Page 38 of Walk on the Wildsyde

“Aye,” Hamilton said as they stood in what would one day be the best room. It was the largest and looked out over the town with the faint glimmer of the sea visible behind the rooflines before them. It also looked towards the vicarage. Clara Halliday was standing on the front doorstep speaking to Miss Fiona Grant and Arran Ross. Fiona was only eighteen and Arran not yet twenty, but they had grown up together and the entire world of Wick knew they would marry the moment her da gave his consent. It looked like the happy day had come at last, for the two of them were holding hands and beaming at each other with daft expressions on their faces.

“Ah, Mr Grant finally gave in, I see,” Angus said with a chuckle, coming to stand beside Hamilton.

“Aye,” Hamilton replied, aware that his gaze had not lingered on the happy couple for above a moment, unwillingly drawn instead to watch Clara Halliday. He drank in the sight of her, noting the pink tinge to her porcelain skin that showed she had recovered her health. Her hair shone even in the overcast daylight, pulled back from her beautiful face in a simple knot, the colour of deep mahogany with flecks of bronze. He knew her eyes were as grey as the sky overhead and could flash like lightning when she was vexed by him. Despite knowing better, he focused on the outline of her lovely figure as Fiona and Arran walked away and she waved them off. Her tiny waist seemed narrower than before, he thought, and instead of admiring how slender she was, could only feel a stab of anxiety that she might have lost weight.

“I hear Miss Halliday has made an excellent recovery,” Angus said, a little too nonchalantly.

Hamilton glanced at him, suspicion stirring, but Angus was inspecting the newly fitted ironmongery on the bedroom door, all handmade by a local blacksmith. He’d ensured all the trades and supplies were local, giving the work to those who lived in Wick or its environs being important to him.

“Have ye decided if ye are coming to dinner with us tonight?” Angus went on, before Hamilton could think of a suitable reply.

Hamilton frowned, reaching for his pocket watch and irritated as he remembered that Moyra still had it. He’d not seen her in an age and guilt stirred as he remembered why. He really ought to visit her, to explain that things were over between them, but work had been so busy, and his mind so preoccupied, that somehow it never happened.

The dinner party would by no means be a grand affair. Angus and Mary entertained friends once or twice a month, just a handful of people and it was always good craic and good food. Usually, Hamilton would not think twice about accepting. This time he’d hesitated, uncertain if he could bring himself to be entertaining, for people expected him to be the life and soul, which he usually was. Just at the moment, however, he was feeling a little out of sorts for reasons he could not put his finger on. Perhaps it was simply guilt over not visiting Moyra and telling her the truth of why he’d been avoiding her, a situation she had remarked when he had seen her out and about in Wick the day before. She had even suggested, in her blunt and rather forthright manner, that he’d lost interest in her because he had other fish to fry.

Hamilton had rejected the accusation before he’d really considered it, and it had only been later that he’d fretted about it, wondering if Moyra had seen something in him he had not wanted to face.

“My brother will be there, I’m afraid,” Angus went on, which was reason enough to give it a miss. “Though he’s under no illusion that it will be the last time if he misbehaves. Mr Fraser and Miss Fleming are also invited, as well as Harold Barker and Mrs Scott.”

Christ. Moyra was going too? Then he definitely wouldn’t go. At least it meant no one outside of Mrs Macready had guessed about his affair with her, or else Mary would have heard it from her mother, who was the biggest nashgab in the town and couldn’t keep a secret if her life depended on it.

“I dinnae think—” he began, just as Angus added,

“And Miss Halliday.”

Hamilton froze. “Clara Halliday?” he said stupidly, as if there were another such in Wick. Clara Halliday in the same room as Malcolm Stewart and Moyra Scott. His blood chilled in his veins.

“Aye, her and Mary have become great friends, and Mary promised to introduce her to people. What with Mrs Scott knowing everyone and being at the centre of much of the social scene in Wick, she thought she’d introduce them. Mind, it took a vast amount of persuading with her father, what with me working for ye and the reverend not liking that one bit. But I’ll give Mary her due, she’s a hard woman to say no to. I hear she got Mrs Cameron on to the fellow as well, telling him a young woman needed to get out and about in society. It seems Mrs Cameron has a fair bit of influence with our reverend these days,” he added with a grin. “Ye ought to encourage that, I reckon.”

