She walked up the steps to the front door, heart slamming, hands clenched. She glanced at the brass address plaque:Doctor Connor MacBain.
A doctor’s household would be accustomed to unexpected visitors, and it was not yet late, although rain deepened the darkness. However awkward to see a gentleman alone, she owed Dougal the truth. All of it.
Drawing a breath, she lifted the brass knocker and tapped the door.
Moments later, a woman in a gray gown and white apron appeared, then stepped back immediately to bring Meg out of the rain and into the foyer. The house was warm, softly lit, and fragrant with baking spices. Toward the back, she heard the rattle of dishes, and to one side, a harmony of male and female voices mingled in conversation and laughter.
“Are you here for the doctor, Miss? Dr. MacBain has guests and is not seeing patients at this hour, but if ’tis an emergency, he may agree. I will let him know.”
“I have not come to see Dr. MacBain, but Mr. Dougal Stewart. I understand he is staying here. I have an urgent message for him.”
“Mr. Stewart is a guest here, aye. Who is calling?” The housekeeper produced a silver salver to accept Meg’s card Reaching into her glove where she kept a calling card or two out of habit, Meg paused, reluctant to produce one that said Lady Strathlin. “I have no card. Please tell Mr. Stewart that Miss MacNeill is here to see him.”
In the hallway, panel doors slid open, and a dark-haired young woman in a brown silk dress glided toward her. “Hello, Miss. May the doctor be of assistance?” She held out her hand. “I am Mary MacBain. My husband is here—there you are, sir!”
A handsome blond man, wide shouldered and dressed in dark gray with a red plaid vest, stepped into the hall. Meg recognized the man she had seen at the museum exhibit. “Who is it, my dear?”
Seeing Meg he smiled and waited as she approached. “Miss, hello. I am Dr. MacBain. Is there something I can do for you?”
They assumed she was a patient in need, and no one questioned her right to be here or acted as if proprieties were compromised. Meg felt grateful for their friendly acceptance, but she hesitated, feeling suddenly awkward and foolish.
“Miss MacNeill is here to see Mr. Stewart,” Mrs. MacBain said.
“Ah. Pleased to meet you, Miss MacNeill. I’m afraid Mr. Stewart is not here. He stepped out for a little while and did not say when he would be back. Might we give him your card and message?”
Meg stared, brow folding. “Not here?”
“Would you like to wait?” Mrs. MacBain asked. “We have some guests and were about to have coffee. You are welcome to join us.”
Through the half-open pocket doors, Meg saw a few others milling about engaged in conversation. Whoever they were, some might recognize Lady Strathlin if she joined them. And her friends waited in the carriage.
She smiled at the doctor and his wife, who regarded her kindly, patiently, with mild concern. But a radiance of happiness and compassion shone in their faces. A similar quality brightened Guy Hamilton and Angela Shaw when they were together.
She might never have that now.
“Miss,” Mrs. MacBain repeated, “is there something we can do?”
Suddenly she felt lost, alone, unsure of herself. Wealth and social status meant nothing now. Dougal was not here, yet she needed him badly, needed his strength and calm and comfort, his arms around her, his wisdom, and his passion. She needed to know he understood and would forgive her.
Not so long ago, he had asked her for forgiveness, saying he loved her and wanted to marry her. She should have told him then that she loved him, should have been honest then. This was all coming too late.
“I—should not have come,” she blurted. “Please accept my apology. I am sorry for disturbing your evening.” Turning, she reached for the door. As the housekeeper opened it, Meg ran down the steps and back to the coach.
She picked up her skirts and fled down the path, her shoes tapping on stone. Passing through the gate, she ran toward the waiting coach. Guy Hamilton leaped out, opened the door, and swept her inside, calling to the driver. The two horses launched forward up the hill toward the New Town and Charlotte Square.
“That was very quick,” Angela said.
Breathless, Meg sat and settled her skirts. She looked up to see Angela and Guy sitting close together on the opposite bench seat, watching her.
“He was not there. He is out, and they do not know when he will be back. I felt so flustered that I ran out—oh!” Pulling off her gloves, she realized then that the little cream card that identified her as Lady Strathlin was gone. She glanced around, over her wide black crinoline and down at the coach floor.Gone.
Peering out the coach window back toward the MacBain house, she saw Connor MacBain step outside the house, watching the coach disappear. He bent to pick up something from the front step, examined it, and tucked it into his vest pocket as he went inside.
Meg sat back with a groan. “I introduced myself as Miss MacNeill—but I dropped my Strathlin calling card when I ran out.”
“Oh dear,” Angela said. “Will you go back?”
“I do not know,” she said, fingers trembling as she pulled her gloves on again.
