Page 51 of The Devil of Clan Sinclair
No, it was much better not to think of Macrath.
She and Hannah sat, waiting for one of the advertising vans to move. Everyone was trying to sell something in London, from the sandwich men who plodded back and forth on the street to the vans slowing traffic everywhere.
She didn’t like the city, but she’d never realized how much until just this moment.
When it wasn’t raining, the fog was so thick she felt like she was swallowing air more than breathing it. On some days the only way to get to the carriage was with a handkerchief pressed against her nose and mouth, her mind on something other than the sulfurous stench.
She didn’t have much affection for society, either, and all the rules she still didn’t understand. Odd little things about greeting people in the order of their importance, of always appearing apologetic, of being self-deprecating to the point of absurdity.
Also, no one had warned her she’d have to spend a few months learning how Londoners spoke. The upper classes elongated their speech, each word followed by a pause, like they were too weary to finish a thought. After a time the affectation started to wear on her. More than once she’d had to stop herself from demanding the speaker simply get on with it and say what he meant to say, for heaven’s sake.
She understood the Scottish easier than a titled Londoner.
When the carriage finally rolled to a stop in front of their town house, she felt a great sense of relief, tempered as it was with reluctance.
The house was in a prosperous square, surrounded by other, identical, homes. The reddish brick was still sharp on its corners, the town houses having been built only a decade or so ago. The windowsills were painted white, the doors black, and brass fixtures and lamps of wrought iron adorned each residence. A small fenced yard sat in front of each house, and in the rear was a similarly small garden. It was, however, a pleasant enough place to live, and probably much better than their future accommodations.
A week ago their circumstances had been dire enough. Now they seemed doubly so. Going to Scotland hadn’t done anything but give her a feeling of such shame she wanted to scrub it from her skin.
Would she ever feel clean?
She left the carriage, thanking Hosking, and mounted the steps, Hannah behind her.
Rather than Albert, the majordomo, greeting them at the door, Paul was there, his appraising glance sweeping from the tips of her shoes to her bonnet.
What was he thinking with that sharp gaze? She didn’t want to know. She didn’t care.
He didn’t look like he was going to step aside. She glanced back at Hosking, who hadn’t driven the carriage around to the stables. Instead, he stood there impassively, watching the other man with the same dislike she, too, felt.
“We’ve missed you, your ladyship,” Paul said.
She started to wiggle her fingers free of her gloves. Must she remove them and her bonnet on the steps of the town house?
“Will you allow me inside?” she asked.
His eyes flattened and his lips thinned, worrisome signs of temper. Who was Paul Henderson to be angry at her?
“Of course, your ladyship,” he said, bowing slightly and moving to the side. She and Hannah entered the house and immediately went upstairs. Perhaps she should speak to Enid about the man without delay.
She had many things to do, but she didn’t feel capable of any of them right now. Being so close to tears didn’t help, either.
Chapter 14
Drumvagen, Scotland
September, 1869
“It’s too far away, Macrath,” his sister said.
Since Mairi was prone to issuing edicts, he only waited. She would finish in a moment, marshaling her arguments as she always did.
She was, save for being female, perfectly suited to manage the Sinclair Printing Company. To the world that paid attention to such things, he owned the company, inheriting its assets and liabilities from his father. Mairi, however, ran Sinclair Printing, signing his name without hesitation to those documents she couldn’t execute on her own.
When she had to transact business in person, she did so. Only rarely did she encounter an obstinate male who refused to deal with a woman. When that happened, Mairi simply retreated and corresponded with the gentleman, using his name.
“It’s entirely too far away, Macrath.”
“I’ve been to Australia before,” he said.
