Her Heart for a Compass

by Sarah Ferguson

  Donald burst out laughing. “No, I don’t know the kind of thing. Did you invent that?”

  “Unfortunately not.”

  “Will all of this work be published under your own name?”

  “Most of it. Are you wondering what my father will make of it? My mother says that provided I don’t become a journalist for the Times, he will simply ignore my journalistic efforts.”

  Silence descended between them once more, but it was becoming tense again. Tomorrow she would return to Edinburgh, and what then? Margaret didn’t want to leave Achnacarry without an inkling of what the future held for them—if anything. She had to speak, to say something, no matter how difficult it was.

  “I’m twenty-seven next month, Donald,” she began, pausing to clear her throat. “I’ve been living on my own now for almost four years. I am no longer the impulsive young woman who ran away from her own betrothal party with no thought of the consequences.”

  “It’s obvious to me how much you have changed.”

  “Yes, but I’m going to sound as if I’m being impulsive again. We’ve only just become reacquainted, and we are both older and wiser, in some respects much changed, too. But I know how I feel, and I’d rather we—because if I’m wrong and you don’t feel the same way, then it would be better for both of us if we said so now, don’t you think?”

  He angled himself more towards her. “I am not sure what you’re about to say, but I think it might be pretty much along the lines of what I was planning to say myself.”

  Her heart began to race. That smile of his, she wasn’t imagining the tenderness in it. Despite earlier exhorting herself to exercise caution, Margaret had plunged headlong into this declaration without any preparation, but she was sure it had been the right thing to do. “A wise friend once told me, when I was appealing for funds, to always speak from the heart,” she said. “I love you. I have never stopped loving you, but I thought you married and thought nothing could come of it.”

  Donald let out a long sigh, taking her hands, edging closer to her. “You must know that I still love you. I tried, but I haven’t managed to find anyone who came close to taking your place.”

  “Oh! You put it so much better than I can.” His hands tightened on hers, but he made no move to kiss her. “You want to know what has changed, don’t you?” Margaret said. “I suppose the simple answer is that I have. I know that it would be a huge step for both of us. We would both have to adapt, but I don’t see that as a compromise anymore.” She was conscious of his gaze fixed on her, their hands twined, their knees touching. “I want to share my life with you and be part of yours,” Margaret said, with every word becoming more certain. “I could carry on as I am alone and be perfectly content, but with you by my side I would be so much happier and I think—I hope—that you feel the same?”

  For a terrifying moment he said nothing, and then he pulled her into his arms. “Oh, Margaret, I feel exactly the same. I love you so much.”

  At last, their lips met and clung and then opened into a kiss that was tentative and just a little strange. They stopped, smiled at each other, then kissed again, more deeply this time. Donald murmured her name, and this set her body alight, urging her to close any gap there was between them, wanting and caring for nothing save more kisses, and more of him.

  She wasn’t sure if it was the world which was rocking on its axis or the boat on the waves when Donald gently eased her away, shifting uncomfortably on the seat, adjusting his kilt, swearing under his breath. “We need to talk about what we’re going to do.”

  “Get married?”

  He laughed raggedly. “We are definitely getting married. The question is, when? I really don’t think it would be a good idea to make our vows anytime soon. No, don’t look at me like that, listen to me a moment, Margaret. It’s what you’ve already acknowledged, in essence. We’ve both got lives we’re happy with, but which are very different. I’ve got my work as an MP and the Achnacarry estate to care for; you’ve got your writing and charity work in Edinburgh.”

  “We can make it work, though, can’t we?”

  “Of course we will, and it will be worth it.” He kissed her tenderly. “But the adjustments required will be significant. Simply trying to decide where we will live and how, for example. Then what if we are blessed with children—which I dearly hope we will be? It may be selfish, but after waiting so long I’d like to have you to myself for a while first. What do you think?”

  She forced herself to consider, though she already knew what he said made perfect sense. “How long do you think we should wait?”

