Chapter Two

Abigail excused herself to the retiring room, located two doors down from the refreshments room. Her greatest danger was encountering Lord Havisham. He would insist that she drink the champagne he’d fetched, even if it meant waiting for her outside the ladies’ retiring room. Her five-foot-four height easily hid her in the sea of six-foot-tall men, but it also meant she could walk past a group of men and bump directly into the viscount. Abigail opted for the safer, less direct route and followed the wall nearest the balcony. She reached the hallway unmolested and hurried past the refreshments room. By now, Lord Havisham should be on the way back to where he’d left her standing, but one never knew.

She glimpsed a familiar face. Liam MacPherson. Her heart warmed. She hadn’t expected to see her young cousin here. Her mother’s nephew’s son was the closest living relative Abigail had left—more like a little brother than a cousin. Abigail’s father had told her many a time that Liam’s dark hair and eyes were more like her mother’s than his own mother’s. She hadn’t known he’d returned to Inverness. She would speak with him later.

Abigail checked the retiring room, but Lady Elana wasn’t there. That didn’t surprise her. That inner sense that had saved her life more than once told her that The Raven’s presence at Lady Bingley’s soirée was no coincidence. Abigail stepped from the retiring room and found the hallway empty. She hurried away from the ballroom. An instant later, she turned a corner, then slowed. Up ahead, a sliver of light fanned across the carpeted floor from a door that stood slightly ajar.

She lifted her skirts and crept forward. Lady Elana wouldn’t be so careless as to conduct a clandestine meeting with a door ajar. Abigail reached the room and paused to listen. Silence. She leaned closer and peeked into the room, but her vantage offered only a view of a small desk against the left wall. She inched the door open and eased around to see better. Lady Elana stood beside a tall gentleman near a low-burning fire.

Lady Elana met her gaze. “Please, come in, my dear.”

Abigail silently cursed. She straightened. “Forgive the intrusion, my lady.”

Lady Elana smiled. “Not at all. We were expecting you.”

The knowledge stung. Few people could catch Abigail red-handed. The Raven was one of those few, and knew it. Abigail slipped inside.

“Close the door, please,” Elana said.

Abigail pulled the door silently closed and glimpsed the satisfaction that flickered in the older woman’s eyes. The Raven valued highly the ability to move noiselessly.

Abigail crossed the room and halted before them. She curtsied. “My lady. Sir.”

Lady Elana tsked. “No, no, it is we who must bow to the new Marchioness of Buchman.”

Abigail grimaced. “Pray, do not. It is bad enough that others fawn over me. I couldn’t bear if you did the same.”

Amusement sparked in Lady Elena’s eyes. “As you wish.” She turned toward the tall, handsome man beside her. “Marchioness Buchman, please meet Sir Stirling James. Sir Stirling, Her Ladyship, the Marchioness Buchman.”

Abigail extended her hand. He clasped her fingers and bowed over them. “My lady, ‘tis a pleasure.”

His light Scottish accent told her he’d been raised outside of Inverness. In Sutherland, perhaps.

“Sir.” She angled her head in acknowledgement.

“Sir Stirling owns a shipping company,” Lady Elana said. “He has agreed to lend us a hand.”

“Us?” Abigail inquired with a polite lift of her brows.

“I know you are retired, Abigail, but as the new Marchioness of Buchman, you are in a unique position to help. I thought perhaps…” She gave a small shrug.

Abigail suppressed the jump of excitement that accelerated her heartbeat and managed a calm, “I am always at your service, ma’am.”

Elana nodded. “Did I not tell you, Sir Stirling, that we could count on Abigail?”

He flashed a dazzling smile, and Abigail again noticed how handsome he was. “Ye did, indeed, my lady.”

Abigail waited. Lady Elana would reveal the information in her own time. The Raven had one guilty pleasure: she enjoyed a bit of drama now and then. Her staunch patriotism gave her an almost ruthless streak that kept her impulses in check. Therefore, when the opportunity presented itself—such as rare times of leisure like now—she indulged in a bit of theatrics. She well knew that Abigail’s retirement was too recent for the thrill of the hunt to have been tamed—despite the fact that Abigail had requested this retirement.