Hamilton paid little heed to this, too consumed with worries about Clara and Angus’ vile brother. “I thought ye had more sense than to have Malcolm and Miss Halliday in the same room,” Hamilton growled, trying to keep a lid on something that felt very much like panic. “And I cannae believe her da would let her attend if he knew I was there.”

“It wasn’t my doing,” Angus said with a shrug. “Mary invited Miss Halliday without telling me, and so when Malcolm asked if he could come, I said yes. Lord, Mary was furious with me, for it means we’ve odd numbers now as she cannot find another single lady, but I could hardly uninvite him, and even my brother won’t be an idiot in company. It’s not like there will be an opportunity for him to be alone with her. I’ll make sure she gets home safe too, so don’t worry. At least if you don't come, the numbers will be even again and I need not fear the reverend finding out,” Angus mused thoughtfully, blithely unaware he’d pitched Hamilton into a nightmare.

Don’t worry?Holy God. As if her getting home safe was the only thing to fret about. Hamilton’s heart gave an uneven thud, and he told himself to calm down. Moyra would say nothing about their affair at a dinner party. The idea was ludicrous, and no one had the slightest idea of his interest in Clara. He had no interest in Clara past the fact he was a healthy male with the usual appreciation such a creature had for a beautiful woman. Yet there was a fizzing sensation under his skin, tension thrumming through him as something like foreboding clouded his brain.

He couldn’t go, he decided. If he went, he’d be on alert and one or the other of them would think it odd. His mother and his sister seemed to have some God-given instinct that told them when he or one of his brothers was hiding something, and he saw no reason this feminine attribute ought to have missed Clara Halliday. Moyra certainly had it, for she knew his attention was waning and suspected him of hiding his interest in another.

Well, he needed to put her straight in any case. Whether or not she believed there was nothing between him and Clara she deserved to hear from him that their affair was over. Perhaps he could do it later tonight, after the dinner. He let out a breath of relief at having made the decision, and then considered the question from the other direction. What if Clara found out about his affair with Moyra?

“Aye, I’ll come,” he blurted, before he could think better of it.

“Excellent,” Angus replied, slapping him on the back. “We’ll see you at seven-thirty, then. Don’t be late.” Hamilton swallowed, suddenly viewing the coming evening with all the pleasure of a man climbing the scaffold where a noose awaited him.

“Thank you so much for inviting me,” Clara said as Angus Stewart took her cloak. “And thank you, Mr Fraser, for escorting me here. It was so kind of you and you were so patient with Papa, too. I’m sorry he lectured you so sternly when it was barely a few minutes’ walk.”

“My pleasure, my dear. Think nothing of it,” Mr Fraser said cheerfully, his kind face growing round as he grinned at them. “Oh, something smells good! Mary, what are we having?” he asked, sniffing with appreciation as he walked further into the house.

“Wait and see,” Mary said cheerfully, hurrying past him to greet Clara. She was a petite woman with comfortable curves, jet-black hair, and an apparently boundless energy for friends and family. “Clara! Oh, love… you look perfectly stunning.”

Clara laughed at the extravagant praise, quite certain it was merely her friend’s good nature that saw beauty in all things. “Mary, if you pour the butter boat over me, I’ll have no room for your marvellous dinner.”

“Mary’s right,” Angus said frankly as he handed her cloak to their maid. “I’ll not say ye are the loveliest sight I ever saw, for my Mary has that privilege, but ye look as fine as fivepence. Far too lovely for such an informal affair. You should be attending some grand dinner in town somewhere.”

“Hush, both of you,” Clara protested. “You will put me to the blush, and this is my very best dress, so it’s only that you are unused to seeing me in such finery,” she added, certain that the deep blue silk gown, which was rather fine and beautifully, if simply, tailored, ought to take the credit.

“Well, we shall see what our guests make of you, and then you may eat your words,” Mary said firmly, taking her by the arm and guiding her into the parlour where the guests were chatting, drinks in hand. “Now then, of course, Mr Fraser, you have already greeted this evening, and you know Angus’s brother.”

Clara smiled at Mr Fraser and gave Malcolm Stewart a coolly polite nod, ignoring the way his gaze travelled over her and determined to stay as far out of his way as was possible in a small room.