“Very well. I can hardly wait to see this gown!” She smiled. “Mr. Worth mentioned that he has outdone himself with this creation for you.”
Meg smiled to see the joy in Angela’s delicate face. Too often her friend, a pale blonde with light-blue eyes, wore mourning colors that drained her of color. Widowed several years ago while young, she kept to dark colors out of habit, perhaps not ready to move on. Angela was a gentle, loyal friend and an invaluable aide and companion, and Meg only wanted to see her happy again.
“The Worth gown will be lovely. And you deserve some credit for that, Angela. Mr. Worth took your suggestions to heart in designing it.” Smiling, her enthusiasm felt forced, her delight in the beautiful gown and her anticipation of the soiree diminished by a dull ache of loneliness and loss. But losing Dougal Stewart this time was her own doing.
She set a hand to the snugly corseted waistline of her day dress of blue plaid satin, and wondered again if Dougal would attend her soiree. He had been invited before she had met him on Caransay, but she did not know if he had accepted.
“Have we received replies to all the invitations?” she asked. “I wonder if some have responded. For instance, Mr. Dougal Stewart, the lighthouse engineer,” she added casually. “Perhaps he will be busy working in the Isles.”
“Let me look.” Angela Shaw went to a secretary desk in a corner and opened it to retrieve a written list. “Mr. Hamilton tucked the list here with the envelopes that are coming in by post.” She turned. “His name is here, aye. And his response.” Rummaging through the letters, she plucked one out of the pile to bring it to Meg.
Fingers trembling, she opened the envelope to remove a reply card.Dear Lady Strathlin, I am pleased to accept your invitation.He had added his name in the plain, masculine script she recognized. It brought him back to her so sharply that she sucked in a breath. His answer had been sent from Caransay.
If he attended, he would see immediately that Meg MacNeill was in fact Baroness Strathlin.Oh, dear God. Dread spun in her stomach.I should have told him.
She set the note aside as another knock came at the door, and Guy Hamilton entered. Earlier in the day, she had sat briefly with him to review preparations for the soiree. The event dominated her household, looming in the future. She wished she had never agreed to it.
“Madam, the post has arrived. Good afternoon, Mrs. Shaw,” he added in a murmur.
Meg often noticed a flush on Guy Hamilton’s cheeks when he was near the young widow, and now pink brightened Angela Shaw’s cheeks too. Glancing from one to the other, Meg felt sure they had a strong mutual affection. But each was so reserved in character, carefully guarding feelings, that she wondered if they had acknowledged it. Perhaps falling in love herself had sharpened her sense of it in others. She wanted to push them together and leave the room. Instead, she smiled calmly, watching them.
“Good day, Mr. Hamilton,” Angela said with a tiny, dimpled smile. “Lady Strathlin was asking about the final guest list for the party.”
“Nearly done. Oh, I see you have it there.” He reached as Angela gave him the folded sheet. “Nearly all have accepted, but for a few who are traveling or indisposed. Even Mr. Stewart of the lighthouse kerfuffle will be there.”
“So I understand,” Meg said. “It will be an interesting evening,” she added, stomach tight.
“A private assembly hosted by Lady Strathlin, following a concert by a renowned songstress,” Guy said, looking at Angela, “and she thinks it will beinteresting.”
Angela laughed softly. “If Mr. Stewart comes, it will certainly be interesting!”
“Why do you say that?” Meg asked, her voice a bit shrill.
“Let us hope your first meeting with him will not come to fisticuffs, since the lawyers have been unable to dissuade him. Did you happen to meet him on the island?”
“I did,” she said curtly, and blew on her inked drawing even though it was dry.
“And you left the poor fellow and his lighthouse still standing?”
“His lighthouse is not up yet,” Meg said tightly.
“Did you have a chance to discuss the situation with him?”
She sighed. “A little. To be honest, I did not tell Mr. Stewart that I am Lady Strathlin.”
“What?” Guy looked at her incredulously.
“He thinks you are just a lass from Caransay?” Angela asked, looking stunned.
She nodded. “I—never found a moment to tell him.”
Guy huffed. “Well, he is about to find out. What then?”
She shrugged. “I should have said something. But he—he was out on the rock out in the sea often. Now I am not sure how to approach it,” she confessed.
“Mr. Stewart will be staggered when he realizes who you are,” Angela said.
“And quite possibly furious,” Guy said.
