“My family attends St. Andrew’s Kirk or I would reacquaint you with my mother,” I said. “I came to Greyfriars today with a friend.”
“Another time, perhaps,” Lady Belsches said. She looked at her daughter. “Mr. Scott may escort you home, Mina, but see that you do not dally along the way.”
“Of course,” Miss Belsches said. I imagined she had received ample instruction on how to keep her thoughts from showing on her face since I couldn’t read her expression.
I put out my arm, and she took it, quickly stepping from beneath her mother’s umbrella to the protection of mine. I did not mind that the necessity to keep herself well sheltered brought her closer to me than she likely would have stood otherwise. I withdrew any complaint I had ever made against the rain.
I thanked Lady Belsches, bid good day to the other women, and turned Miss Belsches toward the path that would lead us through the Kirkyard, with its ornate gravestones and tombs, to High Street. Once we were an adequate distance from the party, I leaned toward her. I was taller than she was—a great oak compared to the gentle slenderness of her figure.
“I hope my boldness is not too overpowering,” I said, feeling nervous for the first time and wishing I’d been more attentive to my dress, as my friends had often encouraged of me. She clearly had taken care with her dress today; she was impeccable. I’d been so struck by this vision of beauty that my course had seemed obvious, but now it was just the two of us, and I did not have a great deal of experience with romantic exchanges outside of the books I loved to read and the poems I often constructed in my mind. I had learned, however, that when in doubt, there was nothing better to do than be honest. “But I have never in my life been so quickly affected by anyone before.” I glanced at her as though I needed a reminder of her loveliness. “You are the most beautiful young woman I have ever seen.”
She blushed, as I thought she might, but she also laughed. “You have a silver tongue.”
It was my turn to laugh. Words were, in fact, my greatest allies in every field I found myself in—literature, law, theology. Could my gift of words be an asset to this meeting as well? While I had indulged in a flirtation or two in my youth, they had been as much entertainment as affection. This, however, was different. This girl would play a powerful part of my life. I knew it to my core. Thus, I needed to make a good impression on her.
“My tongue may indeed be silver, but I never speak a lie,” I said. “You are recently from Invermay? You must tell me all about it, for I have never been so far north.”
“Well, Mr. Scott—”
“Do call me Walter,” I cut in, “so that I might feel as though we are friends.”
“Friends?” Miss Belsches said, looking sideways at me. “We have only just met.”
“Ah, but you will like me,” I said with confidence, navigating her to the side of a rather large puddle. Everyone liked me. “And I already like you a great deal—only I know so little about you. May I call you Mina?”
She giggled, strengthening my confidence. “You are very bold, sir.”
“Yes, but I am more interested in learning about you than focusing on my own assets,” I said, patting her hand that rested upon my arm. “Tell me of the Highlands. I am a great lover of stories and eager to hear yours.”
“Very well,” she said, still smiling. “There is not much story in it, but I grew up an only child in Invermay, which is somewhat north of Perth . . .”
We left the Kirkyard and started along High Street. I already knew the walk would be far too short for my tastes and determined then and there that I would walk her home next week, and every week after, so that I might get to know her bit by bit. If her company was this invigorating by half the next time I saw her, I would scarcely be able to stay away.
Edinburgh, Scotland
November 21, 1795
Walter did not try to hide the fact that he watched the door with focused attention. Mina—his muse and his future—would be entering at any moment, and he was determined to be the first set of eyes she saw. Her family had traveled to Edinburgh every winter since he’d met her, four years ago, and though Mina had been in the city for almost a week this time, Walter had not yet seen her.
“She might not be comin’,” William Clerk said from Walter’s side. “And yer leg’s gunna give oot if you stand here like a tree much longer.”
