Page 41 of The Indigo Heiress

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You will never know a man until you do business with him.

Scottish proverb

Leith came downstairs and went into the small dining room for breakfast, the papers arrayed atop the table for his perusal. Edinburgh’s Caledonian Mercury , its front page dominated by foreign affairs, didn’t seem to care much about him, but Glasgow certainly did. News of his return was featured prominently, though one particular boldface line caught his eye.

T OBACCO K ING OF L ANARKSHIRE W EDS A MERICAN I NDIGO H EIRESS

The Glasgow Courant waxed on about the extraordinarily beautiful Juliet Catesby, who had been seen stepping out around the city, her custom coveted at the most desirable city shops.

Flaxen-haired and fair of face, the queen of Lanarkshire has been seen with a retinue of servants.

He sat down, mildly amused but more aggravated. They were describing Loveday. As for a retinue of servants, Minette hardly qualified, and Juliet didn’t look the part.

Mrs. Baillie swept in, armed with both a coffeepot and a teapot. “Coffee this morning, sir?”

“Aye,” he replied. “Is Mrs. Buchanan awake yet?”

“Yes, sir, since dawn, and at her new desk. Miss Catesby remains abed.”

He looked at his large breakfast absently, wanting company. Should he go up and ask Juliet to join him? Send Mrs. Baillie instead? The awkwardness of it had him stabbing a sausage and ignoring the impulse. He’d been dining alone for a long time. Why should today be any different? Besides, she’d be residing at Ardraigh Hall soon while he’d remain here.

Their time aboard ship brought a strange nostalgia. Sick unto death he’d been but salved by her continual presence. And now an entire city and mansion divided them. He sensed a dismay in her that bordered on awe at her new surroundings. Virginia Street was a far cry from Virginia. He’d not considered the impression it would have on her.

Before breakfast was done, he heard faint music coming from the drawing room across the hall. An oddity. Lyrica played the harpsichord, and it had been her suggestion he have one for entertaining. As Mrs. Baillie poured him a second cup of coffee, he wondered who the musician was. He knew so little about either Juliet or her sister he couldn’t decide. Nor would he investigate.

Finishing his coffee, he got up to grab his cane and cape before heading to the plainstanes in the square.

Juliet heard Leith leave and traded the harpsichord for the drawing room’s window that fronted the street. She’d hoped by coming downstairs she might bump into him or pique his curiosity about her playing, but both had come to naught. Leaning into the sill, she traced his fading silhouette with her eyes. The brisk stride. The silky queued hair beneath his cocked hat that trailed between his shoulder blades. The swirl of his crimson coat in the wind. The grip on his cane.

Have a profitable day, Husband.

Bending her head, she uttered a little prayer for him. And for herself. She had no heart for more playing so decided to take another tour of the rooms, including his own, which she’d not yet seen. Up the stairs she went nearly on tiptoe, wanting to evade the servants, even Loveday, should she be awake.

Her heart beat fast as she came to his door. She turned the knob and stepped inside, leaving the door cracked open. At once the essence of Leith enfolded her as her eyes adjusted to the darkness and the room’s details. A four-poster bed crowned with a canopy was hung with blue and tan damask. Window shutters were closed against the cold, but she saw well enough that this was a masculine, spartan place. While no expense had been spared on her bedchamber or any of the other rooms, his was surprisingly austere.

A desk sat beneath one window, inkwell, sealing wax, and several quills in perfect order. A letter lay unfinished. To Nathaniel Ravenal? She looked down at the bold, decisive strokes, struck by a qualm at trespassing.

We have arrived safely in Glasgow as of 16th February. All are in good health and spirits. I cannot thank you enough for your Virginia hospitality and your help with the former Miss Catesby. She proved a fine sailor and cared for me unfailingly on the cruise. We hit a gale—or rather a gale hit us—near Ireland, but instead of limping into port it pushed us along.

She read on, captivated, finding him more open and engaging in prose than he allowed himself to be in person.

I trust in time my matrimonial endeavors will prove me a faithful, caring husband in every respect. But I am yet unsure if my new bride will ever

Her heart caught at the words as a lump knotted her throat. Such a poignant half sentence. What had he been thinking? Was it too hard for him to finish?

She moved to the bed, leaned over, and placed her cheek against his pillow, the linen smooth against her skin. This, too, held his scent. The few paintings on the wall, the globes—one terrestrial and the other celestial—the rugs and fire screen, all bespoke a world she had no part of. The only nod to embellishment in the entire room was the marble fireplace. It reminded her of one in the governor’s palace in Williamsburg and invited her to stay. She sank down in a leather armchair within its scarlet, heat-drenched circle. Above the mantel was a seascape featuring a ship at sail remarkably like the Glasgow Lass .

She sighed and yawned all at once. Thought longingly of home. The chiming of a longcase clock brought her to her senses. As did the sight of a small black chest to the right of the hearth. It bore painted flowers in vibrant hues, the only adornment in the thoroughly masculine room. She went to it, knelt, and ran a hand over its lovely lines. Curiosity prompted her to lift the lid. Firelight flickered over a tasseled red shawl and a number of newspaper clippings within.

She hesitated, not wanting to disturb anything. Had this been his late wife’s trunk? She took out the papers and held them nearer the light. Leith’s name was printed, as was Havilah’s. Havilah. Such a lovely, biblical forename. Details about her death consumed the front page. Juliet read a few lines, nearly forgetting she trespassed. What would borrowing the papers hurt if once she read them she put them back?

