The Lady of the Lakes

by Josi S. Kilpack

  “I will learn,” Charlotte said, defensive and disappointed that her suggestion was ridiculous to him.

  Lord Downshire’s eyebrows came together, and his jaw clenched. “Have you any idea what it would cost to rent a flat in the part of town that would be safe for a young woman?” Lord Downshire said, sounding irritated for the first time. “Or what I spend on your clothing or your food, to say nothing of Mary or Jane’s services? I guarantee the expenses far exceed your five hundred pounds a year—most of which goes to your pin money, which you spend through easily enough.” He raised a hand to his forehead as though he had a headache and closed his eyes. “You are too young and ill-prepared for such a venture, Charlotte. If you are determined to refuse Mr. Roundy, then we all have no choice but to carry on as we have.”

  Feeling thoroughly chastised, Charlotte stared at the desktop and gathered the shreds of her confidence. “You do not want me here, milord,” she said softly. “And I do not want to be a burden on the heels of all the kindness you have given me.”

  “Then marry Mr. Roundy.”

  She lifted her head up and met his eyes, stunned by the hardness of his gaze.

  “If you are so appreciative of what I’ve done, then allow me the peace of mind of knowing your future is secure.”

  Charlotte swallowed the hurt she felt but would not be swayed. She stood, trying to keep her emotions in check. “I am sorry, milord, but I cannot do dat.” Before he could say anything more, she turned and fled the room.

  When Charlotte ran through the doorway of her bedchamber, Jane immediately rose to her feet. “Charlotte? What’s happened?”

  “Leave me,” Charlotte said sharply. Already the tears were falling. She would not cry in front of anyone, not even Jane, who would likely have thought the idea as foolish as Lord Downshire did. She put a hand over her eyes to hide her emotion, then shook off Jane’s hand when it rested on her shoulder. “Allez-vous-en!” she nearly shouted—go away. “I must be alone!”

  Jane said nothing more, and as soon as the door clicked shut, Charlotte crumpled onto the rug, covering her face with both hands and unleashing the humiliation and frustration of how little say she had in her life—how little say she had ever had.

  It had been invigorating to feel as though she had made a plan and a relief to no longer worry about how—or if—someone would take care of her. Taking care of herself had seemed so exciting and free. But she was not free. She was a woman, and a foreign one at that.

  She was also twenty-five years old; the only men who would want her would be like Mr. Roundy, men who were looking for a woman to serve their own interests. Charlotte thought back to the flirtations she’d had as a younger woman. She’d been so shy then, so unsure of herself and hesitant. She’d felt as though she had forever to make a match. Why rush in or make herself too vulnerable by showing her feelings? What she would not give to go back in time and engage differently, be better, allow herself to be seen by these young men. She had not understood her limitations well enough to have remedied them when she could.

  “Comment vais-je continuer?” She asked no one. How shall I carry on? She was used to feeling small, but she had never felt so horribly reduced as this.

  What am I to do?

  Edinburgh, Scotland

  December 1795

  Nine days after Mina attended the theater with Walter, the Forbes family came to dinner. When she stepped into the parlor, the conversation stilled as every eye moved toward her. The men rose to their feet, and Mina shifted uncomfortably beneath their notice before ducking her head and moving toward an empty chair.

  “Shall we go in to dinner?” Father asked before she had taken two steps. She looked at her mother, who smiled and nodded to Lady Forbes, and then stepped back while the party assembled itself.

  Mina trailed from the room after everyone else, wishing she hadn’t been late. She hated feeling so conspicuous. In England the noblemen entered and exited a room based on rank, and she wondered idly what her rank would be. Was she as high as her parents? Or was she the lowest of them all because of her inability to hold a title of her own?

  Mina didn’t notice that William Forbes was walking alongside her until he complimented her dress. It was the same pale blue dress she’d worn to the theater with Walter last week, and she felt disloyal to be wearing it in the company of another man.

