His father continued to scowl. “Yer a fool.” He turned for the kitchen while Walter fought to hold his rage in check. His fist was still clenched at his side when his father left the room. Finally Walter let out a breath, took another one, and relaxed his hand. He took measured steps toward his room on the second floor.
“I am not a fool,” he said to himself as he climbed the stairs, feeling strangely heavy. “We shall find great happiness together and silence the naysayers in the process.”
Sleep, however, did not come for hours despite the warm tick and woolen plaid he pulled up to his chin. Walter reviewed every interaction he and Mina had shared, then reviewed the letters they had exchanged. He relived their one and only kiss, nearly a year old on his lips now.
He had hoped to have another such token before parting tonight, but it had not happened. There was insulation around her now. Her parents and her friends stayed close, and other men vied for her attention. She still carved out time for him at events when possible, and she often shared her frustration that they did not have more time together, but it wasn’t enough.
Never enough.
Walter didn’t deny that the differences between them were more obvious now than they had been before this winter, but the changes in her family’s situation did not mean that Mina had changed. She had told him in her letter last summer that she would have the choice of her heart. She had told him that she found him interesting and handsome. She had never hinted—not even once—that she had concerns regarding his ability to care for her. He would do whatever it took to provide her comfort, and he felt sure she knew it.
Mina loved him. She was everything he could want in a woman; no other girl could hold a candle to her. And yet his father’s words continued to ring in his ears until he felt sure he would go mad. “Everyone kens it but ye.”
Was it true? Could Walter be so blinded by his feelings that he hadn’t noticed the whispers? But what were whispers to Mina and himself?
Nothing.
Scotland was growing and changing; old practices of keeping classes separate had no place any longer. These modern Scots were at peace with one another. Their manners were being refined. They were united as they had never been and enjoying a period of enlightenment unknown in any other age. Walter was part of that. He could see the past for what it was and the future for what it could be. Rank was outdated. A modern man could raise himself higher than his birth, and men and women did not have to settle for cold marriages based on temporal ideals alone. He and Mina were part of this renaissance, this reformation, this freedom. They could marry for love and find comfort together.
His father would see.
Everyone would see.
Walter would not be dissuaded from his course.
Fettercairn, Scotland
April 1796
“Thank you, Gleyson,” Mina said, taking the letter from the tray and setting it beside her breakfast plate. She needed only to glance at the script to know it was from Walter. She hid her smile by taking a bite of toast.
“Who is it from?” Mother asked from across the table.
Mina met her mother’s eye. “Who would you guess?”
“Mr. Scott,” Mother said, as though there were any question.
Mina nodded. She’d been trying to talk her parents into inviting Walter to visit since she first learned he was coming to this part of the country. “He will conclude his business in Aberdeen soon. Can we not invite him to visit for a day or two? He is so close, and I have not seen him for months.”
Once again Fettercairn had come with a great deal of solitude. Though Mina had friends in the village, the girls her age had known one another all their lives. And the young men in the area were not like the polished and cultured men of Edinburgh; they had the hardy grit of the Highlanders, which were not unattractive features, but she had not had the chance to extend her association with many of them because none of them measured up to her father’s hopes for her any more than Walter did.
Beyond ill-favored suitors, spring had brought illness to the Highlands, and Mina had spent weeks with a cough that had the doctor at their door three times. She’d been weak as a kitten and only in the last fortnight felt revived enough to visit the village. Walter had not asked for an invitation in any of his letters—that would be ill-mannered—but she knew it was what he hoped for, just as she did.
“You have already asked your father,” Mother said by way of a reminder.
“Aye, and he said he would consider it,” Mina said, as though she did not know that was her father’s way of putting off a decision he didn’t want to say no to directly. “If we do not extend the invitation soon, we will not have the chance.”
Mother sighed and put her knife across her plate. A footman hurried to remove the dish. “You want Mr. Scott to come?”
“I do,” Mina said. “I did everything you and Father asked of me in Edinburgh, including limiting my time with him and increasing my attention to other men. Can’t I have a reward for such good behavior?”
Mother shook her head, but laughed slightly as she pushed away from the table. “I will speak to your father.”
Once alone, Mina picked up the letter. She hadn’t wanted to read it with her mother there. Walter’s letters had lost none of their fervor, and she still tingled with anticipation each time one arrived.
