every month, and ignores our refusals. Odious man,” she muttered, studying the royal permission for Stewart’s projectand the meticulous line drawings included on another page. “Here he has drawn the coast of Caransay, and here he sketched a lighthouse on Sgeir Caran. It is rather elegant,” she admitted.
“It is a grand design,” Guy agreed.
“It is. And I hope the thing never goes up on that rock.”