  “Thank you, Mr. Forbes,” she said. “I’m glad that you and your parents could join us for dinner.”

  “Our pleasure, I assure you.”

  She glanced up at him and felt a blush creep up her neck. Was it her imagination that he captured her in a glance as well as Walter did?

  Sir John always sat at the head of the table while her mother sat at the foot, but there was no additional formal placement. Mina and Mr. Forbes were seated next to one another with his parents across from them.

  The group spoke amiably to one another on politics, the cold weather, and the upcoming holidays. Mina was attentive but only marginally included in the conversations. She found herself looking around the room and wondering if the silk wall coverings or brass sconces would fit in the Scotts’ home on George Street. The well-crafted cabinet in the corner displayed items her father had gathered from his numerous travels: a silver bowl from India, a fine wooden sculpture from Spain, and a tea set—too delicate to use—from the South of England.

  Mina would never tell Walter as much, but she’d never been inside such a humble home as his. And it seemed that four of the five Scott children still lived there. Walter said that being sent to his grandfather’s farm as a child was for his recovery, but Mina wondered if perhaps the house was simply bursting with children and Walter’s illness was an excuse to thin out the numbers.

  It was an uncharitable thought, but one she could not avoid entirely. Five children and Walter’s father only a Writer of the Signet, practically a clerk? How had they managed? She thought of Mrs. Scott, who, though genuinely kind, looked tired and far older than Mina’s mother. So many children and a modest lifestyle had taken a toll on Mrs. Scott, and Mina wondered if she were cut out for such a toilsome life.

  There were five courses to the meal, each one perfectly turned out but not the typical Scottish fare of meat, poultry, fish, and more meat. Rather this meal was an English presentation—clear soup, a fish course, then meat, followed by a salad, and, finally, pudding. Each portion was rather small, which was well enough for Mina, but she wondered if the men would leave the table satisfied. It would be an embarrassment to her mother if they were not. How did English hostesses handle such things?

  Mr. Forbes engaged Mina in conversation about Fettercairn, and she shared her thoughts of the recently acquired estate. In turn, she asked after the Forbes’ estate and learned that they had two, though Mrs. Forbes preferred the one near Creiff since it was closer to Edinburgh. The family only visited Pitsligo, the title estate, in high summer.

  “Pitsligo is in north Aberdeenshire, is it not?” Father asked, interrupting Mr. Forbes.

  Mina flushed in embarrassment at his eavesdropping. She would have appreciated him keeping his motivations for this dinner more subtle.

  “Yes, the northern district,” Mr. Forbes answered.

  “Then it is not far from Fettercairn.” Father turned back to his roast beef as though he hadn’t made such a pointed comment. “Next time we are in residence, you should visit.”

  “I would like that very much,” Mr. Forbes said.

  Mina glanced at Mr. Forbes from the corner of her eye and tried to read the tone of his comment. Was he being polite or did he truly want to visit? If so, why? Did he know the designs her father had upon the two of them? Was he amiable to such designs? She paused, and then wondered if she were amiable. The very fact that her father liked him set her against him. When he met her eye, she put on a brighter face than she felt in hopes of covering her thoughts.

  The
servants cleared the dishes, and a minute later, a salad was laid before each of them—grated apples and radishes with some type of spice sprinkled on top. The dish was embarrassingly pretentious to Mina, but she was careful not to show it. Perhaps the Forbes dined like this every night of the week. She took a bite, pleased that it tasted better than she’d expected.

  “How did you like Damon and Pythias?” Mr. Forbes asked.

  She looked at him in surprise. “My calendar is of such interest to make my trip to the theater a matter of gossip? I’m unsure whether to be flattered or offended.”

  He chuckled. “I’m not one for gossip; I saw you there with Mr. Scott. I tried to find you afterward but to no avail. It was a sad crush that night, even on the upper levels.”