She broke the seal and unfolded the paper.
Dearest Mina,
I shall leave Aberdeenshire Tuesday morning and make my way to Benford, where I shall spend a few days in the luxury of these Highland hills. I find the escape from Edinburgh a great boon to my creativity and have written a number of stories and poems during my journey. There is nothing so lovely as springtime in the Highlands—other than yourself, of course—and I am quite enthralled by it all. How lucky you are to have such beauty surrounding you day and night. I will write to you again before I leave Benford, but hope that this simple verse will further confirm my sincere affection for you:
And ever thro’ life’s checkered years
Thus ever may our fortunes roll;
Tho’ mine be storm or mine be tears
Be hers the sunshine of the soul.
Ever yours,
W. Scott
Mina read the verse a second time and put a hand to her lips, which tingled as though he had kissed her just then, rather than a year ago. It was a heady sensation to feel the ardor of a poet’s attention. Too heady, perhaps, but she was eager to see him in a new environment. Away from Edinburgh. Away from the cold of winter. Away from Mr. William Forbes, who played a bigger part in her distance from Walter than Walter knew.
She had seen Mr. Forbes a number of times in Edinburgh, and although he kept his word about not interfering, an accord had grown between them. Enough that she had written to him when she returned to Fettercairn and reminded him of her father’s invitation to visit when next he came north. He had written back, which thrilled her, except he used none of the fine words that Walter used.
At the sound of footsteps, Mina quickly folded the letter and replaced it on the table; her father’s steps were faster and heavier so she knew it was not him.
Mother appeared and Mina smiled innocently as she picked up a piece of toast from her plate.
“I know you read that letter as soon as I left,” Mother said, waving toward the letter and giving Mina a humored look. “But it seems you have a double boon today.”
Mina lifted her eyebrows and replaced her toast.
“You’ve a letter from your admirer and consent from your father that he attend us in Fettercairn for a few days before he returns to Edinburgh.”
Mina blinked and took a quick breath before leaning forward. “You are not teasing me?”
“No,” Mother said with a laugh. “Though I’m as surprised as you are. I simply asked if he had made a decision and he said that he had.
Something about a letter from Mr. Scott’s father having convinced him.”
Mina frowned. “A letter? What for?”
“I have no idea,” Mother said, ushering the footman to retrieve another kettle of hot water. “But it was enough to change your father’s mind, so it is a boon indeed. Your father is penning an invitation to be sent to Benford straightaway. I expect Mr. Scott will arrive on our doorstep the day after next.”
After breakfast Mina attended her Latin lessons and then took a turn of the gardens. It was her first outing all by herself since her illness, and she took full advantage by making use of every path through the arbors, the orchard, and the cutting garden. She’d brought her snips and cut a small bouquet of the hardy blooms already out for spring.
Upon returning to the house, she presented the bouquet to her mother and said she would read for a time in her room. In truth she wanted a nap. The exercise had taken a great deal of energy, but she did not want her mother to know it.
As she made her way down the hall, she glanced briefly into her father’s study and came up short. Father wasn’t there; he often spent the afternoons about the property this time of year since it was too cold for morning inspections. With his office empty, might Mina have the chance to see the letter from Walter’s father? She’d never met the man, though she’d seen him from a distance a time or two, and Walter rarely spoke of him beyond typical family prattling. Neither of her parents were aware of the level of her and Walter’s connection, so why would Mr. Scott have any reason to write to her father at all? And why would Mr. Scott’s letter change Father’s mind about Walter visiting?
After a quick glance behind her, Mina quickly slipped into her father’s office. She closed the door softly, then hurried to her father’s desk. It was tidy as a pin, but she scanned the glossy wood top, making note of the different sorts of business stacked here and there. Business forms on the right corner, ledgers stacked on the left, bills to the right of those, and . . . ah, correspondence.
She picked up the stack of letters, all folded back to their original sizes and shapes, and found the one from Mr. Scott only two places down in the pile. She glanced quickly at the door before hurrying to unfold the letter and scan the contents.
