****
Although it had been the merest touch of his lips, Annie’s hand tingled from the effect. What in the world had made Niall do that? She couldn’t remember him ever acting courtly before. He sometimes gave her high-sounding compliments that she knew better than to take seriously, but most of the time he raised her ire by chiding her about one thing to another. He certainly never said he’d look forward to seeing her again. He’d never kissed her. Herhand. He’d never kissed her hand before. Why…
John Kingsley coughed and suddenly Annie knew why Niall had acted as he did. Like a stag protecting his doe, Niall was staking his territory, warning John to keep his distance. Not that it was warranted. She was simply going to be working with theman during the day with plenty of people around. It was typical of Niall to assume he knew what was best for her. It probably had something to do with Highland men expecting their women to follow their orders. Bridget had even mentioned it once. Annie shook her head in disgust. She wasn’t going to put up with anyone ordering her about.
Annie walked toward the picture and smiled at John. “Do ye suppose Mr. Haines kens the owner of such a place?”
Kingsley gave her a thoughtful look before turning his attention back to the painting. “The plantation is Dogwood Lane near Jamestown. I believe Mr. Haines’ father had a stake in it.”
“Really?” Annie studied the painting with renewed interest. Medium-sized trees, covered with so many white flowers that they looked snow-laden, lined either side of a long, straight gravel drive. At the far end the lane circled around a flower garden awash in brilliant red, yellow, and blue blooms. Behind that stood a large, three-story rectangular white house with green shutters. Porticoes graced the top floor along with a belvedere crowning the roof. Stone pillars supported an open-air porch that ran the length of the house. Annie could imagine sitting in a rocking chair on that porch enjoying soft, warm breezes.
“It’s verra pretty,” she said. “Does Mr. Haines still own part of it?”
“Doubtful. When America declared her independence, most of the British not living there forfeited ownership to the lands.”
“It seems like such a loss,” Annie said.
Kingsley contemplated the picture again and then he nodded. “I am sure that it was.”
Mr. Haines came through the front door just then and they both turned to greet him. He glanced at the painting.
“I see you have been admiring Dogwood Lane.”
“’Tis beautiful,” Annie said. “Have ye been there?”
“Once, as a child,” Mr. Haines answered. “My father was a tobacco lord.”
Kingsley nodded. “With the trade lanes open again, the tobacco trade will resume. Do you plan to purchase land over there?”
“Perhaps,” Mr. Haines said evasively. “I would have to do research on how economically feasible it is.”
“Ye could talk to Robert Henderson,” Annie said.
“Of Henderson shipping?” Kingsley asked.
“Aye.”
“And how do you know him?”
“Only in a roundabout way,” Annie answered. “Robert is a brother of sorts to Niall MacDonald.”
“MacDonald?” Kingsley riveted his gaze on her. “What do you mean, ‘of sorts’?”
“My friend Bridget told me the story when she married Alasdair MacDonald.” Annie shrugged. “Robert’s father sailed from America and married Alasdair and Niall’s mother, who was a widow with seven bairns. Then they had three more.”
“That is all very well,” Mr. Haines interjected, “but what does it have to do with the economy in the States? And tobacco?”
“Och, I dinnae mean to run on,” Annie replied, feeling her face warm. “I meant to say Robert lived in America until last year. He would be able to tell ye the state of things there.”
“Hmmm,” Archibald said contemplatively. “Thatisinteresting.”
Kingsley gave him a speculative look. “Yes, it is.”
“Of course, ye will have to wait until Robert returns to Glasgow,” Annie said.
“When will that be?” Mr. Haines asked.
“As soon as he gets his house in Arisaig rebuilt,” Annie answered. “Maybe a few weeks.”