  “I’m sure the upper levels were far better situated than the floor seating,” Mina said, careful not to sound petulant, yet she was used to better accommodations and felt the need to make sure Mr. Forbes knew she did not regularly sit in such common seating. “I had never been in the pit before.”

  “And what did you think?”

  She looked to see his clear gaze watching her. Was he inviting her to complain? Testing her somehow? Certainly he and Walter were acquainted, but how well did they know one another?

  “I’m afraid I didn’t have much chance to be mindful of the experience. I arrived late, and then Mr. Scott’s sister became ill so we took her home.” She had no sooner said the words than she remembered that her parents did not know about her visit to George Street. She looked around quickly and caught her father’s eye but was unsure if he’d overheard. She lowered her voice. “I would appreciate it if you were discreet with that last bit.”

  He smiled. “Of course.” He turned back to his salad.

  She also ate a few bites. The conversation between their fathers increased as one laughed at what the other had said, giving her cover to ask a question that she did not want overheard. “You know Mr. Scott?”

  “Yes,” Mr. Forbes said. “I’ve known Mr. Scott for a number of years. He’s a fine man and working on some German translations for publication—did you know?”

  “Uh, no, I did not know of his translations, but he is a fine man,” Mina said, confused at how readily Mr. Forbes could compliment Walter.

  “And he has very high regard for you, Miss Stuart.”

  She felt the blush and hoped her father didn’t notice. She kept her attention on her plate. So Mr. Forbes did know of Walter’s affections. Was his attentiveness to her this evening simply a matter of good manners, then?

  He leaned toward her and spoke with a lowered voice. “I am not one to interfere, Miss Stuart. I only hope that we can be friends.”

  Interfere? Friends? Mr. Forbes was handsome, and she admired his integrity in informing her that he was not there to push Walter out of her affections. Yet, the fact that he was so clear with his intent made her wish, in a strange way, that he were interested in her himself. Did all young women experience this kind of confusion? She realized she had stared too long at him and forced a smile. “Thank you, Mr. Forbes.”

  He smiled in return. They ate the rest of the meal in comfortable silence. His company didn’t make her feel like she sometimes did with Walter, with his extreme flattery and complete focus, but, in time, might Mr. Forbes’s attention feel the same?

  February 1796

  The icy winter still held Scotland tightly in her grip come February. If anything, she clenched her frozen fingers that much tighter because she knew that soon she would have no choice but to allow spring to have her turn.

  Walter pushed his hands deeper into his coat pockets and increased his step, grateful for the lamps that broke through the misty haar enough for him to find his way home in the inky black of night. The evening had been delightful—a dinner party with many of his closest friends in attendance. The food had been good, the company even better, but now that he was alone, melancholy set in.

  Tonight would be the last time he would see Mina for months. With the days getting longer—though daylight was still a gray and cloudy affair—a number of estate owners were returning to their lands, including Sir John Stuart. By the first of next week, the Stuart family would be on their way back to Fettercairn, and though Walter had pressed for a private meeting with Mina before the family left—just one captured moment between them—she had been noncommittal. So much to do before they left, she said, and she had expectations to fulfill these days.

  She might as well be gone already, Walter thought to himself. He was already plotting how he might see her before next winter when the family returned to Edinburgh. He was no stranger to the countryside, and although he rarely went so far north as Aberdeenshire, he could likely find some work to use as an excuse to travel there. Perhaps the Stuarts would invite him for a visit. Mina would be glad for a visit, he was sure, and perhaps Sir John would see how devoted Walter was to his daughter and relax the tension that appeared between his eyes every time Walter entered Mina’s proximity.

  Walter would need to time his visit when the family was at Fettercairn and not at their Invermay estate or visiting family somewhere else within the Highlands. Mina had told him that her family had a great many visits planned that summer. What if Walter went all that way and did not see her after all?

  Walter turned onto George Street; walking into the wind took his breath away. He ducked his numb chin against his chest to keep the cold from finding its way down the front of his coat. How could he have left his scarf at home? What kind of Scotsman forgot how very cold it was from afternoon to evening when the sun gave up its fight for the day?

