by Fiona Faris
“You do?”
Georgiana nodded, summoning the parody of a smile from somewhere to reassure Susan that she was serious. She could well understand the pressure to conform to whatever society dictated. She didn’t blame her poor cousin, who had just come out, for turning her back like the rest of the town, and appreciated the fact that Susan took the time to apologize.
She reached out and squeezed her cousin’s hand. “Thank you, Susan. Now I will let you get back to your shopping. Which seamstress are you using?”
“Mrs. Charleston, of course. You know she makes all my gowns. Will she make your trousseau as well?”
Georgiana inclined her head. “I suppose so. I thought to give Misty here some practice as well.”
Susan’s brow furrowed. “Oh? Why is that?”
“Well, I do expect that I shall be grateful that my abigail is an accomplished seamstress, seeing as I shall be moving soon to Scotland.”
Chapter Three
Ethan decided that it was time to leave. He was tired of the constant anger and pain he lived with from seeing his father and half-brother almost daily. His half-brother -embarrassed by the humiliation at his father’s hands, and knowing that all the servants and therefore all the crofters knew about it – took out his frustration on Ethan. Lachie lurked by the well when Ethan went to collect water with his friends and gave Ethan a beating almost every day. Just yesterday, his half-brother poked a hole in Ethan’s only bucket by driving his foot through it, and last week, he had torn Ethan’s threadbare coat by pulling on it.
Ethan was a braw fighter, but he was constantly outnumbered.
“What am I still daeing here?” he asked himself as he made some oatmeal porridge for breakfast. “Ah have nothing to stay for.”
He sighed, knowing that it was time. Having nothing much to pack and no one to stay for, he gathered what food he could manage to carry with him, stuffed his extra shirt and a long knife into a small bag, and set out on the road to Edinburgh.
He made sure to say goodbye to Mrs. Campbell and Mrs. Maisie and thank them for their care of him since his mother’s death. He walked once again past Abby’s hut, which she shared with her husband and Ethan’s nephew. She had married an old blacksmith who had sold his smithy and come to Daltern village to retire. Ethan had heard he treated her kindly and took the boy in as his own. It was both a relief and a pain to him to know that she had found a home.
Three days out of Daltern, he came across a coachman, dragging a cart of hay and bales of beans, on his way to Edinburgh to trade. The man agreed to give Ethan a lift in return for Ethan’s help to load and unload.
Ethan swayed along, sitting on a bale of hay and thought about his future and what he would do once he reached the New World. He had heard that there were tribes of murderous cannibals there, who would kill a man with an axe and eat his brains. He didn’t know if he believed these tales, but he was willing to wager that he could find somewhere safe to ply a trade and prosper.
Then one day, he would come back to Scotland, a rich and prosperous man, and fling his wealth in front of his father.
The stone that the builder rejects will become the cornerstone.
When he reached the shores of Edinburgh, he helped the trader unload his cargo onto the dock and then assisted the sailors in carrying their cargo onto the ship.
One of them nodded approvingly to him. “Ye’re a good worker.”
“Aye, I am. I’m looking for passage on a ship as a sailor. Would ye need one more for yer ship?”
The dark-haired, green-eyed man stood up straight, eyeing him speculatively. “I expect so. I’ll have a gab wi’ the ship’s master. Come wi’ me.”
“Thank ye, man.” Ethan said, falling in step with the seaman, “I’m Ethan Bu-er, Mackenzie,”deciding in the spur of the moment to use his mother’s maiden name.
The seaman nodded at him. “Fergus Monroe at yer service.”
“Pleased to make yer acquaintance, Fergus.”
The man cast him a sidelong glance. “Likewise.”
Fergus led him to a large man, his belly hanging out over his belt, wearing a swashbuckling sword that kept slapping against his knee and a white naval coat complete with gold buttons and white pantaloons. Ethan snorted quietly to himself in amusement.
“Cap’n!” Fergus called, and the man turned around. He had an eye patch over one eye, and Ethan could not help his raised eyebrow.
“Mr. Monroe. What can I do for ye?”
“I got an aspiring seaman here, sir, who would like to join the roster.”
“Oh, aye? Is he any guid?”
“He’s strong, works hard.”
“Alrigh’ then. Sign him on. Ninety guineas to be paid at the end of the journey.”
“I shall need an advance as I have no coin to purchase necessities.”
“Ye can have six guineas. Mr. Monroe, take him to the purser.”
Ethan bowed, “I thank ‘e sir.”
The master simply humphed and turned back to his business. Ethan felt a burst of happiness bubbling in his chest. He was actually on his way…
* * *
“So what’s yer story, eh seaman?” Fergus asked as they lay in their cots after a long day of work. The ship gently rose and fell. Ethan had been feeling steadily nauseous as soon as they weighed anchor. He was grateful, however, that he had not as yet cast up his accounts.
