Dane Campbell led Mina to a seat next to her mother.
“Thank you for the escort,” she said when they reached the table. “I hope that your journey tomorrow to Glasgow is a fine one and that Miss Fairsled is as pleased to see you as we are sad to have you go.”
He smiled widely at the mention of his fiancée. “I thank you for your well wishes. Have a good evening, Miss Stuart.” He nodded to her mother. “Lady Stuart.”
After he left, Mina shared a smile with her mother. They had known the Campbell family of Moray for years. “It seems everyone I know is courting and marrying,” Mina said as she surveyed the couples seated together around the table. The energy of young love was as intoxicating as the wine her parents allowed her to drink with dinner now and then. The air seemed to shiver with that energy, and she found herself feeling very drunk.
“’Tis the time and season for it,” Mother said as she inspected the dishes of food lined down the center of the table. “You must be famished.”
She handed Mina a glass of water, and the mint-flavored liquid felt like rain in high summer. Mina closed her eyes as the coolness traveled down to her toes. When she opened her eyes, her mother was smiling at her. “I am happy you’ve enjoyed yourself, Mina. You’re glad we’ve returned to Edinburgh?”
“Oh, it is wonderful to be back.” Ah, the city and all its desserts. “I have not danced since the Gordons’ ball, and there were not nearly so many attendees as this in Fettercairn.” The family’s recently inherited estate in the Highland shire of Aberdeen was a lovely estate with a grand house that made Mina feel like a princess. But the location was remote, and the family was still getting to know the gentry in the area. Father did not want them to make connections with a lower class, which had resulted in a fair amount of loneliness for Mina. Coming to Edinburgh and becoming reacquainted here with people she knew was all the sweeter.
“It seems you are the darling of more than one county, now,” Mother said.
“I am no one’s darling,” Mina said meekly. But she had been asked to dance every dance tonight, just as she had at the Gordons’ ball last August. She knew she had grown into herself this last year, and it seemed the men of her acquaintance had noticed. Being back in Edinburgh with seemingly endless prospects and social events only exaggerated the heady sensation she felt. She was nineteen years old, and for the first time in her life, she felt as though she had power to wield for her own sake.
“Miss Stuart.”
Mina turned in her chair toward the voice, then froze when she saw Walter’s bright blue eyes. Earlier in the evening, she had promised to sit with him—a promise she had promptly forgotten.
“Oh, Mr. Scott,” Mina said, heat filling her cheeks. “Won’t you sit down?” As she spoke, she looked around the table. Every seat was filled. “Oh dear . . . uh.”
“I was just stopping by to tell you I would be at the other table,” Walter said, as kind as always. “I only wanted to be sure you knew I hadn’t forgotten you.”
Am I being reprimanded? Her defenses rose in reaction to his comment. She liked Walter Scott very much and knew that her self-confidence had bloomed under his ardent attention, but there was no official understanding between them. Certainly, she had relived their kiss from nearly nine months ago a thousand times, sometimes wishing it hadn’t happened, other times wishing they’d enjoyed more such intimacies during her last stay in the city. It was all so confusing.
He walked away before she had to think of a reply, and she watched him a moment before picking up her fork and serving herself some slices of cheese. She felt guilty for not having sat out a dance with him as she’d said she would but reminded herself there was time enough to keep her word.
“It’s a shame Mr. Scott does not dance,” Mother said.
Mina did not look up from the table. She always felt nervous when either of her parents talked about Walter. Her parents had read the letters passed between Walter and herself back when the letters were mostly about literature, but they had eventually lost interest in managing the correspondence. They would be furious if they knew what some of those letters said now and would ban her to Fettercairn if they knew she’d let Walter kiss her last spring.
“Yes, it is a shame he does not dance,” Mina said, then busied herself with her plate. To her relief, the woman on Mother’s other side engaged her with questions about how long the family would be in Edinburgh—four months—and how the journey had been from Fettercairn—long and cold. Fettercairn was nearly a hundred miles from Edinburgh, which took three long days of travel by carriage.
Mina attended her plate and considered her situation with more depth. She’d been encouraging Walter’s attention for years, but was she prepared to elevate their attachment to actual courting? The idea gave her butterflies. The way Walter teased and flirted with her made her feel grown up and desirable. But she had been so young when he had first paid her such attention that sometimes she wondered if what she felt was obligation toward him because of the compliments he’d given her when no other man had.
In the months since they had seen one another, they had not been writing regularly; she’d been traveling with her family a great deal and settling in at Fettercairn. But then in July, Walter had written her a bold letter, stating that his affections had only increased during their separation and asking if her heart had changed. His letter had been so poetic, lyrical, almost . . . sensual. He said in a dozen different ways that he loved her, and she was thoroughly seduced by every word.
