Read Another Country for Free Online

for
he was unable to think of an adequate reply.
    Isobel’s dark eyes briefly lifted knowingly to his.
“Yes,” she replied quietly, “it does.”
    Dinner was excellent, as always, and Ian enjoyed
chatting about hospital business with Stephen and Arabella. Isobel,
he noticed, spoke little, and when his gaze rested on her, she
quickly looked away.
    Again Ian felt a deepening twinge of unease,
thinking of her words in the music room. Could she really be
twenty-two? Ian could hardly credit it. He had meant it when he
said time passed quickly, and he wondered why Isobel had not
married.
    Could it be possible that she was waiting for him?
He was twenty-eight, and had every intention of marrying. But to
Isobel? He paused, a glass of wine to his lips, as this idea took
hold of him. He had not truly considered it before because he’d
always assumed Isobel would marry within her social sphere. No
matter how much the Moores welcomed him, or contrived to have his
name on the invitation lists for Boston’s many balls, dances, and
suppers, he was not of their class and never would be.
    He was, Ian thought with only a trace of bitterness,
a farm boy from Mull, wet behind the ears, who had made a foolish
mistake and run away to sea. In the last ten years he’d been
blessed by other people’s kindnesses to him, but it did not change
who he was.
    What he was.
    “Ian? Arabella spoke with a slight sharpness, and
with a start he realized he’d once again lost the thread of
conversation.
    “Ian’s worn out, Mother,” Isobel said with a soft
smile meant only for him. “You know how hard he works.”
    “Indeed I do.”
    “I apologize,” Ian said hastily. “You were
saying...?”
    “You’ve done well for yourself, certainly,” Stephen
told him after the women had retired to the drawing room, and he’d
taken Ian into his own private enclave, the library, for port and
cigars. “Very well indeed.”
    Ian murmured his thanks. “I love my
work,” he said simply. “And I am profoundly thankful that your son
saw a flicker of ability in me that I’d been unable to see
myself.”
    Stephen nodded thoughtfully. “Yes,
Henry was always clever that way. He took risks, still does, and
it’s helped him. Instead of one ship now, he owns what... four?
Five?”
    “Six, I believe,” Ian said with a smile. It amused
him to think that Stephen Moore didn’t even know how many ships his
son owned in Boston’s harbor. Of course, Stephen had his own
business interests in finance to keep him engaged.
    “Six...” Stephen mused. “Yes, he’s done well for
himself. Tell me, how is Margaret? We have not seen her of
late.”
    Henry had married Ian’s relative,
Margaret MacDougall, nearly ten years ago. They resided only a few
blocks away on Charles Street, although Henry was still gone most
of the year on ship business.
    “She’s well,” Ian replied. “I don’t see her or Henry
as much as I’d like, of course.”
    “Yes, I’m sure the hospital keeps you busy. She’s
reforming the city as usual?”
    Ian nodded, chuckling. “Of course. I believe she is
tackling the schools now. You know how she is.”
    “It’s a pity they never had children.”
    “Yes, it is,” Ian agreed quietly. He knew the lack
troubled Margaret, although she’d managed to put it behind her some
years ago.
    “Of course, there might be help
from another quarter.” Stephen’s tone was surprisingly jocular.
“You must be nearing thirty, Ian.”
    Ian swallowed. He’d been expecting this, and yet it
still left him alert and uneasy, afraid that one word might
misdirect both him and Stephen. “I’m twenty-eight.”
    “High time to find a wife.” Stephen nodded, rubbing
his chin. “Don’t you think?”
    “I haven’t...” Ian shrugged
helplessly. “The hospital work keeps me so busy, I have very few
social concerns, as you well know.”
    “Of course. But a man can’t be a bachelor all his
days, surely. I speak in such a forthright manner only because