Scottish Highlands, Thursday, 11 September 1873
YOUR FATHER IS MOST PUT-OUT to be marooned in London, and concerned Her Majesty will take offence at his absence,” the duchess said. “But since the queen only informed Lochiel yesterday that she planned to call on him tomorrow, she cannot possibly imagine he will have been able to conjure a significant welcoming party at such short notice.”
Or that the party would include me, Margaret thought, gazing out at the view as the train puffed towards their destination after a somewhat complicated journey into the Highlands. Though Donald would know by now that she was coming, for Mama had sent a telegram. When she had proposed that Margaret deputise for the duke, it had seemed like an excellent opportunity for her to lay the ghosts of their past, but the closer she got to their destination, the more she wondered if she was ready for this encounter.
Her mother knew nothing of their friendship and would have been astounded if she knew how close it had come to marriage. Margaret had consciously refrained from asking any questions, anxious not to arouse her suspicions. Was Donald looking forward to seeing her? After all this time, he was most likely indifferent, especially if he was happily married, which she truly hoped he was. She hoped he loved his Helen, and was loved in return, and that when she saw them together it would put paid to any of her own residual feelings for him, once and for all. She had to knock him off the pedestal she had created for him and clear the way for the possibility of finding love herself, a possibility she finally felt ready to consider. She didn’t want to spend the rest of her life alone. But first she had to prove to herself that Donald was not an obstacle to her future happiness.
“You are eerily quiet,” Mama said, as the train began to slow for the approach to the station.
Roused from her reverie, Margaret smiled apologetically. “The view is so beautiful, I was quite distracted,” she said, which was partially true. “I wonder what my father’s reaction will be when he discovers that I have taken his place?”
“He is in no position to object,” the duchess said dryly. “Besides, I am sure the queen will be very pleased to see you again. The royal party are to drive from Inverlochy Castle tomorrow, where they are on a little sketching holiday. Poor Lochiel has no idea when they will arrive or for how long they plan to stay. You know how it is with Her Majesty when she is in Scotland. She will say that she wishes the call to be quite informal with no ceremony, and has no notion of the amount of preparation it takes to receive her, informally or otherwise. Thank heavens I had a decent plaid gown to bring with me.”
“And thank heavens that Mary’s tartan dress fitted me.”
“Your younger sister is very like you in figure and in temperament.”
“Oh, poor Mary.”
Mama laughed. “You know perfectly well I meant it as a compliment. It is a shame that Louise isn’t with the queen, but I believe she will only have Princess Beatrice with her.”
“Oh, Louise is far too busy for jaunts to Scotland. She is redecorating the private apartment in Kensington Palace she has been granted, and so excited to finally to have space to create a sculpting studio of her own. Her letters are full of her designs and plans. She is absolutely determined to have it reflect her personal taste, which I suppose is no surprise, after having endured the queen’s more sombre preferences for so long.”
“She and Lorne seem to spend an inordinate amount of time apart.” The duchess pursed her lips. “I am assuming that there is no substance to the latest round of speculation in the press, that she will shortly be making an addition to the house of Argyll?”
“Not that I am aware, though she does not confide in me as she once did, and even if she did . . .”
“You would not break her confidence. Quite right. You are a very loyal friend. It is a pity that you have managed to see her only the once since your return.”
“She has a very full calendar, but I am delighted she made the effort to come to Edinburgh especially to see me. It was wonderful to finally meet face-to-face again. It’s been such a long time.”
“How does being married suit her?”
“Louise has never been one to give much away.” Her friend had been vivacious, garrulous almost, over the dinner they had shared in Edinburgh last month, but when Margaret attempted to steer their conversation onto a more personal level, the drawbridge was hoisted up. “It was bound to be a little awkward, given the gap, but by the end, it was just like old times.”
“Did she find you much changed? What does she make of your Sanctuary in Five Points?”
“We didn’t talk much about New York. Louise is involved with so many charitable endeavours herself. . . .”
“And she never could bear to be outshone.”
“Mama!”
“Yes, I know, that is unkind but perfectly true nonetheless. She is one of your oldest friends, and she ought to be proud of you. I know I am.”
“And you tell me so, at every opportunity. There really is no need. . . .”
“There is every need.” Mama took her hand, squeezing it tightly. “I know I also say this every time we meet, but I am so very pleased to have you home.”
“And I am very, very pleased to be here.”
“You don’t regret leaving New York?”
“Oh no, not a bit of it. I miss it and my friends there; but really, the world is not such a vast place as it seemed when I first crossed the Atlantic. I know I’ll visit one day. For now, I am very happy to be back in Scotland. I knew the moment the train started to pull in at Waverley station back in March that this is where I belong. We came through the tunnel, and I saw the big grey bulk of the castle looming over me. When I stepped onto the platform, I was surrounded by Scottish voices; and even though it had been seven long years since I’d set foot here—” Margaret broke off, smiling sheepishly. “You’ve read my first piece for Demorest’s, I don’t need to repeat it verbatim.”
Her mother smiled warmly. “I am so relieved that the closeness we established in our correspondence continues to thrive. Your father . . .”