“See, this is why you have not formed an attachment of your own, my friend,” Walter said, speaking with the tone of a tired teacher. “You have no mind for romance nor have you any understanding of the fairer sex.” He sighed dramatically and added more flower to his words for effect. “Mina has been away for nearly six months, during which time she and I have only grown more attached to one another.” He put a hand to his chest in a false display of humility. “With all that time apart—save for our letters and my poetry—she is apt to wonder at my devotion and be anxious about whether or not she can trust the mere words on a page that have sustained us for so long. When she walks through that door, I want her to see the way she fills me with the pure sunshine we have not seen in the city for weeks. Then she will know that my heart beats only for her, that I have counted the days to this meeting since last we shared sight of one another, and that the passion of my heart has been in no wise dimmed by the distance between us.”
Clerk rolled his eyes. “I’m gunna get me another stout.”
Walter watched his friend’s retreat for a moment before facing the door again. He shifted his weight from his right foot to his left and considered Clerk’s warning. Should Walter’s leg buckle beneath him, as it had done before, his imagined welcome for Mina would be an embarrassment rather than a token of romance. He sometimes brought a cane to social functions when he knew he would be on his feet a great deal, but what barrister of twenty-four years of age wanted to greet his eternal love while leaning upon a cane like an auld man? His imagined scene of adoration did not factor in the cane nor his falling to the floor because he was without support.
Walter scouted the foyer for a chair. The nearest seat was out of view of the doorway, but not so far that he couldn’t hear the arrival of guests. At the slightest sound of entry, he could rise and hurry to greet the new arrivals. Content with his plan, he sat, stretching out his leg and smiling at the overall energy of the evening.
The Assembly Hall where the Saturday night balls were held was relatively new, having been built in 1787; his parents’ generation had not had such events. Balls and dinner parties, soirees, and garden gatherings were historically English, but as the two countries’ cultures had blended these last decades, Edinburgh society had attempted to mimic that of the fashionable ton of London more and more. Here in Scotland, however, everyone who attended an event actually enjoyed themselves.
Walter smiled to himself, recalling the tales of stuffy manners and critical eyes amid the posh London extravagance. None of that had yet been adopted by the Scots. Rather, the lads and lasses from a variety of social classes came to a social gathering with the expectation of enjoying themselves, and though Walter was unable to dance, he had yet to turn out for an event and leave disappointed. There was always plenty of ale for the drinking, women for the watching, and cards for the playing.
As the night went on, the guests became louder, the dancing more Scottish, and the entirety of the event more fun. Half the enjoyment would be recalling the extreme antics with friends the next morning, determining which parts they remembered and which parts they had lost somewhere between their fourth and fifth mug. Walter was not naturally inclined toward drinking—he did not love what it did to his otherwise keen thinking—but he chose to participate out of politeness. Good manners, after all, were important.
Walter heard the front door open and hurried from his seat to the entryway, only to be rewarded with a cramp in his hip and an awkward smile shared with Mrs. Beattie, a friend of his mother’s, who likely wondered at his hurry
to greet her. He smiled and nodded, then turned back to his chair. After only two steps toward his waiting spot, he heard the sound of another arrival. He turned, only to have his breath stop in his chest at the sight before him.
The first time Walter had seen Mina at Greyfriars Kirk, she’d captured his heart completely. Tonight, she captured it all over again as she scanned the entryway. Dare he hope she was looking for him? When her eyes met his, she smiled, then ducked her head.
Walter smiled in return and began walking toward her, trying his best to hide his limp. Sir John, Mina’s father, had recently inherited a new title and changed his family name to Stuart. He and his wife stood on either side of their only daughter, removing their outer garments and handing them to the awaiting footmen.
Out of propriety, Walter would greet her parents first, but he fantasized for a moment how it would be to greet Mina alone, just the two of them, and to speak aloud what they had shared in their letters. She was nineteen years old now, and he was perhaps only one year away from being situated well enough to support a family. It would not be much longer before he could court her openly, and thanks to her letters, he knew they shared the same hopes for a future together.
“Sir John,” Walter said, inclining his head.
