The Dog House (Harding's World of Romance) Read Online Free PDF Page B

seemed poised and charming as they interacted with the crowd, flirting gently with an older woman, slapping the backs of the old boys in a comradely way.
    Of course, this crowd was already a select bunch, Fiona reminded herself. Apart from the mayor and the heads of a few societies, there were probably titles among them and she certainly wasn’t hearing many local accents. Everybody sounded like they’d been to posh public schools down in England, if they weren’t actually English themselves, and for the first time she felt self-conscious of her own accent, softened though it had been by her education.
    “Ladies and gentlemen,” Dougal’s voice boomed out as he moved to the front of the great hall and took his place behind a speaker’s table, which had been set up with a microphone for the occasion.  “Welcome to the official inauguration of Mackenzie House. This centre has been a dream in progress for the past several years and I hope that as of tonight it will start to be as dear to the community as it has been to Rhona and me.”
    Dougal’s voice continued to boom out, making the microphone completely unnecessary, which was just as well as he began to pace behind the table with his usual restless energy. His enthusiasm was contagious and most of the crowd listened with appreciation, apart from Fiona whose attention kept straying to Colin Parker.
    He and his companion were both escorting well-dressed young women who didn’t seem particularly interested in the proceedings but stood elegantly clutching the men’s arms. Members of the Historical and Cultural Society were easy to spot, hanging on with more rapt attention to Dougal and Rhona’s short speeches and then to the longer discourse by the head of the Society.
    Fiona was suddenly feeling out of her depth as she gazed around at the chic dresses and well-cut suits around the room. She had worn her best white blouse and neat black skirt and only now, as she made a quick mental survey, did she realise that she was dressed exactly the same as the caterers. Her confidence took another blow.
    She also felt as if her guilt was written across her brow any time either of the men glanced in her direction. But she might as well have been invisible, just a slightly off-centre decoration behind the far table. She had to keep reminding herself that neither man had ever seen her and had no reason to link her to Livingstone’s unwelcome incursions into their world.
    Then Dougal was back at the microphone, smiling broadly as he introduced “the woman who made it all happen, who put Mackenzie House in its rightful spot on the history map, the passionate historian and poetry expert, Miss Fiona Buchanan.”
    He held out his hand to usher her up to join him at the microphone, and Fiona fixed her gaze on his to forget her self-consciousness. Dougal and Rhona were from the upper class, she reminded herself hastily, and had never been anything but warm, welcoming and grateful in their interactions with her, taking her word unquestioningly on all matters historical. The thought gave her courage.
    “Good evening,” she said nervously into the mike, after shaking Dougal’s meaty hand and nearly having her wrist broken.  “First of all I would like to begin by offering a huge thank you to Dougal and Rhona for giving me the opportunity to study the history of this amazing place. All of the credit for what you now see goes to their vision for Mackenzie House, where I really only played the role of a technical expert. But what a pleasure it has been for me to be able to poke into the fascinating hidden secrets of the area which is so rich in colourful history. Already at the time of the Jacobite Risings, before the Massacre at Glencoe…”
    And she was off, all shyness forgotten, launching into her favourite subject. By conscious effort she managed not to overload her audience with all the spicy little anecdotes of loyalty and betrayal, allegiances and skirmishes and personalities