“My story?” he asked, to delay the inevitable. He had worked with Fergus all day. One thing he had come to learn about his companion was that he was as curious as a cat.
“Aye. What brings ye to this ship without so much as a spare set of shoon, as ye seek the New World? What is it yer escapin’ from?”
Ethan sighed. If’n I dinna tell him the truth, he’ll think I’m a brigand or somesuch.
“Weel, it’s quite a tale, and I’m tired the noo. I’ll tell ye all aboot it tomorra.”
“Fair enough.” Fergus turned away on his pallet and went to sleep. It was a long time before Ethan could find his rest too.
* * *
“I left my father’s hame because I was tired of the abuse. His legitimate son had just lost the harvest profits, and I didna wish to wait around and see how they would make the crofters pay for that.” Ethan said as they filled the scuttlebutt with fresh water.
“Ee, I dinna have any family, so I dinna ken how that is.” Fergus grimaced sympathetically.
“Aye well, yer lucky.”
“And yer mither? Where is she?”
“Dead.”
“Ah’m sorry.”
Ethan shrugged. “The son, Lachie? He’s to be marrit in the spring to the daughter of a duke. Can ye imagine the shock when she finds out what kind of man he is?”
“The daughter of a duke ye say? For her dowry, no?”
“Aye.”
Fergus shook his head mournfully. “And ye’re just going to let them do it?”
Ethan gave Fergus a look. “What would ye have me do?”
Fergus shrugged, “Marry her yerself?”
“I beg yer pardon?”
“Ye’re running from hame because yer brother is making yer life hell, no?”
“Aye.”
“So make his life hell. Steal his bride.”
Ethan just stared incredulously. “How would I even do tha’?”
Fergus just smiled.
* * *
Ethan disembarked from the boat in London, still unable to believe he was going along with Fergus and his convoluted scheme. The seaman had become something of a friend while onboard, showing Ethan the ropes and making sure he was getting his fair share of rations.
But now, with this plan of his, Ethan had forsaken his wages, and it might lead nowhere. He would be stranded in London with no way to earn a living.
“Haud yer wheesht. Ye think I’d leave ye alone with this. Naw man. I shall loan ye some money. Ye’ll get yersel’ a guid suit of clothes, ye’ll go and win the bride, and when ye get her dowry for yerself, ye’ll pay me
with a bit on top. We both win.”
“I dinna ken Fergus…it doesnae sound right.”
“Are ye going to leave this sweet girl to yer brother’s mercy? Or will ye save her like ye couldna’ save Abby?”
That shut Ethan up. In the course of their trip from Edinburgh to London, he had told Fergus practically his whole life story. Fergus, in turn, seemed to have decided to adopt him. Ethan was alternately grateful and suffocated by his solicitude. He was not used to spending so much time with one person.
Fergus flagged down a chaise which took them to the center of London.
“First thing we need tae dae is to invest in some good clothes. She wilnae expect much from a Scotsman; these Sassenachs all think we’re barbarians.” Fergus spat in disgust, looking around him with suspicion at the swirl of bustling people around them.
“I dinna have any money, Fergus. I dinna ken why ye don’t understan’ tha’.”
“Oh, I understand it. And I said, dinna fash. I have wha’ we need.”
“Ye canna just loan me the money. Ye dinna ken if we shall succeed. What if my da and Lachie show up, eh? What if she refuses me? Then what?”
“It’s a risk, I ken it. But it’s my risk. And I want to take it.”
“Why?”
“Because ye’re a braw laddie, Ethan,” Fergus clapped him on the shoulder companionably, “And if ye get the lassie, I stand to make some money. Ye’re an honorable man. Ye willna cheat me.”
“Naw, I willna do tha’…but-”
“No buts! We’re are doing this. Now, follow me. I ken just the tailor.”
* * *
Ethan had never worn such well-appointed clothing. He kept smoothing down his full-skirted knee-length coat in checked brown. He wore similarly colored knee-breeches, a long gold-colored waistcoat, white linen shirt with frills, and linen underdrawers. He shifted uncomfortably, not used to so many layers. He wore white silk stockings and leather shoes with stacked heels of low height. The whole ensemble was topped by a shoulder-length full-bottomed wig and a tricorne hat with an upturned brim.
He had to actively refrain from reaching under his wig and scratching. He did not know how these Englishmen managed to walk around like this every day.
“Do ye ken where she lives, this princess?” Fergus asked.
Ethan shook his head. “No. I dinna ken where she is.”
Fergus sighed, shaking his head. “Ye said she was disgraced in some way? The daughter of a duke?”
“Aye.”
“There canna be that many. Ye stay here, while I make inquiries.”
They were staying at an inn; Fergus had booked a room for the two of them, while a tailor he knew had worked his magic.
