Blair found the pain of leaving her father behind just as excruciating, and kept her eyes glued to him as well. Her bond with her adopted father was more special than most, for long ago he saved her from the fury of a woman who clearly did not want her. She was not the only one to benefit, for she filled an enormous void in his life having just suffered the loss of his first wife and unborn child. Since that time, they had rarely been separated and she had not realized just how painful it would be. At the end of the pier, her father stopped and waved one last time, while the towboats continued to push the ship farther and farther away from him. Of this one thing Blair was absolutely certain – she would have to love a man completely, before she would let him put an ocean between her and her father. Colorado was her home and home was where she fully intended to live her life – but perhaps not married to Doctor McCormick.
As her father’s image grew smaller and smaller, Blair said nothing. Abigail Whitfield, she finally noticed, had a comforting arm around her waist, and it was not until then that she realized a tear had rolled down her cheek. She giggled, wiped the tear away with her white gloved hand, and then smiled.
A dear friend of the family, Abigail Whitfield was thought of by some to be a bit pretentious and by most to be over exuberant, but those who knew her loved her in spite of her shortcomings. Blair especially loved her, for Abigail had a heart of gold and simply saw things in a way others did not. She managed to maintain her slender figure, Blair noticed, and even now had but a smattering of gray in her red hair. There was nothing Abigail loved more than spending her husband’s money, and why not? She often said she struggled just as much as her husband before he found gold in the Colorado Mountains. As well, no one was as pleased as Abigail when Claymore sold the mines and became part owner in the Whitfield, MacGreagor, and MacGreagor Construction Company. The remaining two owners were Blair’s uncle and father.
Claymore Whitfield was the more serious of the two, Blair knew, and little passed his notice without careful examination, particularly where those he loved were concerned. He was still robust in stature, even in his waning years and his hair had not just turned gray, it hosted streaks of white as well. Although he complained often about the amount of money Abigail spent, which always made the MacGreagors laugh, he did not truly mind. While Abigail constantly bought the latest fashionable clothing and furnishings for their home, she donated the old to families in need. Once, she even bought a coffin for an impoverished family. Indeed, Blair had always known that Claymore Whitfield not only loved his wife, he was proud to be her husband.
Blair’s thoughts turned to the excitement that lay ahead and while others drifted inside to see to their first-class accommodations or to have morning tea, she and the Whitfields found the shrinking, yet magnificent New York City skyline a sight to behold. Amid barges and countless other ships of varying sizes, the towboats continued to pull and push the ship out of the mouth of the river into the Atlantic Ocean. Seagulls flapped their wings trying to land on the railing, only to be shooed away by passengers. Sailing in the opposite direction, people on the Mauretania’s sister ship, The Lusitania, looked just as happy to be arriving in New York as Blair was to be leaving. They waved to her and she enthusiastically waved back.
Once the work of the towboats was done they moved away. Under the watchful eye of the Statue of Liberty, the huge ship shuddered slightly as the engines began to turn the massive, four-blade propellers. High above, black smoke rose out of the stacks while the churning of the propellers began to leave a distinctive wake in the water.
“I cannae wait to see absolutely everything,” Blair breathed.
“Nor can I,” Abigail admitted. This was to be the Whitfield’s first ocean crossing and for days they discussed what they wanted to see and where they wanted to go in the United Kingdom. Three months was not going to be nearly enough and at their age, this would probably be their only Atlantic crossing. “I particularly cannot wait to see Charles and this wife he claims to love so dearly.” Abigail bowed her head. “It has been so long, I hardly shall recognize him.”
“I shall,” said Claymore. “Our son owes me a good deal of money.”
“Oh Claymore, you need more money the way Pearl Hughes needs a traveling salesman for a husband.”
“I hear Pearl is quite happily married,” Claymore argued.
“You hear wrong,” Abigail shot back. “How could she be? He is gone nearly a month at a time.”
The Whitfield’s lively discussions always made Blair smile. When she glanced behind her, the crowd on the deck had noticeably thinned, leaving only small groups of people chatting or as interested in watching the water and the land fade in the distance as she was. Two young men were much too obvious in their attention to her, but she ignored both of them.
“Pardon me,” said a woman standing at the railing next to Blair. She was a pleasant looking, yet older woman with wavy brown hair under a wide brimmed white hat adorned with a large pink bow. Her traveling suit was dark and the amount of fine jewelry she wore left no doubt as to her wealthy station in life.
“Aye?” Blair asked.
“Are you not...” the woman paused when she realized her mistake. “Forgive me, I thought you were...”
“Alexandra Sinclair?” Blair asked.
The woman looked completely taken aback. “Why...yes.”
“Did you know her?”
“Not well, I confess. I merely saw her a time or two.”
“I am her daughter,” Blair said.
Honestly shocked, the woman could hardly find her words. “The book says nothing of a daughter.”