“Oh, let us not spoil things by talking of him.”
“He will never admit it, but he is astonished by what you have achieved, Margaret. The fact that he has not once mentioned stopping your allowance should have told you at least that he no longer opposes the choices you have made.”
“Though he cannot endorse them!”
“No, that would be quite beyond him, but he makes no objection to my visiting you and even staying overnight in that little town house you have rented on Heriot Row, though Dalkeith is only seven miles from the city. What’s more, when I suggested that I could help raise funds for your Edinburgh sanctuary, he said he expected no less.”
“I’m delighted that we will be working together.”
“As am I. I wish I could spare you more time, but I have so many other commitments and spend far less time in Edinburgh than I would like. Ah, here we are. I believe Lochiel has arranged a carriage for us. All we need to do is find a porter for our luggage.”
A mere twenty minutes later they were on their way, following a sinuous road along the banks of a river. The nerves which Margaret had quelled now set her stomach roiling, making her wish that she had eschewed her boiled egg at breakfast. It was less than fifteen miles to their destination. In two hours, perhaps less, she would see Donald again.
My home is the Achnacarry Estate in Invernesshire, near the little village of Spean Bridge, and just north of the town of Fort William. The land is rugged, with some fine woods, and the castle itself sits low on the terrain, not far from Loch Arkaig, where I am thinking of building a new pier to allow a steamer to berth. She still had the letter he had written to her in Ireland. She still had all his letters. I think you would like it, Margaret. I know that I would very much like to show it to you one day.
And now that day had arrived, but she would not be arriving as the estate’s future mistress, only as additional ballast to the guests he and his wife had assembled to greet the queen. She smoothed an imaginary crease out of the olive-green travelling gown that Mama had been astonished to learn she had bought ready-made. It was quite plain, a pleated hem and cuffs and a row of pearl buttons on the bodice the only trimmings, but she had long ago given up any attempt to be fashionable and the colour suited her. Would Donald think her much changed? Perhaps she would find him much altered? What would Helen look like? And goodness, would they have children? It hadn’t even occurred to her until now. Mama had made no mention of children, but then Mama had no notion at all that Margaret and Donald were anything other than acquaintances. Which they were not, now.
“This must be Loch Lochy,” the duchess said, leaning out of the window. “Isn’t it lovely?”
“Beautiful,” Margaret agreed, gazing out at the wooded banks of the loch, the hills behind looking blue rather than green. The road turned away from the loch to follow the banks of another river and the terrain became much more lush, the mountains more rugged. They had left Dalkeith in mizzle. As they journeyed north the skies had darkened and the rain had fallen with determined ferocity, but now the skies were clear, with only a few harmless puffy clouds drifting on the horizon. Through the open window of the carriage came the scent of spruce trees and bracken, the rush of the river, and the rumble of the coach wheels on the rutted road.
And then came Margaret’s first glimpse of Achnacarry, sitting low in the land just as Donald had described it, surrounded by a riot of oak trees which were green against the grey stone, the conifers on the steeply rising hill behind in hues of purple and teal. Donald’s home was not so much a castle as a country house with baronial aspirations, with a lower wing, obviously a late addition, spoiling the symmetry of the central block, and a balustraded roof adorned with an assortment of turrets. It was a solid house with a commanding view over some pretty fields full of contentedly grazing sheep to the front, and presumably the river to the rear, but it was neither imposing nor intimidating.
Margaret banished the thought that this could have been hers, reminding herself sternly of the purpose of the visit; but as the carriage came to a halt in front of a white portico and the coachman opened the door and pulled down the steps, a man appeared in the doorway to greet them and her legs turned to jelly.
“Your Grace,” she heard him say to her mother, “it is a great pleasure to welcome you to Achnacarry. I am very much obliged to you for making the effort at such short notice.”
To hear his voice was so very different from remembering it. To have him actually standing only a few feet away was unnerving. She wasn’t at all certain she could get herself out of the carriage, but she could not remain inside indefinitely. Taking herself in hand, reminding herself that it was dear Donald she was about to face, not some hostile tyrant, Margaret gathered up her skirts, pinned a smile to her face, and climbed out of the carriage.
“Margaret, you remember Lochiel, of course,” Mama said.
“Margaret!” He stared at her, utterly confounded.
“Didn’t you get my telegram? I am afraid the duke is in London,” Mama explained, “and so I brought my second daughter. Her Majesty will be pleased to meet her again. The last time was at Princess Helena’s wedding, which would be— Oh, goodness, how long ago was that?”
“Seven years,” Margaret said, holding out her hand, pleased to see it was not shaking. “How do you do, Lochiel?”
“Margaret.” He clasped his hands around hers, staring at her as if she was an apparition. “I thought you were in America.”
“I returned in March.”
“March? You are paying an extended visit, then?”
Gently she disentangled her hands from his. “I am home for good. I have taken a town house in Edinburgh.”
“A house? In Edinburgh? So you are married, then?”
