Ben looked at the note again. He had three hours before two o’clock. He would have liked a drink to help him face a shopping trip with Barbara. But it was much too easy to take that way out; he’d sworn never to do it again.
Instead, he selected a book from the library, a history of the Jacobin cause, and settled down to read.
John Alistair’s office was the first stop on the expedition. Barbara had reluctantly agreed to see the solicitor when Ben told her of his promise to introduce Sarah Ann.
Alistair’s side whiskers wriggled as he greeted Sarah Ann, and he smiled when she curtsied as Mrs. Culworthy had taught her. But when he leaned over to shake her hand, Sarah Ann, who was fascinated by the whiskers, pulled on one.
“Sarah Ann,” Ben exclaimed.
“My grandchildren do it all the time,” Alistair said, his eyes roaming over the little girl. Was he looking for a likeness to Ian Hamilton and the rest of the Hamilton family? To Ben, Sarah Ann was a replica of her mother.
But John Alistair said nothing about resemblances, merely asked how she liked Scotland. She told him all about “Pep’mint,” adding that “Lady Barb’ra is going to buy me pep’mint sticks.”
“And what is this?” The solicitor said, his shrewd eyes resting on Sarah Ann’s dirty scarf.
The smile left the girl’s face. “It was Mama’s. She’s in heaven.”
“I’m very sorry about that,” he said, the burr thick on his tongue.
“I am, too. I miss her, and Cully, too.”
“And who is Cully?”
“She took care of me before Papa.”
“I think she did a very good job,” Alistair said. There was a knock on the door, and he reluctantly rose from the chair. “She’s charming,” he said to Ben. “Thank you for bringing her by. I wish her grandfather had lived to see her.” He shook his head slightly, then started to usher them toward the door.
“Lady Barbara,” he said in parting. His tone was polite but not warm.
“Mr. Alistair,” she replied stiffly.
The solicitor’s gaze met hers directly, and Ben noticed Barbara’s dropped first. These two had had battles, obviously, and Ben guessed they stemmed from the fact that Alistair controlled the estate and at least part of Barbara’s income. If the solicitor had not persisted in the search for Ian or his heirs, her inheritance would have been greater—and her friend Hugh would have inherited the title and much of the estate.
Nevertheless, for the remainder of the afternoon, she showed no resentment toward Ben himself or Sarah Ann. Instead, she appeared happy as she suggested a tailor for him to visit while she took Sarah Ann to a dressmaker. He gave Barbara a sum of money for Sarah Ann’s clothes and smiled at the excitement in his daughter’s face. Apparently shopping had suddenly become fun. He wished he shared that enthusiasm.
Ben made his purchases quickly and gave instructions to have everything delivered to Calholm.
“Some evening wear?” the tailor asked hopefully. Ben had already ordered a new dark gray frock coat and two pairs of trousers, after barely tolerating the measuring. “A cutaway coat, perhaps?”
“No,” Ben said firmly. His purse was swiftly shrinking.
“Ben Masters, if the devil doesn’t fool me.”
Ben turned toward the voice in the doorway. Andrew Cameron stood there, a wide smile on his face. “Where’s the little princess?” the Scot asked.
“Doing what females do best,” Ben replied. “Shopping.”
“You seem to be doing some yourself.”
Ben winced. “So I am, but not happily.”
“How is she doing?”
“She has her pony.”
“Then that answers it,” Andrew Cameron said. “I’ve never seen a child so intent on anything.” His eyes suddenly narrowed. “And you? How are you enjoying our fair country?”
“Fair?” Ben retorted. “Does the sun ever shine in Scotland?”
“Occasionally. The rain and mist make us appreciate the sun more.” Cameron lifted a quizzical brow. “How long will you be in Edinburgh?”
“Just until tomorrow,” Ben replied.
Cameron’s eyes went to the tailor, who nodded none too cordially toward him. “You will be pleased to know, Fitts, that I won at cards last night and can pay my bill.”
Fitt’s stern face eased only a little. “All of it, Lord Kinloch?”
“All of it,” Cameron said without rancor. He turned to Ben. “Do these new clothes mean you plan to stay in Scotland?”
