Page 37 of The Indigo Heiress

36

Did not strong connections draw me elsewhere, I believe Scotland would be the country I would choose to end my days in.

Benjamin Franklin

Loveday washed overboard?

Juliet dressed hurriedly, and her fanciful fear was discarded as she emerged from below to find her sister at the quarterdeck railing near the stairs, talking with an officer. Leith was not far behind, though he moved slowly as if still getting his bearings. Nothing short of a miracle there. To further allay Juliet’s fears, Loveday turned toward her with the brightest smile she’d had since leaving Virginia.

“We survived what the captain is calling a near hurricane. I took a sleeping draught myself and missed most of it.” Loveday gestured to the feline curled up with Jezebel atop a barrel. “Hobbes is none the worse for wear either. Nor is Mr. Buchanan, I see. Wonders never cease!”

Juliet’s gaze shifted to Leith, who stood near the ship’s wheel talking to the captain while sailors darted about the decks, returning all to rights. Fully dressed but still unshaven, he brought to mind their light morning banter all over again.

“What’s this?” Loveday’s gaze sharpened. “Your neck is bruised.”

“I fell during the height of the storm.”

“Oh, Sister. Are you well?”

“Quite.” For the first time in her life, she’d experienced something with someone else that she couldn’t share with Loveday. Leith’s words and actions remained a secret. Juliet faced the wind as her skirts whirled about her ankles and threatened to fling back her cape hood. “Were you flirting with the navigator a moment ago?”

“Ha! I admit he’s rather dashing, but I was merely trying to orient myself and ask directions.”

“What did you learn?”

“That the storm may have blown us closer to Britain rather than off course. Scotland’s southern Hebrides should appear soon—the isles of Islay and Arran and Bute and all else.”

Juliet nodded, amazement rivaling her happiness, and turned to look out at the sea.

In the coming days Leith’s improvement was rapid, yet at the same time he seemed to distance himself. He spent more time on deck by day and returned to his hammock by night. Glad as she was he was recovering his health, Juliet felt a subtle sadness that he seemed to need her less, as if the crisis that had flung them together with all its odd intimacies was naught but a fluke or a dream.

Fair weather held and the seas continued smooth. Within days, land was sighted. Seagulls resembling white paper kites began their noisy careening overhead as if welcoming them in.

When they finally docked in Greenock for a few hours, Leith leapt overboard to swim around the ship and take an honest bath, so he said, astonishing both Juliet and Loveday if not the crew. His wordless joy at returning home was contagious, and when they left Greenock for Port Glasgow, the entire ship seemed to rejoice.

It took time for them to navigate the Lang Dyke in the River Clyde to Broomielaw, the heart of Glasgow. Tidesmen and naval officers boarded the vessel to manage the cargo before unloading. Arriving at high tide, they stepped onto a private jetty marked with the Buchanan name. Juliet tried hard to hide her curiosity lest she be a gaping fool amid the coal-streaked skies and sheer chaos of the city. Colonial Williamsburg seemed a homespun speck in comparison, and York Town a shabby relation.

Leith paid her and Loveday’s bewilderment scant attention, busy with the details of luggage and acquiring a sedan that would take them to the Virginia Street mansion. Twilight fell, turning the waterfront and burgh ethereal, even ghostly, as fog snuck in from the sea and whitened the tangle of wynds and closes.

“A wee smirr of rain,” Leith told them with his rolling Glaswegian r ’s as they grew more damp. “Spring is not far off.”

Candlemas had passed. Juliet had tried to keep track of time at sea, but the days blurred. Perhaps in spring the city wouldn’t seem so many shades of silver but green.

Leith secured three sedan chairs, something they’d heard about but never seen.

“Never did I believe I’d ride in one,” Loveday exclaimed as she stepped into the small, wheelless conveyance and sat down upon a plushly upholstered seat.

Hobbes was handed to her in his carrier, oddly quiet. It had taken some coercion to get the feline to forsake Jezebel and abandon ship.

Juliet climbed into her own sedan chair, as did Leith, their baggage coming by wagon. The chairmen—Highlanders—shut each door, then gripped poles and hoisted them aloft, hastening them to Virginia Street. When they turned down a lane and hurried toward a massive iron gate, Juliet gaped.

First to arrive at the residence ahead of Leith, Loveday emerged from the sedan with a gasp. “A townhouse? This is a palace!”

Juliet had no words.