She left Leith’s room reluctantly, pockets full of the papers, then checked on Loveday to find her dressing before she went below to a meeting with Mrs. Baillie and a few of the upper servants. All the while she wondered...

How did they take to their unexpected American mistress?

She entered the austere servants’ hall. Half a dozen servants were gathered round the long table, the latest account book open and waiting. Juliet greeted them, trying to remember names and stations. She’d written them down, but the list remained on her desk upstairs.

She took a seat at the table’s head, smiling past her skittishness. “Perhaps it would be best if we start by my hearing any of your needs and grievances about running a townhouse such as this.”

The next hour had her penning their responses and making note of needed changes or what was working well and needed continuing.

“I believe Ardraigh Hall is to be my principal concern,” Juliet told them. “But Mr. Buchanan asked me to oversee the workings here too, with your assistance.”

“Will ye be needing a lady’s maid, Mrs. Buchanan?” Ruby asked a bit overloudly. “Minette was telling me she’s available, as the other Mrs. Buchanan has one too many and is willing to let her go.”

“But we realize Americans might do things differently,” Mrs. Baillie added quickly, darting a look at Ruby as if to quiet her.

“We thought ye might bring yer own maid, ma’am,” said Haskins, the footman.

“Indeed, every genteel lady here has one,” Ruby said with renewed enthusiasm.

Juliet smiled. “Minette would be a great help as I alternate between both houses. If Mrs. Buchanan is willing to part with her, I’ll gladly employ her.”

“I’ll send word right away to Paisley, then.” Mrs. Baillie took off her spectacles and cleaned them with the hem of her apron. “Mr. Buchanan spoke of hosting a ball soon for Miss Catesby in the formal drawing room here or one of the assembly rooms in Glasgow. Yer choice, ma’am.”

“I shall be glad of it,” Juliet said, imagining Loveday’s reaction. “My sister too. I’m guessing the drawing room here would be more suitable for a smaller gathering while the assembly rooms you mention are for larger functions?”

“Och, to be sure.” Mrs. Baillie nodded so vigorously her mobcap seemed in peril. “I ken all of Glasgow and beyond is wanting a look at ye both, so the assembly room might suit. But ’tis entirely yer pleasure. Mr. Buchanan told us to do whatever ye wish.”

Though they were all obliging, Juliet felt another qualm. Must she and Leith communicate with each other through the servants in future? “I’ll confer with my sister, then, to see what might suit her best.”

“I’ve a list of what was required at the last function Mr. Buchanan hosted to give ye some idea of the outlay.” Opening a daybook, Mrs. Baillie adjusted her spectacles. “My handwriting isn’t what it once was due to rheumatism. Might I read it to ye, ma’am?”

“Of course,” Juliet replied.

“The bill of fare was as follows.” She cleared her throat. “One hundred sirloins of beef. One hundred tongues. One hundred baked pies. One hundred geese roasted. One hundred turkeys, ducks, and pullets. Fifty hams. One thousand French loaves. Two thousand large pints of butter. One hundredweight of Gloucester cheese. Tea, coffee, and chocolate in abundance. Two thousand saffron cakes. Two thousand, five hundred bottles of wine. A most splendid and large pyramid of sweetmeats in the middle of the dessert in the center of the room, along with a great number of stands of jelly and a curious fountain playing, handsomely ornamented with ivy, etc.”

Juliet tried to keep the astonishment off her face. “Was this just one occasion?”

“Oh, aye, ma’am,” Haskins told her. “The breakfast following the twins’ christening.”

“Such a sonsie time everyone had,” Ruby said, eyes alight. “I’ll ne’er forget it.”

Juliet tried to imagine the expense and extravagance. And failed.

“There’s another matter, ma’am.” Mrs. Baillie took something from her pocket. “The keys to the sugar and tea chest are to be yers when yer in residence here.”

“And I’ve the keys to the medicine chest.” Haskins got up to show her the delight of any apothecary, Loveday included. “If ye have any questions or needs, we’re ready to assist ye at any time of the day or night.”

“Just one final question,” Juliet said. “There’s a locked room I haven’t seen on the second floor.”

The servants threw each other wary glances. Had she trespassed on a tender topic?

Finally Mrs. Baillie said, “’Tis the former Mrs. Buchanan’s bedchamber and dressing room, ma’am. The ones she kept till the night of her death. The master said ’tis not to be opened nor touched.”

Unwilling to keep the newspaper clippings a moment longer, Juliet shut her bedchamber and perused them. Seven in all, they marked the progression from Havilah’s death to the private funeral afterward. The public loved a printed scandal, and they’d had it in spades. But could the papers be trusted? There was mention of poison ... foul play. One of two maids was named. But no mention was made of where Havilah had been buried. Leith’s sealing of Havilah’s rooms suggested he wasn’t finished with the matter.

When Mama had died, Father wanted no remembrance of her save her portrait on the wall. Juliet and Loveday had taken from her possessions what they wanted to keep, then given the rest away to the servants. But grief, she supposed, was as unique as its personal pain and was handled differently by different people.

She returned the papers to the chest just as she’d found them. Somehow they helped her understand this new husband of hers and all that had transpired before he’d sailed to the colonies and become a part of her life. Yet Havilah also seemed to pose a complication she didn’t know how to grapple with and made her all the more curious to meet their children.