He frowned a little, though she had greeted him like a friend. “Lady Strathlin,” he murmured. “Enchanted, madam.”
She turned to an elderly lady and gentleman standing beside her. “This is the Lord Provost of Edinburgh and his wife, Lady Lawrie. This is Mr. Stewart.”
“Of lighthouse fame? Of course!” Lord Lawrie peered at him.
“Good evening, sir. Madam,” Dougal said.
“Mr. Stewart has been working near the Isle of Caransay, where I sometimes holiday,” Meg said. “He is modest about his accomplishments, but we consider him a hero on the island.”
“Really? How is that?” Lawrie peered at him.
“A few weeks ago, Mr. Stewart saved the life of a child who was drowning, and in the process, he took on a fearsome shark. It was the most courageous thing I have ever seen.”
“Mr. Stewart, how amazing!” Lady Lawrie said.
“It was not so grand as Lady Strathlin implies, madam. I merely kicked the shark and grabbed the boy.”
“Oh, dear!” Lady Lawrie flapped her fan.
Meg touched his arm lightly to guide him forward. “My Lord Provost, do coax Mr. Stewart to give his account of it. Please excuse me, I must greet more guests.”
Then she smiled at Dougal with such brilliance that he felt dazzled, lost in her eyes, and he very nearly forgave her then and there. Nearly. “Lady Strathlin,” he said stiffly, as she turned to greet the couple behind him.
Soon he was surrounded by people eager to hear the details of his encounter with the shark. Swept from one group to another, he told the story more than once, smiling until his cheeks went taut. The tale spread and became embellished, whispered from one guest to another. Dougal floated through the evening on smiles, congratulations, and expressions of admiration. His hand was clasped, his shoulder slapped, his arm hugged so often that he ached.
He had expected none of that, nor did he expect to dance with one lady after another, so many that their names and facesand flower-bright gowns blurred as he swirled and dipped and escorted them. He listened to gushing praise, and turned down three coy invitations to stroll through the conservatory into the garden.
As the night went on, some new acquaintances mentioned that Lady Strathlin seemed to admire him as a man of courage and integrity. One or two confided in him that general thought was that her solicitors had been overzealous in opposing his work. He heard apologies from businessmen and others who murmured that they had been misinformed him and would be willing in to contribute to the funds needed for the lighthouse.
“A ring of lighthouses is needed all around Scotland,” said one fellow. “Out in the Western Isles as much as anywhere else. Tell me what you require.” He clapped Dougal on the shoulder, gave him his card, and wandered away.
Each encounter made Dougal feel heartened, relieved, and surprised. Lady Strathlin’s story of Dougal rescuing the child became a tale of rescuing the boy from a shark, though he consistently denied it. Her opinion held weight with these elite folks—though of course it was her fortune and influence that mattered to them. He was not sure how he felt about that.
After a while, he was approached by Sir Edward Dundas, gaunt and gruff, and Sir John Grant, a quiet, pleasant-looking man with thick spectacles. Earlier, Dougal had seen them in animated discussion with Lady Strathlin and her secretary, a young man called Hamilton.
“Mr. Stewart,” Sir Edward said, while Sir John cleared his throat. “Might we have a word?”
Dreading even a brief conversation with Lady Strathlin’s lawyers, he gave a curt nod.
“Mr. Stewart, we seem to have misjudged you,” Sir John said. “The lighthouse remains a matter of debate and negotiation and should not be discussed here,” Sir Edward began, as Dougalnodded vigorous agreement, “it is possible we were hasty in implying that you might be unprincipled.”
“We hope for peace between our parties,” Sir John said. “Lady Strathlin desires it as well.” He extended his hand, and Dundas did the same.
Shaking their hands, Dougal wondered if the lady desired it for herself or for the sake of her advocates.
But throughout that long and astonishing evening, he never spoke to Lady Strathlin. Not once did he murmur in her ear or dance with her, whirling her about the floor in his arms. Not once did he approach her to thank her for what she had so subtly and successfully done for him.
Now and then, he met her gaze across the room, her luminous eyes hauntingly somber in the midst of gaiety. Once, as their glances touched, he gave her a subtle nod that he meant as an expression of gratitude, of humility—he would go that far. She paused in her conversation with Miss Lind to angle her head toward him in silent, graceful reply. A glance, the slightest motion was a signal he understood. His heart stirred, and longing seared through him like flame.
But while he appreciated the magic she had worked that evening, his pride was great too. He loved her, knew now he could not stop that. But he would keep it to himself.
*
Very late, mostof the guests had gone, including Miss Jenny Lind and her soft-spoken English husband. Turning away from farewells at the door, Meg noticed a few businessmen in the nearby parlor, standing with Dougal Stewart. They clustered in private conversation, holding wineglasses that had been filled and drained and filled again. Dougal held no glass, just stood listening, a hand shoved in a pocket, his coat draped back ashe leaned a shoulder against a doorframe, one polished boot crossed over the other.
He looked weary, Meg thought, seeing his shoulders sag, noting the subtle pinch of his lips. Weary and wary, for he seemed cautious. He glanced up then, meeting her gaze, and she felt the magical shock of it. Then he looked away.
Sighing, she gathered her skirts like a bell and went through the parlor with a few murmured greetings, unwilling to disturb their conversation even as others left. Her heart thumped as she passed Dougal. At the back of the parlor, glass doors led to the garden, and she opened those to step out, desperate for fresh air, desperate for a few moments of quiet.