The stone mansion seemed to sit atop a pillow of mist with its wide front portico and pillars. A double stair projected onto a pristine lawn. Feeling nearly as disoriented as she’d been aboard ship, Juliet moved toward endless steps to a broad, ornate front door. A footman in plainclothes materialized, ushering them into the mansion’s entrance hall inlaid with marble. The walls and ceiling were ornamented with a masterpiece of plasterwork, endless oil paintings on paneled walls. Grand as it was, it had the look of the British Museum.

A stout, spectacled woman descended a double staircase that seemed twin to the one outside the entrance. She eyed the Virginians with none of the stoicism of the footman, a surprised light in her eyes.

Before Juliet could untie her tongue and make introductions, Leith appeared behind them, still looking a bit haggard, though he said with a robust courtesy, “Mrs. Baillie, this is my colonial bride, the new Mrs. Buchanan, and her sister, Miss Catesby, of Virginia.”

With a bob of her mobcap, the housekeeper snapped to. “Welcome to Glasgow, ladies.” Gesturing toward the staircase after directions from Leith, Mrs. Baillie ushered them to their second-floor rooms.

Hand on a balustrade shone to a high polish, Juliet looked back over her shoulder.

“I’m going out,” Leith told her from the middle of the echoing hall that held none of the homey warmth of Royal Vale. “Should you need anything, the servants will see to it.”

She gave him a nod, glad he wasn’t hovering yet at the same time wondering what would entice him out on a wintry night. A tiny tendril of suspicion took root, doubly shocking since she’d not considered it before. Had he ... another woman? A mistress? Her stomach flipped as he shut the door behind him with a forbidding finality.

“Sister ... oh my...” Loveday murmured as they went up the grand staircase. “Even the governor’s palace in Williamsburg pales!”

Their upstairs bedchambers proved a pleasant distraction, the elegant canopied beds and Chippendale furnishings and papered walls looking new. A dressing room joined the bedchambers and left Juliet wondering where Leith’s rooms were.

“Mr. Buchanan is on the west side of the house,” Mrs. Baillie said. “Ye both must be tired after so long a journey. If ye like I can have Ruby ready a bath.”

“Please,” Juliet told her. “And supper in our rooms tonight since Mr. Buchanan is away.”

With a deferential nod, the housekeeper disappeared, and Loveday gave a little twirl atop the thick floral carpet. “Have you ever? I feel caught up in a fairy tale!”

“One with a happy ending, I hope.”

“I suppose the true question is—which chamber do you prefer?” Pointing to the ceiling, Loveday admired intricate festoons of plasterwork flowers and medallions that gave the impression of a hanging garden, a crystal chandelier at the center. “Notice this room is decorated and upholstered in shades of lavender while the other is lovely shades of rose.”

“You choose,” Juliet said, still pondering Leith.

“You’re his Virginia bride, as he said,” Loveday reminded her, passing through the dressing room with its enormous gilded looking glass. “’Tis only right that the choice be yours.”

Juliet took a turn through both, then paused before a charming portrait between two windows of a lady at her writing desk. “The lavender, then.”

“It suits you.” Loveday seemed delighted. “’Twas Mama’s favorite color.”

Their luggage was brought, such as it was, and hot, scented baths were drawn in gleaming copper tubs. Situated side by side in their shared dressing room, they sank low into the fragrant water.

Loveday shut her eyes and breathed in the swirling steam. “Lavender with a hint of mint.”

“No brine about it,” Juliet said gratefully. “Even Parisian hair tonics and scented soaps.”

“So many I hardly know which to choose.” Loveday looked at the array of perfumed bottles and wash balls between them. The wrinkled sultanas they’d packed hung on hooks in shabby contrast to the sumptuous room.

Juliet made a mental list. “We must visit the milliner and mantua-maker as soon as possible.”

Already she was envisioning what a tobacco lord’s wife required. Leith had mentioned social occasions. Obligatory, perhaps. And nothing like Virginia’s hospitality.

Once bathed and dressed, Juliet and Loveday sat down to a surprisingly simple supper of haddock chowder, cheese, and bread, then retired early to unfamiliar beds, leaving the doors of the dressing room open. Used to little noise but owls hooting and the passage of some night animal at Royal Vale, Juliet lay awake long after Loveday fell asleep, listening to all the unfamiliar sounds of the city. Clattering carriage wheels atop cobblestones. An occasional jarring shout. Barking dogs. The cry of the night watch. At midnight a clock struck from the bowels of the mansion somewhat mournfully.

Leith had not yet come home.