“Can I take off these clothes, the noo?”
Fergus laughed. “Naw, wear them for another hour or two, so ye get used to them. Practice yer manners. I shall be back shortly.”
Ethan nodded miserably. “Aye then.”
The lad sat back on the straw mattress with a sigh. He was skeptical of this scheme; he didn’t know if he could lie effectively to the girl and her father. On the other hand, Fergus was right. Whoever she was, she did not deserve to fall into Lachie’s hands. He would use her for her dowry and then mistreat her for the rest of her life.
He couldn’t lie to himself though; he relished the thought of getting one over on his father and half-brother. If this worked, they would probably lose everything – their land, their home…it would serve them right. It’s what they deserved.
Ethan was clenching his jaw, feeling the anger coursing through his veins. He shot up to a sitting position and got to his feet. He practiced walking in the low heels, making sure he looked as though he was used to such shoes. His underdrawers chafed against his legs, and he resisted the urge to scratch. He could do this.
He would do this.
* * *
It took three days, but Fergus eventually found her. He had been talking with the seamstresses along Bond street until he finally found one who had sold bolts of fabric to a young lady recently engaged to a Scotsman; or at least, she was moving to Scotland after her wedding. The seamstress had overheard the girl talking with a friend, and it sounded as if the engagement had redeemed her from some sort of disgrace.
“It must be her,” Fergus added.
“It is unlikely that there are two of them?”
“Aye. Tomorra ye shall wear yer finery, and we shall call on the…” he checked the paper in his hands, “Duke of Bellingwick. The daughter’s name is Lady Bellingwick.”
Ethan snorted. “Does she no have her own name?”
Fergus shrugged. “The seamstress didna ken it.”
“And ye’re sure this will work?”
“Aye. All you need is to be confident and sure. And we need to get a horse for ye to ride.”
Ethan laughed. “Ye have enough money to buy a horse?”
“I have enough to rent a horse. They willna expect that ye rode one from Scotland. All ye have to do is state that ye came by sea, and ye dinna have a lot with ye; ye just came for yer bride and wish to get back as soon as possible.”
Ethan nodded. “Aye, then, let’s go.”
* * *
They drew up to the Bellingwick house on Mayfair on their borrowed horses, and Ethan took a deep breath.
They will never believe us. He thought with despair, taking in the long stone columns that flanked the front door. The house was a three-story building with a footman stationed at the front. He watched them come, eyes clasped behind his back, green uniform gleaming in the early afternoon light. Ethan took a deep breath.
“Ye’re sure aboot this?” he murmured to Fergus, who was dressed as his manservant.
“Aye. Haud yer wheest, and we shall both get what we want.”
The door opened, and a butler stood waiting for them to alight their horses.
“Good even, sirs. Can I help you?”
“My name is Lachie Buchanan. I am here to claim my bride.” Ethan replied as confidently as he could. The butler stiffened in shock and then flailed his arms as if he was genuinely flustered.
“Er, forgive me, Sir. We were not expecting you so soon. Uh…I…come… come in, come in.” He moved aside and gestured for them to follow. Ethan straightened his spine and walked slowly into the house, looking up at the high ceilings, the rich tapestries, and wood paneling. He marveled that these people had ever contemplated giving their daughter away to a man like Lachie.
The butler led them to a parlor and seated them. “Would you like some tea or uh, porridge? I understand they like that up in the highlands.”
The butler was clearly at a loss on how to proceed.
Ethan gave him a tight smile. “Tea is fine.”
The butler bowed. “Coming right up, Sir. I shall inform His Grace that you have arrived.”
Ethan nodded. “Thank you.”
Chapter Four
“Georgie, you better get up. Your affianced is here.” Her lady’s maid barged into the bedroom without knocking, her cap askew.
Georgiana got to her feet, her face pale. “I beg your pardon?”
“Yes! Yes! Forbes just seated him in the parlor! He’s waiting for you.”
“No!” Georgiana’s hands flew to her mouth in disbelief, “I’m not ready!”
Misty hurried forward, pushing Georgiana back into her seat. “Never fear my lady, I shall prepare you.”
Georgiana stared bleakly into the mirror as the maid tidied her hair. “Does mother know?”
“I expect Forbes has told her by now. His Grace too.”
Georgiana put a hand to her heart. “I can’t believe I’m to meet him already. I’d resigned myself to wait until February.”
“I expect he’s as impatient as you to meet his bride.” Misty smiled, her eyes dreamy.
“Mmm, perhaps. Or maybe he needs my dowry sooner than expected.” Georgiana replied cynically. All of her illusions had been stripped away by the actions of Viscount Ashness.
Misty avoided her eyes and focused on arranging her hair to its best advantage before applying the wig, powdering her face and adding a beauty spot to her cheek.
“Will you change your gown, my lady?”