Blair smiled to comfort the stranger. “Scandalous is it not, how easily she forgot me?”
“It certainly is.”
“I was only just born when she gave me to Mr. Sinclair.”
Protectively, Claymore came from beside his wife to stand closer to Blair. “Miss MacGreagor, you owe not one single explanation on your mother’s behalf.”
The woman moved away from the railing, causing Blair and Abigail to turn until their backs were to it. “He is right,” said the woman, “and how rude of me not to introduce myself. I am Lady Julia Forrestal, of the London Forrestals. Please forgive my intrusion.”
“You need not be distressed,” Blair assure her. “I have grown accustomed to it now that there is a widely read book about her. I am Blair MacGreagor, legitimate daughter of Lord Edward Bayington and adopted daughter of Cameron MacGreagor, Duke of Glenartair.” She slightly nodded toward Claymore. “I am escorted by Mr. and Mrs. Whitfield, of the Colorado Whitfields.”
“The Colorado Whitfields? I do not believe I have heard of them,” said Lady Forrestal.
“You should travel more widely,” an annoyed Abigail muttered.
Blair smiled at Abigail hoping to calm her, and then turned back to Lady Forrestal. “Colorado gold mines.”
“Oh, I see.” Lady Julia Forrestal half curtsied. “I am pleased to make your acquaintance.”
Abigail Whitfield was not about to curtsy to anyone, particular one as rude as Lady Forestall, even if Claymore appropriately tipped his hat. “Tell me, are there any scandals in your family we should know about?”
“Not as well loved as hers,” Julia Forrestal answered with a smile. Her attempt at humor fell flat, however, so she again addressed Blair. “Miss MacGreagor, I did hear that Lady Bayington would be presenting her daughter this year. Might you be that daughter?”
“I am. My stepsister is to be presented next year.”
“Then we shall be seeing a lot of each other. Laura and I are friends, you see.”
“Oh joy,” Abigail whispered. Blair and the Whitfields had been invited to stay at Lady Laura Bayington’s home while in London and until this very moment, Abigail was looking forward to it. Now, she wasn’t so sure.
Lady Julia Forrestal pretended not to hear Abigail’s comment and instead glanced at a man standing near double doors that led to the interior of the ship. “Is it true that
Alexandra is buried in America?” she asked Blair.
“Do not answer that,” Abigail said.
Blair conspiratorially lowered her voice. “I am not supposed to know, but my father has a photograph of her lying dead on the ground near some railroad tracks. Indeed, she is buried in Kansas.”
Again, Lady Forrestal was taken aback. “Are you not a bit too cavalier about it?”
“Well, I only saw her once and ‘twas under the most unpleasant circumstances,” Blair answered.
Claymore drew in a sharp breath and turned to his wife, “Oh dear, here we go. My love, perhaps you might forego the telling of that story on this ship.”
Abigail lifted her chin slightly but did not look him in the eye. “I’ve no intention of saying a word, not one single word.”
Lady Forrestal was fascinated, but she let it go for now. “I dare say, Miss MacGreagor, there are sure to be eligible bachelors on this ship who shall be more than pleased to make your acquaintance. What sort of man would strike your fancy?”
“None just now. I am hoping to attend a university next year.”
“You mean to have employment outside the home?” Lady Forrestal asked.
“She hardly needs to,” Abigail said. “Everyone of importance knows Hannish is one of the wealthiest men in Colorado, and Blair is certain to inherit from him as well as from her father.”
“Which father?” Lady Forrestal asked.
“Both,” Blair admitted. “Although there is a ghastly provision in Lord Bayington’s will. I shall not receive my inheritance from him until I reach thirty years of age.”
It was the first time either of the Whitfields had heard of a provision, but both managed to hide their surprise. Lady Forrestal, on the other hand, was aghast for a third time. “Thirty?”
Blair nodded. “So says the will and testament. And as far as inheriting from either my father or my Uncle Hannish, I am in line behind ten natural children already, and who knows when the size of the family shall stop increasing.”
“I...see,” was all Lady Forrestal managed to say.
Blair wrinkled her brow. “Did Lady Bayington not tell you about her husband’s bequeath?”
The blank look on Lady Forrestal’s face gave her away. “She might have. Yes, I believe she did.” Lady Forrestal looked again at the man now leaning against the wall and turned back to Blair. “I best join my husband. I do hope we shall become the best of friends.”
“As do I.” Blair nodded, watched her walk away, and then turned back around to face the ocean. They were farther from land that she thought, and before long she would not be able to see it at all. The seagulls were gone too, she noticed.
“I quite admire Lord Bayington’s foresight,” said Claymore, moving to stand on the other side of Blair.
Blair giggled, and glanced around to make certain no one else was standing nearby. “Tis Laura’s idea. She claims the lads in search of a wife for no other reason than to gain an inheritance, shall not be inclined to wait until I am thirty.”