Mina wrote him back with her best attempt at matching the tone of his words, pouring out the fanciful thoughts of her own heart but ending with the request that they continue to keep their level of regard from reaching her parents. Her request stemmed in part from her fear of Father’s reaction toward her encouragement of Walter. But the other reason was that the idea of marriage and children had always been a fantastical one until recently. Walter’s letters and poems—and that kiss—had increased the dreamlike quality of such thoughts.
But she had friends and cousins who were married now, some had had children, and the contrast between their lives and hers was extreme. She wasn’t sure she was ready to take on the responsibility of a husband and the children that would surely follow. It would happen one day—she wanted it to—but was she ready now? And was Walter the man she wanted to pledge her life to? She felt horrid to even think otherwise after the intimacy they had shared, and yet . . .
Mina glanced up and felt her eyes drawn to Walter, who sat at the other table beside Mr. Clerk and Miss Cranston. The three of them laughed and talked with an ease Mina envied. Though she had a good many friends, Father always made a point of reminding her of her place, which was a select and admired position in society. She had always been the daughter of a baronet, but the Belsches name was inferior to that of Stuart, which her father had inherited through his mother only a few years ago. Though still a Barony, the title was of older duration and came with more holdings. Now she was looked to as an even greater example. Because she had been educated in England, Mina had never learned Gaelic, and Father insisted she not fall into the common Scots in public either. English only, and finely spoken too.
Mina worked hard to please her father, but it meant she did not laugh easily in public, nor feel comfortable in every social event. More and more often, she felt herself weighing a person’s own place in society against her own and judging the cut of their coat or the shine of their shoe.
Walter made himself comfortable everywhere he went, which was one of the things that pleased her about him. He never treated her delicately, yet she knew she had his respect. He was below her class, but he did not seem to factor it, and he could talk easily with anyone, regardless of their position.
Mina wished she dared join Walter and his friends, but it would be awkward presenting herself. She did not know Mr. Clerk or Miss Cranston very well.
She turned back
to her plate and was promptly engaged in conversation by an older man seated to her right. She appreciated the distraction, even if he spoke too much about his rheumatoid, which had been acting up in the increasingly cold weather. He was kind, however, and called her “Lassie” in his thick brogue, which reminded her of her grandfather, the Earl of Leven and Melville. In recent years, the more gentle classes of Scotland had smoothed out their speech. They did not sound like the British by any means, but the auld timers’ brogue was not often heard at society events such as this.
The music started up in the other room, making Mina realize how much time had passed. She stood with her mother, and Mina’s dinner companion bid her a guid nicht. Mina turned toward the ballroom to find Walter standing beside the doorway. He met her eyes and smiled, causing a warm sensation of importance to wash through her.
He was a handsome man, though boyishly so due to his round face, light blond hair, and merry grin. He had fine teeth and blue eyes that were mesmerizing in their brilliant sparkle. Right now those eyes danced just looking at her, and she knew that to him she was the only woman of any notice here tonight. She could see herself beside Walter, in a church, making vows before God. There were days she longed for a match to such a romantic man who fairly worshipped her. And, in honesty, her father’s disapproval of Walter made her want him for another reason all together.
Being a young woman on the precipice of adulthood was a difficult piece of ground to hold.
“How was your supper, Miss Stuart?” Walter asked when she reached him.
She put a hand on her stomach, determined not to let her conflicting thoughts show on her face. “I fear I ate too much.”
“All that dancing will leave you quite famished, I imagine.”
Was he reprimanding her again? She watched him carefully, but his smile remained, and she sensed that he genuinely wanted her to enjoy herself and if that meant dancing, he wanted her to dance. What a truly kind man he was. Was she worthy of such a man when she second-guessed her feelings toward him?
“I am sorry I forgot my promise to sit with you,” she said. “I meant to—”
Walter surprised her by putting a finger to her lips. She felt her eyes go wide at the intimate touch, and though she wanted to look around to see who might be watching, she could not take her eyes from his face. His touch made her think of their kiss from last spring. That enchanting and confusing kiss.
“You owe me nothing, Mina,” he said so soft and quiet that the words moved over her like a breeze. “And you love to dance.”
He removed his finger and put out his arm while Mina blinked at him.
“You are a surprising man, Mr. Scott,” she said, taking his arm. She glanced around now and noticed a few knowing smiles on the faces of the guests near enough to have seen the exchange. She did not feel embarrassed by their notice. Instead, she felt admired, even envied. Such feelings went against the meek and humble attributes a woman was supposed to value, but they made her feel powerful.
Her parents wanted her to make a smart match with someone above her in social station in order to elevate the family and ensure a worthy heir, since Father’s title would pass through Mina to her firstborn son. But Mina was determined to please herself, and Walter’s romantic attentions pleased her very much. Besides, she had promised to sit out a dance with him, and were not her parents always chiding her on the importance of fulfilling her commitments?
As they neared the dance floor, Mina slowed. Walter looked at her with his eyebrows raised. Such intense energy and interest reflected from his fresh face that sometimes it was hard to believe he was five years her senior.