“They mean I need something to wear,” Ben said shortly. He wearied of the same questions being asked over and over again, especially since he was also posing the same question to himself.
Cameron nodded. “Well, you picked the best tailor in Edinburgh.”
Ben told himself the man was simply being friendly, but something about Cameron’s appearance here, at this particular shop, rang alarms in his head.
He shrugged. “Lady Barbara’s suggestion.”
Cameron’s eyes suddenly lit with interest. “Ah, one of the widows. And the other? Lady Lisbeth? I hear she’s to have a horse in the Grand National in a few months.”
“She’s at Calholm,” Ben said.
“And how are you and the widows faring?” Mischief fairly danced in Cameron’s eyes. “I assume well, since you’re squiring the fair Lady Barbara.”
Ben scowled, but his displeasure seemed to have no effect on Cameron. “They’ve both been … cordial.”
“I imagine,” he said, almost too quietly to hear. “And which do you favor?”
There was a slight gasp from the doorway, then a rush of movement. “Mr. Cam!” Sarah Ann exclaimed, hurling herself at the Scot.
Cameron stooped, reached a hand behind Sarah Ann’s left ear and plucked out a coin. “Still not washing back there, heh?” he teased.
Sarah Ann giggled and took the proffered coin, then said excitedly to both Ben and Andrew Cameron, “Lady Barb’ra ordered me a riding dress. A green one.”
Ben glanced at Barbara, who stood in the doorway. A riding dress to wear on her new pony. Very smart.
“We ordered two other dresses, too,” Barbara said, her eyes on Cameron. “They’ll be sent to Calholm when they’re ready.”
Cameron bowed. “I don’t know if you remember me. We met—”
“Andrew Cameron, Lord Kinloch,” she replied. “Of a certainty I remember you. Lisbeth introduced us several years ago at a steeplechase in Edinburgh.”
He nodded. “You have a good memory.”
Barbara glowed.
Ben looked from one to the other. Lisbeth introduced us several years ago. Cameron had said nothing about that on board the ship. How had Lisbeth come to know Andrew Cameron? Curiosity—and something that felt a lot like jealousy—started nagging at Ben.
“Would you and the ladies join me for an ice?” Cameron asked.
“Oh, can we?” Sarah Ann’s eyes lit up like stars on a clear Texas night. He had yet to see a clear Scottish night. Ben looked at Barbara. “Lady Barbara?”
“That would be pleasant.” She bestowed on Cameron a smile that belied her conservative answer. “We have a few moments before the carriage driver is to pick us up at the dressmaker’s.”
“I’ll make my peace with Fitts,” Cameron said, “and we can go to the tea shop around the corner.”
Sarah Ann could hardly contain her excitement. She skipped ahead when they finally left the tailor. Ben was grateful to Cameron for his interest in her, but he remained cautious of the man himself. So at the tea shop he watched silently as Cameron and Barbara charmed each other, and Sarah Ann delighted in an ice and tart. Lady Barbara kept looking at him as if to gauge his reaction to her flirtation. Did she think—hope—he’d be jealous?
He again felt as if he were watching a play on stage, with everyone acting for his benefit. His biggest disadvantage was that he didn’t know enough of the story for any of it to make sense.
Ben was jarred from his thoughts by a question Barba
ra asked Cameron. “You will come, won’t you?” she asked.
“I would be delighted,” Cameron answered.
Ben realized he must have looked startled because Barbara turned an innocent look on him. “I thought we would have a ceilidh so you can meet the other landholders in the area. Since Mr. Cameron is a friend of yours and Lisbeth’s …” Her brows suddenly knitted together. “That is … all right, isn’t it?”
“A ceilidh?” Ben had never heard the word.
“A party. Not quite as formal as a ball, or as grand, but a gathering with music and dancing.”
“By tradition,” Cameron broke in, “it’s open to anyone who wants to come.”
Ben was neatly trapped, and he knew it. He didn’t have legal control over Calholm until Parliament upheld his petition on behalf of Sarah Ann. Barbara and Lisbeth had every right to hold a party. They also had a right to invite whomever they wished.