  “A year? Maybe even two? Time for you to establish yourself, to build this Edinburgh Children’s Sanctuary you’re so set on, and time for me to decide if I’ll continue in politics.”

  “I know you’re right, but it seems a very long time.” She was still struggling to get her breathing under control, her body still heated and clamouring for something other than rational, logical discussion.

  “When you’re sitting next to me like this, it seems an impossibly long time,” Donald agreed. “To be perfectly honest, I don’t want to wait another minute, but I’m trying to be sensible.”

  As a wicked idea popped into her head, Margaret once more edged closer to him. “We’ll wait two years for the ceremony, and we’ll decide how we’ll live and where, and all the other practical details in a sensible and considered manner.” She kissed him. “But in the meantime, provided we’re careful . . .”

  “Are you suggesting what I think you are?”

  “Are you shocked?”

  Donald laughed, sweeping her up into his arms and kissing her deeply. “I’m delighted,” he said, making for the intimacy of the cabin.

  The Scotsman, Friday, 10 December 1875

  The Scotsman, Friday, 10 December 1875

  Local Benefactress Weds Highland Chieftain

  Yesterday in St. Mary’s Church, Dalkeith, Lady Margaret Elizabeth Montagu Douglas Scott was married to Donald Cameron, MP, 24th Lochiel of Clan Cameron. The ceremony was a private affair, witnessed by a small gathering of close family which included the bride’s parents, the Duke and Duchess of Buccleuch; and her eldest sister, Lady Victoria Kerr, Marchioness of Lothian. Lady Mary Montagu Douglas Scott served as the chief bridesmaid, while the bride’s close friend, Her Royal Highness Princess Louise, was her matron of honour.

  The public service record of the Duke and Duchess of Buccleuch is well-documented and most laudable. Both have held prominent positions within Her Majesty’s Court in the past, and continue to serve on countless Committees and Boards, and to provide patronage to numerous charitable institutions. While their second daughter has inherited this same public spiritedness, she has chosen to demonstrate it in a very different manner. The Edinburgh Children’s Sanctuary, which Lady Margaret opened last year, was built on a model she had previously established in the slums of New York city. The Sanctuary is, unusually, open to every and any child, regardless of their circumstances or parentage. The success of the Edinburgh institution has been such that Lady Margaret is now overseeing the establishment of another in Glasgow.

  We are delighted to report the newlyweds intend to remain in Scotland and will set up home in the Clan seat of Achnacarry. We await with interest further developments, both domestic and professional, in the lives of this well-matched and intriguing duo who are a credit to their homeland.

  Epilogue

  Dalkeith Palace, Scotland, Monday, Christmas Day, 1876

  This year, the tree, which had been set up in the entrance hallway at Dalkeith, was so tall that Mary had had to climb to the top of the stairs to fix the topmost star in place. Every room was filled with the scent of pine from both the tree and the garlands which festooned the bannisters and adorned every fireplace.

  This morning the household had processed from the house to attend the Christmas service at St. Mary’s. After church, Mama, Victoria, Margaret, and Mary had handed out presents to all the children on the estate, and Marga
ret had read them a new story she had written specially.

  In a break from tradition, Mama had arranged for the usual array of aunts and cousins to be invited elsewhere, much to their disappointment. “I want us to enjoy an intimate family gathering at Dalkeith, this year of all years,” Mama had explained, pressing Margaret’s hand. And so every one of Margaret’s six brothers and two sisters and their children had made a special effort to be there. The dining table had to be extended to its limit to accommodate the adults, and now that dinner was over and only the remains of Mrs. Mack’s famous clootie dumplings were left, the rabble of children had joined them from the nursery for party games. Margaret, seated in the middle of the table, gazed around at her extended family, smiling with quiet contentment. Mama had left the table and was seated on the hearthrug helping several of her grandsons to assemble a toy train track. The eldest two of Margaret’s brothers were gathered around the side table, where the huge silver punch bowl was set out, arguing over which of the array of bottles, oranges, lemons, and selection of spices were to be pressed into service. Victoria was seated at the far end of the table, which had been cleared, umpiring a game of spillikins, and on the other side of the hearth from Mama, Mary was allowing little Meg, Margaret’s namesake, to tie a multitude of coloured ribbons in her hair.