“I fear I am not yet recovered from the first half of this evening, Walter.” His eyes sparkled with approval at her use of his Christian name. She rarely addressed him as such when they were together, though her letters were more personal. “Perhaps you and I could sit with one another. It has been such a long time.”
He smiled widely, enlivening his dancing eyes even more. “Are you sure, Mina?” he asked quietly. He could not hide how much he liked the idea, and she would enjoy being the center of his world for a while.
She nodded. She was sure. No one treated her the way Walter did.
Walter put his other hand over hers, which was tucked by his elbow, and squeezed her fingers. “Then I know just the place,” he said, steering her away from the floor toward an antechamber. It was not isolated, but removed from the dancing portion and set with chairs and tables to facilitate visiting between the guests. The faster Walter walked, the more pronounced his limp became, but Mina pretended not to notice. His disability further pricked the soft place in her heart she reserved only for him. How difficult it must be to be unable to dance as other men did. Poor Walter.
Mina glanced over her shoulder to see if anyone noticed their removal and locked eyes with her father on the far side of the room. He did not look pleased. She looked away quickly, wishing she could pretend she had not seen him. Sir John would have words for her later, but she would not be bullied into accepting his choice for her future.
She leaned closer to Walter and pushed her father’s disapproval from her mind. “It is so good to be back in Edinburgh.”
Walter grinned even wider.
London, England
November 21, 1795
The curtain lifted at the Theatre Royal on Drury Lane, and Charlotte Carpenter—her last name changed from Charpentier to better blend with English society—leaned forward, ready to be swallowed up in the imagination of William Shakespeare. There were few things Charlotte enjoyed as much as theater, and it had been months since she had last been in London. For this visit, she had been in town for three weeks, yet this was the first play she’d been able to attend. The month of November was nearly through, and she would only stay through the middle of December.
The first three acts did not disappoint, and Charlotte was completely immersed in The Winter’s Tale, despite having seen it three times before. The passion with which Leontes delivered his insane ranting against his wife was particularly intense in this production, and the set design created a feeling of intimacy despite Drury Lane being such a spacious theater.
When the curtain lowered for intermission, Charlotte joined in the applause, though many of the aristocratic company around her did not. That such adulation was beneath them confused Charlotte. What was the benefit of accessing the luxuries of life if you did not enjoy them avec enthousiasme?
The applause, primarily from those watching from the pit, eventually died out in place of conversation and rustling skirts as patrons made their way to the concessions. Charlotte stood, smoothing the gauzy top layer of her evening dress—new for this trip to London—and turned toward the conversation taking place behind her in the second row of the box. The women seated to her left were talking of their plans for Christmas, but Charlotte had not expected to be included. She rarely was.
Charlotte’s guardian, Lord Downshire, was already immersed in a political discussion, never mind that Parliament would not sit for another four months. Charlotte remained standing while the men finished their conversation, and then followed them, silent as a mouse, to the coffee room. Lord Downshire would continue to talk to his men, and she would remain near enough that he could see her, but far enough away that she did not interfere. Being seen but not heard was her life in London, but she never felt bitter about her place when she was at the theater. They were magical nights; she would mop the floors if it were the only way to get admittance. Fortunately, she had been saved from such poverty by Lord Downshire when he assumed guardianship of her and her brother, John, when they were very young.
She was of age now, twenty-five-years old, and Lord Downshire could have turned her out, but she remained under his generous support—including trips to the theater when she visited him in London twice a year. Being in London made her want to blend in and not draw attention to herself.
By the time she returned to the country, she always felt near to bursting from the restraint. Then she would spend her days riding, drawing, dancing if she were of a mind to, and feeling her spirits rise in direct proportion to her distance from the sooty capital city. If only they had this quality of theater in Bracknell, then she would never have to come to London at all.
Halfway through intermission, when Lord Downshire’s conversation had turned from politics to the war with France—the country of her birth—Charlotte began looking for a distraction. Jane Nicholson, her former tutor turned paid companion, had not felt well tonight, leaving Charlotte more alone than usual.
There was a wall filled with portraits of former theater patrons on the far side of the room, and Charlotte made her way toward them, standing to the side near a large vase so she would not draw attention to herself or block anyone else’s view. She sipped her tea and studied the features of each man. The subjects often stood in full regalia with a hand on a hip and some nostalgic scene in the background, perhaps a hunting dog or two.
France had destroyed hundreds of noblemen’s portraits during the Revolution, determined to exorcise the wasteful aristocracy from their midst. Charlotte and her petit frère, John, were already in England when the Revolution began. After their mother abandoned them in favor of her lover, Father sent them to England with the intention to join them and start a new life. Instead, he died alone in France, heartbroken over his wife’s desertion and lonely without his children.
John was now part of the East India Company, and Charlotte, after being educated in a French convent, had reunited with her mother until Mama’s death some six years ago. Charlotte now lived a rather solitary life with Jane in the dower cottage of Lord Downshire’s Easthampstead Estate.
The Lady of the Lakes Page 3