“I’m not much for parties,” he said.
“Oh, I love parties,” chimed in Sarah Ann, who had, as far as he knew, never attended one. “You can meet Pep’mint,” she told Cameron.
“I will wait breathlessly for that moment,” Cameron teased, rising from his chair. “Now, I’m afraid I have to leave this delightful company. I promised to meet some friends …”
Ben stood. “We have to get back, too. Sarah Ann’s had a long day.”
“My carriage should be at the dressmaker’s,” Barbara said.
Ben shook his head. “It’s a short walk. We’ll enjoy it.” In truth, he felt suffocated. He had been alone too long; polite conversation no longer came easily.
Cameron bent down and tickled Sarah Ann under the chin. “I’ll see you soon.” Straightening back up, he turned to Barbara. “It’s been a pleasure.”
Ben nodded his own acknowledgment, and Cameron paid the bill and left the tea shop. Ben watched him disappear out the door, then he and Sarah Ann walked Barbara to her carriage.
“When do you wish to leave for Calholm tomorrow?” she asked.
“As early as possible,” he replied, not particularly wanting to think about the reason he wanted to return so quickly.
Barbara winced at his answer but soon recovered. “Eight?”
He nodded, then turned to Sarah Ann. “What did you get besides the dresses?”
“A riding hat,” she announced proudly. “It’s the most beautiful hat in the world.”
“I’ll bet it is,” he said, “especially on you.” He turned to Barbara. “My thanks. I’m not very adept at choosing feminine apparel.”
She gave him a saucy look of disbelief, as if she thought he was probably very experienced, indeed, but then the look softened. “I enjoyed it,” she said, sounding surprised at herself.
Ben nodded. He understood. He had been surprised at how easily he had taken to Sarah Ann and fatherhood. It hadn’t always gone smoothly, but it had proved rewarding. There was something about a small, trusting hand and an open smile that made him feel more heroic than anything else in his life.
After helping Barbara into the waiting carriage, he watched the carriage disappear down the cobblestone street. The street was full of people. By instinct, he studied them before starting toward the town house a quarter of a mile away. Nothing looked unusual, and, taking Sarah Ann’s hand, he began to walk, shrugging off a slight unease, dismissing it as nothing more than his natural caution.
They walked down two streets, stopping occasionally to look through fairy-tale-like windows. Sarah Ann was entranced by the toys and confections in some, and the fashion dolls in others. They had started to cross a third street when Ben felt a tingling sensation in his spine.
A horse neighed wildly, and Ben heard the pounding of hoofs behind him along with several alarmed cries. Without a pause for thought, he grabbed Sarah Ann and hurtled them both against the brick wall of a shop, shielding her body with his.
Pain ripped through him as the corner of a carriage brushed against him. Sarah Ann started whimpering.
“Bloody fool!”
“Daftie.”
Ben straightened, hearing the cries around him. The carriage was gone; he’d caught only a glimpse of it as it disappeared around the corner. Ignoring his own new bruises, he looked at Sarah Ann. Her face was white, her lips trembling. Her hand, where he’d pushed her against the brick, was rubbed raw. Blood dripped from the wound, and when she saw it her whimpering turned into a wail.
“Puir wee one,” a bystander said.
“Did anyone see the carriage?” Ben asked of the growing crowd.
One man shrugged. “It wa’ going too fast.”
Anger welled inside him. One accident might have been just that, an accident.
Two? Never.
Someone had just tried to kill him. And Sarah Ann. For the second time.
He brusquely thanked those who had stopped to help them, quieted Sarah Ann’s tears, and headed back to the town house. Rage such as he’d never known burned in his gut. As a soldier, then as a marshal, he had been clubbed, shot at, ambushed, left for dead. But he’d never taken any of it personally. Such were the dangers of war, the risks of marshaling.
But this was personal. This time, someone was targeting Sarah Ann. A child. By all that was holy, he swore, someone would pay. Dearly.
Lisbeth couldn’t rid herself of the edginess that had plagued her since Ben had left for Edinburgh. Even Shadow felt it and had refused to jump.