  The duke, who had retired to the smoking room after dinner with Margaret’s youngest brother, returned and gazed around the crowded, noisy room before electing to resume his seat at the head of the table. As usual, his only acknowledgement of her presence was a curt nod.

  Little Meg abandoned Mary and crept over to her side with a storybook, demanding that her aunt listen to her reading, but as Margaret prompted and turned the pages, she was aware, once again of her father gazing at her over his gold-rimmed pince-nez, his expression slightly baffled, though there was also a hint of grudging respect. He had done his level best to rid himself of her, he seemed to be thinking, yet here she was. Having made her mark on America, she now had the nerve to use the name he had given her to promote her causes in Scotland. Her extremely happy marriage to someone the duke considered to be a friend should have met with his approval, but that he, too, considered to be inexplicable, for why should she choose to do now what he had tried and failed to force her to do all those years before?

  Margaret smiled quietly to herself. Because she chose to. Because she refused to know when she was beaten. Because she was stronger than she looked, as Molly had reminded her when she had been on her way to spend her first Christmas alone right here at Dalkeith Palace all those years ago.

  A small but defiant shriek coming from the doorway caused all eyes in the room to look in that direction. Smiling, already on her feet and holding out her arms, Margaret was astonished to see a hint of a smile on the duke’s face as the newest addition to the family entered in his papa’s arms. Donald Walter Cameron was just six weeks old. Earlier that day he had tolerated being handed from pillar to post around his many relatives, enduring the outpouring of cooing and cuddles and kisses with remarkable equanimity.

  With a thatch of dark-brown hair and brown eyes, Margaret’s son was the image of his doting papa. “I had to rescue him from your Mrs. Mack,” Donald explained as he carefully handed the precious bundle over. “She was most reluctant to let him go. It seems his only flaw is that his hair is not the same colour as yours. It’s long past his bedtime.”

  “We’ll take him up in a minute, but there’s something we need to do first.”

  Snuggling her son on her shoulder, Margaret took Donald by the hand, leading him out to the entrance hall where the tree stood. The baby snuffled then sighed, his eyes heavy.

  “See here, this is the first ornament your mama ever made,” she said, pointing out the emerald one. Reaching into her pocket she pulled out a tiny little gold star. “And this is your first star, which Papa will hang on the tree for you.” Margaret planted a kiss on his downy-soft hair, drinking in the special newborn baby scent of him. “Then next year, little one, you can help Papa and Mama make the first star of many to hang in our own tree in Achnacarry.”

  Author’s Note

  Dear Reader,

  Her Heart for a Compass has been fifteen years in the making. It interweaves two journeys through life: Lady Margaret’s and my own.

  It was when I began to research my own ancestry, discovering to my astonishment that my great-great-great-grandparents were the Duke and Duchess of Buccleuch, that I first encountered their second daughter, Lady Margaret Montagu Douglas Scott. She and I share a given name, our birthdays are within a few days of each other, and we are both redheads. I felt an immediate affinity with her and wanted to know more about her. When very little could be found, my imagination began to take over. Lady Margaret, the heroine of this book, is a courageous woman who fights for her voice to be heard and has the confidence to follow her heart. She is strong and resilient, determined to live her life on her own terms, to empower herself against all odds.

  Bringing Lady Margaret to life, I have been transported in my imagination to Scotland, London, Ireland, and New York, learning so much about my ancestry and the history of each of these locations along the way. Writing through the COVID-19 pandemic, it has been a relief to escape into Lady Margaret’s world and the huge cast of characters who share the book with her, some real, some wholly fictional. The Buccleuch family are not my only ancestors in this book. The Seventh Viscount and Viscountess Powerscourt (Wingfield), who also feature, are my great-great-grandparents.

