Scotland
CARA’S MEMORIES OF SCOTLAND were of her long-ago training as an ambulance driver in the Great War, the one they now called World War I. Please, God, she prayed, may there never be a third. She thought of Luc and Alair’s baby, nearly the same age as Luc had been then. Cara controlled a shudder. Why, now that it was over, did she sympathize more with what Kitty’s attitude had been all along? In her recent position with the Red Cross, Cara had dealt firsthand with the men flooding into veterans’ hospitals. She had seen the hopelessness in their eyes, knowing they faced months, perhaps years, of multiple surgeries and rehabilitation therapy before they could resume their normal lives—if that would even be possible.
Of course, being with Luc had brought it all closer than before. She was almost thankful Kip had not lived to see Luc in his present condition. It would have broken his heart. God has a purpose for everything, even the tragedies of our lives, Cara thought, remembering how Owen had tried to tell her just that.
Now she had to face a new responsibility, and it weighed heavily upon her. Montclair. Who would take over what they had naturally expected would be Luc’s inherited role? That’s what she had to discuss with Phoebe.
Cara recalled the vibrant, pretty young governess Aunt Garnet had hired for the children during the family reunion at Birchfields in 1897, the year of Queen Victoria’s Jubilee. She and Kitty had been six years old and full of mischief. Evalee had been there, too, and Phoebe had managed them all with patience, good humor, and tolerance. How surprised they had all been when Uncle Jonathan married her after Davida’s death.
But she was exactly right for him. Down-to-earth, sensible, practical. Intelligent, understanding, sympathetic.
Cara was looking forward to renewing her acquaintance, especially now that they would have an even closer connection. She smiled, thinking of Niki’s shining eyes and Fraser’s glowing expression when they had met her in London and told her of their engagement.
Would Fraser be willing to come to Virginia and manage Montclair, the only home Niki had ever really known? How strong were his ties to his native land, his obligation to the family hotel business? Did Phoebe expect him to take over her job eventually? All this had to be found out, discussed, when Cara laid out her proposal to Phoebe. If it was turned down, then what? Cara did not even want to consider the alternative. Sell Montclair? The house where a Montrose had been master for over two hundred years?
The train rattled into the tiny station, and Cara left her compartment and stepped out onto the platform. The air was sharp, crisp, and damp. Cara turned up her coat collar and glanced around. She had not expected to be met. Trains were still running on irregular schedules as they slowly were converted from wartime troop transportation, and she had not been sure of her exact arrival time. Phoebe had told her the McPherson Arms was only a short walk and from the depot could be seen at the crest of the hill.
As Cara started up the winding street, she glanced about her with pleasure. Kingaren looked just the way a small Scottish town was supposed to—picturesque and charming. Stretching beyond it were rolling hills covered with heather and gorse, and the sweeping curves of distant mountains.
The McPherson Arms, which commanded the hillside it overlooked, was a timbered stucco-and-brick building. She entered the lobby and thought it more resembled a laird’s country house than a hotel. Paneled walls were hung with pictures of men in full Highlander regalia. Comfortable chairs in faded plaid slipcovers were arranged in conversational groups before a wide stone fireplace, where a fire welcomed and warmed the weary traveler. As she stood on the threshold, she heard a soft voice with a musical lilt say her name. A tall woman came toward her, holding out both hands.
“Phoebe!” The two women embraced. “It’s so good to see you.”
“And you too. To think that we’re going to be mother-in-law for each other’s children!” Phoebe laughed. Its delightful sound took Cara back to her childhood, when Phoebe had joined in their play. “Come along. We’ll have some tea straight away and a chance to talk.”
Phoebe took Cara’s arm and, passing the reception desk, said to the smiling young woman behind it, “This is my—what? My cousin? From America, Ellen. We’re going back to my apartment. Will you have Annie bring us some tea, please?”
In Phoebe’s apartment a small coal fire glowed, shining on the polished brass fender. “Do sit down and be comfortable, Cara. There’s so much to talk about, so much I want to hear.”
Cara hoped Phoebe would be open to her proposal and agree with her that Fraser was now the rightful heir to his father’s estate.
Tea was brought in by a rosy-cheeked, cheerful maid. Cara, who had only had a hurried cup of tea and a stale bun at the London terminal tea shop, appreciated the hearty repast provided—freshly baked scones, shortbread, marmalade and lemon curd, and rich, strong tea. After the initial catching up was done, Cara brought up what she had traveled so far to discuss. She watched the other woman’s face as she outlined her plan.
Phoebe had lost some of her youthful softness; her cheekbones were prominent and her eyes were thoughtful. She listened to all Cara had to say. Then she asked, “And have you discussed this with my son?”
“No, I wanted to talk with you first.” Cara smiled. “Fraser was so besotted with Niki at the time, I didn’t know whether he could discuss anything sensibly for a few weeks.”
“I know. He is deeply in love with your daughter. I saw that when they were here.”
“I believe he would do anything to make her happy. Montclair is Niki’s home. She realizes that now more than ever. You know her background, of course?”
“Yes,” Phoebe said, nodding. She was quiet for a long time. Then she spoke. “Like every mother whose son went to war, I suppose, I eagerly anticipated Fraser’s safe return. Not that he ever wanted to take over the hotel. Oh, he worked here on school holidays and during the summer. But he’s really a farmer. He talked often of having his own farm, raising sheep. So I should think the idea of having a place like Montclair would seem ideal to him.” She paused and her eyes glowed momentarily with the brightness of tears. “And I think Jonathan would be very pleased.”