Sir John returned the nod, looking at Walter the way a man might inspect a questionable horse.
Walter swallowed and tried to ignore the pessimistic thought as he turned his attention to Mina’s mother, similarly blessed with the same good looks and easy grace as her daughter. “Lady Bel—forgive me—Lady Stuart. It is wonderful to have you returned to Edinburgh.”
“Yes, thank you, Mr. Scott,” Lady Stuart said.
Finally, Water was able to give his full attention to Mina. “Good evening, Miss Belsches, you look . . . enchanting.”
Her rosebud lips pulled into a smile, and she had the good manners to blush at his compliment. She was not always so meek—certainly not during the several times they had met in secret and not in the letters they’d exchanged of late—but Walter knew she did not want her parents to know of their attachment just yet, which made making such a bold comment in their hearing that much more exciting for him.
“Thank you, Mr. Scott,” Mina said demurely.
“She is Miss Stuart now,” Sir John cut in.
“My apologies,” Walter said, ducking his head in an apology for the slip he hadn’t even noticed making. “Miss Stuart.”
Sir John gave a crisp nod, and Walter resisted the urge to run a finger along the inside of his collar. The family had been Belsches for as long as he’d known them; it had been an innocent mistake made by a man who did not care enough about titles to be overly attentive to the changing of them. Walter would need to work on the proper address, however, even if it felt like splitting hairs to him. Stuart, Stuart, Stuart.
“Shall we head for the ballroom?” Sir John asked, checking the watch hanging by a gold chain from his waistcoat. “We are already late.”
“You cannot be late for a ball in Scotland,” Lady Stuart said, taking her husband’s arm and giving Walter a teasing glance. “The dancing will go until early morning, no matter what time we arrive.”
Walter’s concern over Sir John’s feelings toward him was eased by the fact that Lady Stuart held a good opinion of him. She had renewed her friendship with his mother, though they were not the bosom friends they had once been, and Lady Stuart never did or said anything that made Walter feel that she would not welcome his open attention toward her daughter.
With Mina’s parents making their way toward the other guests, Walter held out his arm for Mina. “Might I accompany you to the floor, Miss Stuart?” he asked in his most affected tones.
“Of course you may.” Mina put her hand, feather light, upon his arm.
He purposely slowed his steps, creating a distance between them and her parents, affording the young couple some measure of privacy. “How was your journey to Edinburgh? I worried the snows might keep you.”
“We were too long in Fettercairn, if that is what you mean. It is nearly December already! I don’t know why we didn’t come earlier, and then the weather nearly kept us there all winter.” She shook her head. “Fettercairn is a fine place, but I have missed Edinburgh and its entertainments.” She waved her free hand around the elaborate foyer of the Assembly Hall, though Walter was never overly impressed with finery.
That Mina was impressed with such things worried him from time to time. Walter was a barrister by trade, a significant improvement in circumstance from his position as a Writer of the Signet, but he did not expect to live as fine a life as the Belsches—the Stuarts. Clerk had cautioned Walter that Mina might expect more from a man than pretty words and nice eyes. Walter had thanked Clerk for the compliment on his eyes and told his friend that he’d underestimated Mina and the power of love. Love could conquer all things. Years of letters, encouragement, esteem, and a single parting kiss when she’d left Edinburgh last spring was proof. If Mina had concerns regarding a simpler lifestyle, she’d have raised them by now.
They entered the ballroom, and Walter watched Mina as her eyes scanned the dance floor, currently occupied by the minuet that was drawing to a close.
“Oh, how I love a dance, Walter. I have missed these parties so much in the north.” She squeezed his arm slightly, then turned toward him with her lovely eyebrows pulled together. “Oh, that was unkind of me.”
Walter had not let his smile slip, and he patted her hand. “It was not unkind,” he said, though in truth such comments always pricked a bit. “And I love to watch you dance.” He winked at her, and her expression softened. “I only hope you will sit out a set with me tonight so we might become reacquainted.” He was eager to have her all to himself, even if it were only for the length of a dance. “I have counted the days until you—”
“Miss Stuart.”
