“I suspect both my mother and Lady Mount Stuart, my sister-by-marriage, had something to do with that,” Louisa answered. “According to the bluestockings, after the Duke of Argyll arrived, the subject of MacGregor lands has started to gain attention.”
Mentioning the duke reminded Lorelei of Melissa’s father. She knew Alasdair needed support, but was that the reason he’d been in the park yesterday afternoon? She understood—shedid—that he needed to paysomeattention to Melissa, but having her sit next to him on the driver’s bench that was barely big enough for one person? There had been a lot of people in the park. What kind of a message was he trying to convey? Had he actually declared himself?
Her stomach went queasy at the thought. Maybe they should have met up with him and Melissa yesterday, but the thought of engaging in chitchat, like everything was just fine, had made her feel ill. So, she’d taken the coward’s way out, claiming a sudden stomach upset—not an entire lie, since she’d felt nauseated seeing Melissa pressed up against Alasdair. Randolph, ever the gentleman, had insisted they turn right around and go home, although she suspected he probably hadn’t wanted to enter into idle talk with Melissa, either.
Regardless, she hadn’t dared turn around and look back.
“Are you feeling ill again?” Louisa asked suddenly. “You look a bit peaked.”
Lorelei blinked. “No. Yes. I mean… I am fine. I am just…not fond of cold tea.” Thankfully, no one mentioned that she hadn’t even taken a sip, although Fiona did give her an odd look before she turned back to Louisa.
“The sooner the land disputes are settled, the better. Do ye ken when that might happen?”
“I have no idea,” Louisa answered. “With the Colonies in open rebellion, such talks might well be placed on hold.”
Which meant Alasdair would continue to see Melissa. A true wave of nausea passed through Lorelei at the thought. She had been stupid to agree to the plot to keep him occupied so she could enjoy her Season.Stupid, stupid, stupid. I was a real eejit.
And then, as if she’d conjured her, Melissa walked into the room and looked around, her eyes locking on their group. Lorelei suppressed a groan. The last person she wanted to see…and there was nowhere to escape.
Chapter Nineteen
The Duke of Oakley’s personal office was very well appointed. The butler had shown Alasdair the way and then left. Since the duke had not yet arrived, he had the luxury of scrutinizing the room openly.
A massive mahogany desk, waxed to a sheen that Alasdair could almost see his reflection on, took up most of one wall with the Oakley coat-of-arms hanging behind it. Opposite was an equally large hearth, with white marble mantel and hammered brass fittings. Gleaming silver candelabras stood on either end and two very well-padded armchairs in what looked to be buttery soft russet leather faced the fireplace, a small table between them. The walls were a neutral shade of beige that set off several large mahogany-framed oils featuring northern landscapes. Heavy, dark-gold damask curtains hung across the one window in the room, and a thick rug interwoven with green, brown, and gold colors covered the highly polished wood floor. It was a man’s room and everything in it spelled money and power.
Alasdair turned as Oakley came through the door. The duke gestured for him to have a seat—not in one of the armchairs—but on one of two straight-backed chairs in front of the big desk. Definitely not as comfortable and most definitely making a statement about who held authority in this room.
“I believe you just missed Melissa,” he said as he sat down behind the desk. “She was hoping you might be early, since she had an engagement that she said she’d mentioned to you.”
Receiving a rebuke was not exactly the best way to begin their conversation. After the debacle in Hyde Park yesterday—he hadn’t had a chance to talk to Lorelei or Fiona yet—he hadn’t cared to have another encounter with Melissa so soon. She’d mentioned something about a tea at Mrs. Fitzroy’s, so he’d waited down the street to make sure she’d be gone before he arrived.
“My apologies. Since ye agreed to meet with me on a Sunday afternoon, I didna want to arrive too early and interrupt your noon day meal.”
“With my wife not home, I do not have elaborate lunches,” he answered, “and my daughter prefers a late breakfast.”
Of course she did. He’d learned on previous visits to London that most of the ladies of thetonrarely stirred before midday and often had a tray taken to their rooms. How different from Lorelei who, after a few weeks in Scotland, had joined Fiona to watch the sunrise atop the curtain wall of Strae Castle.
“I will make note of that,” Alasdair answered. “Still, it is a Sunday and I do appreciate you making the time to see me.”
The duke waved a hand. “It might be the only time available for a while. The king has called a preliminary meeting for tomorrow. After that, who knows what my schedule might be?”
That meant Argyll would be back from his trip to Wight. Alasdair wondered how much time he’d had to talk to Gavin and what strategies had been planned.
He watched as Oakley leafed through neatly arranged papers that had been sitting precisely in the middle of the desk and pulled out two pages. They appeared to be copies of the deed for the five hundred hectares. He moved the rest of the stack to the side, carefully evening the edges so they were straight—his movements methodical and precise. In Alasdair’s experience, men who moved with such efficiency also thought the same way.
Oakley tapped the papers. “This deed is probably going to be the easiest to dispute, since it was issued by James VII.”
Alasdair nodded. “’Tis what I thought as well.”
“The question, though, is do you want to?”
Alasdair frowned. “Aye. Why would we nae do so?”
“I understand this land lies between yours and Argyll’s and connects to both?”
“Aye.”
“So it is important to both the Campbells and the MacGregors.”