Memories knotted her stomach. She quickly erected the wall inside her head that separated her new life from her old. But a mental picture flashed of Victor’s face as the bullet struck his chest. He’d been a French lad fighting for his country and he’d died. No, that wasn’t right. He hadn’t just died. She’d shot him.

“This is war,” Lady Elana had told her, “and war is never pretty.”

Abigail suddenly wished she’d taken another glass of champagne. Without it, she might not be able to keep the private promise that tonight she would sleep through the night—or, at least, sleep without dreams.

“You will introduce him into society,” Elana said.

Abigail nodded, realizing she’d missed part of the conversation. 

“Then be…seen with him,” Lady Elana added.

Be seen with him? Him? Careful to keep her expression neutral, Abigail shifted her gaze to Sir Stirling. “We are to conduct an… affaire de coeur?”

“Oui,” Elana replied in flawless French. “But Sir Stirling is not the gentleman.” She cast him a wicked glance. “That is a shame, I know, but Sir Stirling is afflicted with a happy marriage.”

Abigail returned her attention to Lady Elana and waited.

Elana gave a small laugh. “You are superb. You never betray a hint of distress. Was I right, Sir Stirling? Is she not superb?”

He smiled gently. “Indeed, she is.”

Elana looked at her. “We are agreed?”

Agreed to what? Pretending to be in love? Or was there more? Abigail wanted to say that there was no need to bring in this gentleman. The Marchioness of Buchman could easily insert herself into any situation. But only the direst of circumstances would induce Lady Elana to impose upon Abigail now that she had resigned from service to the Crown.

Abigail smiled. “As you wish, Lady Elana.”

“We shall arrange a meeting with you and our gentleman say, tomorrow evening, at Lady Tate’s soiree?” Elana turned to Sir Stirling. “Is that time enough?”

“Perfect,” he replied. 

Abigail hadn’t planned to attend the ball, but said, “The ball is predicted to be the party of the season.”

“A real crush,” Lady Elana replied. “Perfect for you to meet a gentleman and fall in love.”

This wouldn’t be the first time Abigail had played the role of a love-stricken woman. At least, the appearance of a courtship would discourage the matchmaking of Lady Bingley and others.

Lady Elana said, “I believe our work here is done, Sir Stirling.”

Abigail realized that she had no idea what role Sir Stirling held in this intrigue, but she knew better than to ask. Lady Elana believed that information was disseminated on a need-to-know basis only.

“We shall see you tomorrow, Lady Buchman,” Elana said.

Abigail recognized the dismissal. “So good to see you,” Abigail addressed her. She turned to Sir Stirling. “Sir, a pleasure to have met you.”

He canted his head and Abigail thought for an instant she read laughter in his eyes. But he said with complete seriousness, “Have a pleasant evening, my lady.”

Abigail left, softly closed the door behind her, and strolled back to the ballroom. She might want to give thought to attending more balls than she’d originally planned. She would sort through the stack of invitations on her desk at home. A glass or two of claret would ward off the evening’s chill…and keep the nightmares at bay. If only the claret would dispel the spirits that walked the corridors of Lochland Manor, as well.

* * *

When the door clicked shut, Lady Elana pressed a finger to her lips. A smile twitched the corners of Sir Stirling’s mouth. A moment passed before she said, “What say you?”

“You were right, of course. She is quite beautiful.”

“Oh that.” Elana waved a dismissive hand. “That is neither here nor there.”

He laughed. “A gentleman might disagree.”

“Ah, yes, of course. A man falls in love so much easier if the lady is beautiful. That aside, what do you think?”

He released a breath. “I believe I know just the gentleman.”

Elana glanced at the closed door. “She still struggles with her demons.”

He regarded her. “We all have our demons.”

She laughed softly. “You know me too well.” She narrowed her eyes in mock sternness. “But you are never to tell any of my secrets. Remember, I know a few of yours, as well.”

He lifted both hands, palms out. “I wouldnae think of it, my lady.”

“Tomorrow evening will do?” she asked.

He smiled. “I happen to know that the gentleman is free.”

“He will play along?”

“Never fear, I’ll see to that.”

She released a sigh. “Come, sit with me by the fire. I could use a drink—and we can discuss our next move.”