Callum scolded her. “Attention, Lady Lisbeth. You must gi’ ’im yer full attention.”
But she couldn’t seem to do that, and she didn’t understand why. She had always managed to wipe everything from her mind when she worked with horses. They had always been her escape from both the past and present.
Yet she kept thinking of Ben Masters with Barbara, worrying whether she should have gone with them to Edinburgh, after all. She knew she could never play Barbara’s games and win, could never match Barbara’s beauty or witty conversation. But maybe she should have tried.
Lisbeth did try to convince herself that she cared only about the future of Calholm, of Shadow’s future, of the families that called Calholm home. But she couldn’t forget the feel of Ben Masters’s body against hers, the touch of his hand, the somber steady gaze of those blue eyes. Nor could she erase the memory of his kiss.
“God’s toothache,” she swore as she curried Shadow. She always did that rather than allow the stable boys to do it.
Henry the Eighth whined behind her. After Ben, Sarah Ann, and the cat left for Edinburgh, the dog had spent a full day looking for Annabelle. Not finding her, he’d moped ever since. It was ridiculous, a dog pining for a cat, but then Henry was rather eccentric.
“They’ll be back,” she reassured him.
But when they returned, would Ben be under Barbara’s spell? The idea was agonizing.
“Ye will have to work harder, Lady Lisbeth,” Callum said, interrupting her reverie. “And keep yer mind on training or Shadow will no’ be ready for the steeplechase.”
Lisbeth continued stroking down Shadow’s withers. “Do you really think he can win?” she asked.
“He’s a fine, bonny horse, and he ’as heart. But he needs to know what’s expected.”
“I know,” she said with a sigh. “But I’m just worried about what will happen to Calholm, and Shadow.”
“Ye canna worry about anything but that horse,” he admonished her again.
“I know.” She ran her hand down Shadow’s shoulder, feeling his shudder of pleasure. “What do you think of him, Callum?”
“I told ye. He ’as a strong heart, but needs a strong ’and.”
“I mean … Ben Masters.”
Callum was silent for a moment. “He be an American,” he said.
“He likes horses,” she said hopefully.
“He also went off wi’ Lady Barbara.”
“Because he had to see John Alistair.”
Callum shot her a look of great disgust.
Lisbeth sighed and g
ave Shadow one last stroke of the brush. “You think she might convince him to sell the horses.”
“She convinced Lord Jamie.”
Lisbeth went still. “What do you mean? Jamie wouldn’t …” She stopped at the grim expression on Callum’s face.
He looked away. “I dinna mean anything, Lady Lisbeth. I just don’t think ye should hope this American will share yer dream—not wi’ Lady Barbara convincing him otherwise.”
She convinced Lord Jamie.
Lisbeth suddenly felt sick. She was anxious to learn more, but Callum had disappeared.
He was lying. Or he was wrong. He had to be.
The sick feeling grew stronger as she headed toward the house that had never really been her home.
Chapter Eleven
Questions continued to whirl around in Ben’s mind. Questions and suspicions.
He’d stayed mostly silent during the journey back to Calholm, blocking out Barbara’s endless chatter, giving only the occasional polite reply.
She’d been properly horrified on hearing the news of their “accident.” He would have preferred not to mention it, but he’d had to tell Barbara because Sarah Ann’s hand was bandaged and she was chattering about it. The event had gone from being terrifying to adventurous in her four-year-old mind.
It was still terrifying to him.
Last night he’d thought briefly about returning to Denver with Sarah Ann. But dammit, that would be running from evil. He couldn’t bring himself to do it. Pursuit of justice, he guessed, was ingrained too deeply within him. He couldn’t allow the attack on Sarah Ann to bear fruit for the perpetrator. Besides, running might not be good enough. The murderer might follow them to Denver, unwilling to let them live in peace. Whoever the person was might believe the only way he—or she—ever would be safe from the threat he and Sarah Ann posed would be to kill them.
No, Ben concluded. Running was not the answer. He had to find the would-be murderer. Hugh had already tried to bribe the American solicitor. He also had the most to gain by Sarah Ann’s death. But both widows had something to gain, too.
Marshal and the Heiress Page 14