Walter turned to see William Forbes bowing to Mina. Forbes straightened and gave her a dazzling smile that made Walter grind his teeth even though he and Forbes were friends.
“Good evening, Mr. Scott,” Forbes said to Walter. “I hope I am not interrupting, but I wondered if Miss Stuart would care to dance?”
Mina looked at Walter with a questioning, yet hopeful, expression.
Walter wished she would stay by his side and make up for the months they’d been apart, but he nodded his consent, even though she did not need his permission. The minuet ended, which meant the next dance would soon begin.
Mina, obviously relieved by Walter’s gesture, turned back to Forbes. “I would be honored, Mr. Forbes.”
So smooth was the transition between Mina being on Walter’s arm to her being on Forbes’s arm that Walter barely noticed the movement. He kept his smile in place until the couple had moved away, then let out a disappointed breath and turned to leave the ballroom, his limp more pronounced; he’d attempted to walk confidently when Mina had been on his arm.
He reminded himself not to be selfish or impatient, but it was hard not to be. From the time he was a child, when infantile paralysis had taken the use of his leg, he had pushed forward with energy and determination beyond his years. He had worked harder, walked longer, and studied more than anyone he knew. He never flagged in proving himself capable and dependable in any matter set before him. Because of that determination, he had regained the use of his leg, sharpened his intellect, learned four languages beyond English, Gaelic, and Scots, and excelled in any way a middle-class Scotsman could excel. He could walk thirty miles in a day and keep a fine seat on a horse, but due to the stunted growth of his leg when he was young, he could not execute the balance and rhythm of dancing.
That he could walk at all was a miracle, and he was careful not to seem ungrateful, but he wanted to dance with Mina.
“Abandoned already?” Clerk said when Walter sank into a chair across the table. Walter glared at his friend, and Clerk’s expression
sobered. “My apologies. I dinna mean it.”
Walter accepted the apology with a nod, then signaled the footman serving drinks to bring him a mug. Likely such pub-corners didn’t exist at London society events; they probably had liveried servants with glasses of champagne. One more reason why English society held little appeal for Walter.
“Did you hear Damon and Pythias is opening in December?” Clerk asked, aptly changing the subject.
Walter was glad for the reprieve. “I have already reserved seats for two showings.”
Clerk laughed and shook his head. “You are the only man I know who’ll see a show twice.”
“I’d see it three times if I could,” Walter said. “And be on the stage myself if it were proper.”
Clerk laughed again, then leaned forward. “Any hope that a certain young woman might claim the seat beside you one of those nights?”
Walter smiled, his good nature returned. No matter what blue devils set upon him from time to time, he was rarely caught by them for long. There was too much beauty in life—too much goodness—that would be missed if he let the doldrums take root.
“I certainly hope as much,” Walter said. “I can think of nothing better than enjoying good theater in the company of a fine woman.”
Walter was going to marry Mina, and he was closer to that goal than he had ever been before. Neither Forbes nor any other man who led her to the dance floor could undo the connection between them. No one knew Mina like Walter did, and she had never shown any preference to anyone but him.
Walter’s ale arrived, and he lifted the mug toward Clerk. “To the Belsches-Stuart family spending their winter in Edinburgh. May their time here yield a hearty harvest.”
Clerk laughed, Walter smiled, and they both drank to his future.
Mina danced the Scottish reel with Mr. Forbes and enjoyed every minute of it. She had been introduced to Mr. Forbes years ago but had never danced with him. No sooner had she stepped off the floor than Cospatrick McCann asked her for a dance, and they danced a jig. Next came a quadrille with someone new, then another reel, and finally, when she could barely catch her breath, the orchestra took a break so the guests could enjoy a light supper of bread, cheese, and cold mutton.
The Lady of the Lakes Page 2