“No. Oh no, I live alone,” she said, swallowing hard, for a lump had risen in her throat. That couldn’t possibly be anything other than surprise in his voice, and the way he’d clung to her fingers could only be attributable to shock. He was older. There were more lines at the corners of his eyes and just a hint of grey at his temples; but he was still clean-shaven, still handsome in that plain, unassuming way of his, and the smile which was dawning on him still reached his eyes.
“Your wife,” Margaret said, taking an unnecessary step back. “I am looking forward to meeting her.”
“My wife?”
“Lochiel is not married, Margaret. Whatever gave you that idea?”
“Julia.” Margaret looked from Donald to Mama and then back to Donald. “Julia told me you were engaged. A Miss Helen Blair. She said . . .”
“In the end we agreed we did not suit.”
“Oh! I’m so sorry,” Margaret said, appalled and confused, staring at him helplessly. “I thought—I had no idea.”
“Why should you? It’s not as if—I mean—” Donald broke off, making a visible effort to smile at her mother. “You’ve had a long journey; you’ll be wanting to wash your hands. Your Grace, I have allotted you the state rooms. Margaret—Lady Margaret—you must have the Blue Room. When you are ready, perhaps you would like to join my cousins, Susan and Camilla, in the drawing-room for tea? Fortunately for me, they both live nearby. They arrived yesterday and have been working tirelessly with my housekeeper to prepare for every eventuality. I’m afraid I have no idea even of the time of day Her Majesty plans to arrive. She insists that the visit will be informal but . . .”
“I understand, but you should not worry. Your house is in a lovely setting, surrounded by exactly the kind of hills and lochs Her Majesty adores,” the duchess said. “And here is your good lady housekeeper come to show us to our rooms, if I am not mistaken. If you will excuse us.” She took Margaret’s arm again, saying softly, “I do hope that when you resolve whatever issue exists between you and Lochiel you will see fit to inform me what on earth is going on.”
DONALD LISTENED AS CAMILLA AND SUSAN explained the arrangements they had made for dinner that night and the many options they had prepared for tomorrow, though he didn’t actually hear a word of what they said.
Margaret was here.
Margaret was not in New York; she was here at Achnacarry.
He had never been able to convince himself that he didn’t love her, but he had long ago given up any hope of seeing her again. Yet what difference did it make? She wasn’t married, but didn’t he know better than anyone that was most likely because she never would? He would be a fool to imagine that the outcome would be different if he asked her a second time. Misguided to imagine that she was here for any other reason than to accompany her mother. An idiot to read anything into the look they had exchanged as he took her hand.
Yet there had been something in that look.
Abruptly informing his cousins that the duchess would be joining them for tea, Donald cut short the conversation, heading to the front terrace. Somehow he was not surprised to see Margaret leaning out the window of the Blue Chamber with her chin cupped in her hands. Whatever she had been doing in New York, it suited her. She had always been lovely, but now she wore her more mature beauty with a quiet, understated confidence that he found extremely attractive.
He beckoned her to join him, and in a few short moments she was with him, still in her travelling gown but without her hat and gloves.
“I thought we could take a walk along the path by the river.”
“I can think of nothing I’d like more,” she answered, hesitating only a moment before slipping her hand into the crook of his arm. “You don’t mind my being here? I’m sorry it was such a shock.”
“It was, but a very nice one. I thought it was perfectly obvious that I was pleased to see you.”
“I’m so sorry if I embarrassed you by mentioning Miss Blair. For the last three years, you see, I’ve laboured under the misapprehension that you were married. I was glad when Julia wrote of it—well, I was glad eventually, once I had recovered from the shock—for I wanted so much for you to be happy.”
“I tried to be. We had a great deal in common, Helen and I. I thought if I could make her happy, then I would be happy, too, but it doesn’t work that way. Fortunately we both realised it in time.” Donald grimaced, recalling that painful conversation. “The betrothal was never formalised, but it was wrong of me, very wrong, to have allowed matters to have progressed as far as they did.”
“Sometimes it’s much easier to go along with a situation than to call a halt,” Margaret said. “Especially when you think it’s what you want. In New York there was a gentleman, a good friend, and I wanted him to mean more to me, but as you said it doesn’t work that way.” She smiled wryly. “Randolph and I are still friends. He’s very happily married now and has a little girl.”
“Helen is married, too.”
They paused by the banks of the river, where the clear water tumbled over the pebbled bed. Donald picked up a flat stone and skimmed it down river.
“Five,” Margaret counted. “That’s impressive.” She picked up a stone, but her own attempt sank after one bounce.
“Here.” He picked up another stone and gave it to her. “Now hold it like this, and pull your arm back—let me show you.” He stood behind her, adjusting her arm. She still used the same perfume. Her hair tickled his chin.
She cast the stone, laughing as it sank again, whirling around, and whatever she had been about to say died on her lips as their eyes met. The urge to take her in his arms and to kiss her was almost overwhelming. She wanted him to—he could see it in her eyes. But if he kissed her now, and it led him nowhere—no, he couldn’t go through that again.
Stooping, he picked up another stone and handed it to her. “Perseverance is the key.”