  Yes, he would travel to Aberdeenshire in April, or perhaps March. As soon as he could arrange the time from his work and figure out how to pay for the excursion without dipping into the funds he had set aside for the home he and Mina would need. He would write to her ahead of time to be sure she would be home the week he would go north. She would be eager to see him, surely, and extend an invitation straightaway.

  Such thoughts warmed him, but he still hurried to the hearth once he entered number 25. He tossed his gloves on the floor, intending to pick them up once he was warm enough to head for his room on the second floor. Mother had likely put a warming pan between the sheets, anticipating his late night, and he could see that she’d put his folded plaid—the one he’d inherited from his grandfather—on the hearth to warm. Such accommodations called to him, and he stamped his feet and held out his hands to the fire, sighing with relief at being home again. His fingers and face began to tingle and thaw, and he decided to spend an hour by the fire working on his Bürger translation tonight.

  He retrieved his lap desk from his room. He was almost finished with the first poem and was very pleased with how well he was able to adapt the English translation to the lyricism of the original. Though not the same as putting his own words on paper, he hoped a quality translation would lead to publication that would then open the door for his own work. Others were doing the same, and he hoped to take hold of the opportunity before the trend of English translations lost its appeal. With Mina leaving Edinburgh, he would have more time to devote to his work, but thinking of her brought back the familiar ache. When would he see her next? Could his heart survive the separation?

  The creak of a stair informed him he was not alone, even this time of night. Walter smiled politely as his father sat in the upholstered armchair. He was in his dressing gown and slippers, which meant he’d made a special point to make this visit.

  “Ya had a guid evening, I presume.”

  “Och, aye,” Walter said with a nod, smiling at the memory of how lovely Mina had looked in her pink gown—silk, he thought. “As excellent a night as ever I’ve had.”

  “The Stuart lass musta been there, then.”

  Walter chose not to overreact to his father’s pointedness. “Indeed she was,” he said. “And lovely as the first crocus of spring, if I ma
y say so.” Vibrant and bright enough to seem as though she were lit from within.

  Father was silent for a few breaths, and Walter tried to focus on his work once more.

  “I fash yer setting yourself up for heartbreak with that one, Walter.”

  Walter’s shoulders tensed, but he was determined not to react. It was not as though his father’s opinion was a mystery; he simply was not usually so direct. “And I am just as certain you’re wrong about that. Miss Stuart and I have a great deal of regard for one another, and I’ll soon be ready to prove it.” He flashed his father a confident smile.

  Father scowled in return. “Marriage on unequal ground will niver be steady.”

  Walter said nothing, but he was no longer focused enough to translate the German.

  “Ye’ll niver be able to care for her the way she expects.”

  Walter still said nothing, though a fire was building in his chest to rival the one in the fireplace. Instead of continuing the conversation, he squared his papers and closed his book. He put the lap desk on the floor beside his chair. “I’ll be headin’ to bed now, good night.” He took two steps toward the stairs, remembered his plaid, and retrieved it from the hearth.

  His father, a large man with a heavy brow, stood when Walter turned toward the stairs again. “I’m trying to give ye guid fatherly advice. Pull back yer affections before ye get yourself hurt. I know you’ve built expectation in this quarter, and no one can blame ye for being so besotted with a girl as loosome as Miss Stuart, but she’ll not have ye for a husband, and everyone seems to ken it but ye.”

  The anger Walter had been trying to keep at bay rose, and before he could contain it, he pointed at his father and spoke through clenched teeth. “You don’t know her mind any better than you know mine, and I thank you to keep your spout out of it.” He took a breath through flaring nostrils and lowered his finger. He hated it when his temper got the better of him, yet he would not withdraw his words. “We’re to marry, Father, and what we don’t have in luxury, we’ll make up for in ways that matter more than money. You judge Miss Stuart too harshly. You don’t know her at all.”