  I am delighted to finally be able to bring my version of Lady Margaret to life. I hope that you can lose yourself in her journey as I have. I hope she inspires you, Dear Reader, to have the confidence to follow your heart as I have learned to do.

  Of course, every successful journey requires a helping hand. Mine was provided by Marguerite Kaye, my co-author, the mentor who guided me along the peregrinations of this literary journey. Together, we have forged a new, collaborative method of working, and become close friends in the process. Thank you, Marguerite, for teaching me how to translate the story that was in my head and my heart onto the page, and for helping me to realize my dream of becoming a novelist.

  This journey would not have been possible without Rachel Kahan, an outstanding editor. She believed in me and in Lady Margaret from the very beginning and encouraged us both to be stronger and more courageous. Thank you, Rachel, for your attentive eye and insights, and for allowing Lady Margaret the page space she needed to grow into the feisty, fulfilled woman she becomes at the end of her journey.

  Thank you to Lisa Milton and all the team at Mills & Boon for your abundant support and enthusiasm for this book. You introduced me to Marguerite and you gave us the fabulous Flo Nicholl to help steer us through the writing process and Becky Slorach, who devised the wonderful cover concept.

  Many thanks to Jennifer Hart, Kelly Rudolph, Imani Grady, Kaitlin Harri, Naureen Nashid, Brittani Hiles, Alivia Lopez, and Mumtaz Mustafa at William Morrow for their diligence and professional savvy in bringing Lady Margaret’s story to readers in America.

  Thank you to Susan Lovejoy, my walking library who has diligently carried out an enormous amount of the research for this story. Aside from devouring and digesting a raft of books and delving into countless archives, she has an eye for historical detail and arcane facts that has been invaluable in bringing the Victorian world to life and making it as historically accurate as possible.

  Camilla Gordon-Lennox also contributed enormously to the research, particularly when our heroine travels across the Atlantic and immerses herself in New York life. Thank you, Camilla, for the American ambiance and for the New Yorkers you found to share the page with Lady Margaret.

  Thank you to Jan Miller and Lacy Lalene Lynch from my literary agents, Dupree Miller, in Dallas. You have never, ever stopped believing in my dream of becoming a novelist.

  Thanks to everyone at the Royal Lodge, to my own office team and my publicists. Steadfast supporters, who have been pillars
of strength for all these years, thank you all. I couldn’t have done it without you.

  And finally thank you to my wonderful sister, Jane, whose impressive memory has helped to refresh my mind regarding all our ancestors.

  (Signed) Sarah

  Historical Note

  Her Heart for a Compass is populated by a mixture of real-life historical characters and those entirely of our own invention, and set, as far as possible, against a background of real events and locations.

  Lady Margaret Montagu Douglas Scott was the second daughter of Walter, the 5th Duke of Buccleuch, and his wife, Charlotte, who were the Duchess of York’s great-great-great-grandparents. The scant information we have been able to glean about Margaret, we have woven into this story: her age, her appearance as a bridesmaid at the wedding of Princess Helena and Prince Christian of Schleswig Holstein, and the date of her marriage to Donald Cameron, 24th Lochiel, which was comparatively late (she was twenty-nine, he was forty). The remainder of Margaret’s journey, save for these salient facts, is entirely fictional, though we have tried to be true to the prevailing culture of Victorian society in which she and her family would have lived, especially in the London scenes.

  All Margaret’s relationships with real people, including the troubled one she has with her parents and her romance with Donald, are entirely imagined. While there is evidence that she was friendly with Princess Helena, not only from her appearance in the wedding photos but from a reference to “Helena Letters” in Donald Cameron of Lochiel’s personal papers in the Highland Council Archives, there is no evidence that Margaret and Princess Louise were friends, though they would certainly have been acquaintances. Where possible, we have tried to place Louise in the right place at the right time, primarily using Queen Victoria’s journals, with one notable exception: there is no evidence that she attended Margaret and Donald’s wedding. Princess Louise continued to sculpt and exhibit after her marriage to the Marquis of Lorne, who later became the Duke of Argyll. The couple had no children.