Claymore chuckled, “I suspect not. I am grieved I did not think of it for my daughter’s sake.”
Standing on the other side of her, Abigail asked. “Why did you let that woman question you? It is clearly none of her business.”
“Because it is bound to come up sooner or later. Father and I talked about it for hours and hours, and we decided it was best to get it over with at the first opportunity. He was right and I find I am quite relieved.” Blair paused. “I confess, however, I dinna think questions about my mother would begin so soon.”
“I hoped you could avoid the subject completely,” Abigail said.
“How could I? Everyone says I look just like her. Hopefully, Lady Julia Forrestal shall spread the word, and I shall be spared having to answer a thousand more questions on the subject.”
“I have no doubt you shall have your wish,” Abigail huffed. “Lady Forrestal looks to be the worst kind of gossip. If this is an example of London Society, I wish to forgo the entire season.”
“And have no wild and exciting gossip to tell everyone upon our return home?” Claymore asked. “That day shall never come.”
Abigail ignored him as usual, “As soon as we see Laura, I intend to fully enquire as to her opinion of Lady Julia Forrestal of the London Forrestals. I doubt she has even made Laura’s acquaintance. Of all the nerve,” Abigail went on. “It is all Alexandra’s fault and if your mother were yet alive, I would murder her.”
Claymore walked around Blair, took his wife’s hand, and wrapped it around his arm. “Have we had enough of the sea air yet? I find myself suffering great thirst.”
“But you shall not see to your thirst in the poker room, agreed?” Abigail asked as she also took Blair’s arm.
“I agree to no such thing,” Claymore said. “While you are about meeting London’s society and forming your opinions, I must have something to do.”
Abigail lifted her chin. “I have no desire whatsoever to mingle with any of them, particularly the detestable Lady Forrestal.”
“My love,” he said as he reached for the door handle, “I am quite certain that before this day is over, you shall find at least one, or perhaps a hundred new acquaintances aboard this ship.” He winked at Blair and then followed the women inside.
WHILE THE WHITFIELDS went to see about their accommodations, which were necessarily situated right next door, Blair went to hers. When she opened the door, she was surprised to find a ship’s chambermaid already unpacking her things.
Dressed in a dark blue uniform with a white cap and apron, the maid quickly curtsied. “I am Lucy Quinn, Miss, sent to see to your necessities.”
Blair smiled. “I thank you, then.”
Lucy returned her smile, reached in the last traveling case, pulled out a pink ball gown, and carefully hung it in one of two wardrobes positioned on either side of a beautifully hand carved chest of drawers. The closets each had a long built-in mirror. The room was decorated in soft blues and grays, with a splash of red. Upholstered chairs, in a spacious sitting area that took up one half of the room, matched curtains that enclosed the four-poster bed when pulled. Between the chairs sat a table upon which was a bouquet of flowers and a filled cut-glass smoky-blue candy dish complete with lid. White wooden panels on the walls displayed inlaid velvet wallpaper and there was ample electric lighting in several places to please the most avid reader.
Blair went to the window first to see the ocean once more, and then to her traveling case, which was by now nearly empty. “Did you not find a package?” she asked.
“Yes Miss.” The maid opened a closet door, and pointed to the shelf above.
“May I have it. ‘Tis a gift from my father.”
The maid smiled and then handed her a package wrapped in brown paper and tied with a string. Blair took it to the bed, sat down, unwrapped the leather bound book, and then lovingly held it to her chest. It was then she noticed the huge bouquet of flowers and when she went to see, the card was from her father. She grinned, smelled the roses, and then read the card.
My beloved Daughter,
Above all, keep yourself safe until you are back in my arms.
Father
“I promise,” she whispered.
Miss?” Lucy asked.
“Aye?”
“I beg your pardon, but...” she paused, reached in the pocket of her white apron and pulled out a five dollar bill. “I was given a bribe and I shall be in considerable trouble if...”
“A bribe to do what?”
“‘Tis only an introduction.”
Blair puffed her cheeks. “You must not let the lads bribe you, Lucy.”
“It was not a Mr., but a Miss.”
“Truly?”
“You will not tell will you, for it is frowned upon.”
“Nay, I shall not tell – if you promise never to take a bribe again where I am concerned.”
Relieved, Lucy smiled. “I promise.”
“Good, now who is the Miss who
bribed you?”
“She is Miss Robinson of London. Shall I fetch her?”
“She wishes to come here – to my stateroom?”
Lucy nodded. “She wishes to speak to you in private, if you are willing.”
“I see. Very well, then.”
As soon as Lucy put the last of her gowns away and closed the closets, she hurried out the door. Blair smelled the roses her father sent once more, set her book on the table, and then checked the bathroom. It was small, but seemed clean enough to suit even her Aunt Leesil. Next to the bathroom was a dressing table with excellent lighting.
End of sample chapter
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Beloved Ruins, Book 1 Page 35