. . . Feel it my duty to inform you that the attachment between my son and your daughter is more serious than they have let on . . . struggled to come to terms with my responsibility to you . . . no choice but to do what’s right . . . my son’s ignorance of the disparity between our situations in life is not shared by his mother or myself . . . bring such affections to an end sooner rather than later in the best interest of all parties . . . yours humbly, Mr. W. Scott
Mina swallowed, unable to believe what was written on the page though there was little room for misinterpretation. Mr. Scott not only knew of their attachment but had told her father. Her neck and cheeks caught fire as she imagined her father reading this letter with narrowed eyes. He would feel betrayed. And angry. And yet he’d invited Walter to visit after having read these words?
Knowing she did not have the luxury of reading the letter again or pondering at length on what she’d read, she folded the paper, replaced it in its original position, and returned the stack to the place on the desk. She hurried to the door and opened it carefully, looking both directions until she was certain she would not be seen leaving the room. If someone found her, they would ask questions she would not dare answer.
Mina hurried to her room, kicked off her shoes, and lay down on her bed, pulling the coverlet over her. She stared at the wall knowing she would not sleep despite the fatigue she’d felt earlier.
Why had Mr. Scott sent that letter? she asked herself, even though he’d given his reasons easily enough. Had her father invited Walter because he was planning to confront him? Confront them both? Mina closed her eyes and wished that Walter was not coming after all. She feared her father’s motivations, and with Walter’s father being against a match, she found herself more confused than ever.
Newbury, England
April 1796
Charlotte closed her eyes, nearly lulled to sleep by the cadence of Jolie’s hoofbeats, and raised her face to the sun. It hadn’t been warm when she’d set out for her daily ride that morning, but had warmed quickly enough that she’d shed her coat, taken the pins from her hair, and was content to listen as birdsong filled the air along with the scent of flowers that spread throughout the glen now that spring had arrived.
Eventually Charlotte opened her eyes, took in the visual splendor, and sighed in complete contentment. Unexpectedly her mind went back to that cold day in December when she had fled Lord Downshire’s office, overcome with sorrow and humiliation. She had felt sure that day she would never know happiness and contentment again. How grateful she was to be wrong.
Jane had come to her aid. After learning what had transpired, she made the arrangements for the two of them to remove to Nesting Hollow, a small estate owned by Jane’s uncle. He granted them permission to stay if they would oversee some renovations of the house since he hoped to begin renting it out come summer. It was the perfect place for a respite away from Lord and Lady Downshire. It felt wonderful to Charlotte to be useful, to discover artistic talents in regard to her own eye for color and texture, and, most of all, to feel independent, though it wasn’t in the way she had proposed to Lord Downshire.
Charlotte had suggested she and Jane track the finances her uncle had put forward for the renovation, and Jane agreed, though she was not as devoted to it as Charlotte became. Though they never handled a single transaction—Jane’s uncle’s man of business handled all such affairs—they kept record of what was spent, twice traveled to Leeds for days at a time to compare prices on fabrics, and kept every expense in a pretend ledger that had educated both of them on what it cost to keep even a small house running smoothly.
Charlotte had been humbled by the need for daily reckoning—the amount paid to the butcher alone each week was surprising—and she realized how quickly small expenses became big ones. More than once she had entered an error that took hours to repair, or realized too late that she had not accounted for something like new staff uniforms for spring or the cost of an additional man for lambing.
She had come to realize that Lord Downshire was right; she had not been prepared to be an independent woman. But she hoped one day, with more attention and practice, she would be. One day she would be responsible for herself, and she was determined to have the necessary skills to manage her independence with grace and confidence.
In addition to the practice household ledger, Charlotte began keeping a real ledger of her own expenses. She still received her quarterly allowance, but now she tracked every shilling she spent. Again she was shocked at how expensive her basic wants and needs were. For a woman who had never had to worry about such things, it was a heady responsibility. Yet also exciting in its way.
Shortly after their arrival at Nesting Hollow, Lord Downshire had sent a letter asking her forgiveness, which she was glad to give as she knew he had not meant to hurt her. There were too few people of consequence in her life to let small disagreements destroy a relationship completely. They had corresponded a few times since then with brief but friendly letters. Lady Downshire had arrived in London just after Christmas and stayed for two months’ time before returning to the children in Ireland. Last week Lord Downshire had sent a letter informing Charlotte that he would be in Newbury today—might he stop in for a visit?
They expected him at luncheon, which necessitated that Charlotte’s daily ride—a new habit she had started—would need to conclude earlier than usual. So she arose early and took to Jolie’s back just as the sun was rising. Had it not been such a perfect day, Charlotte would have returned her horse to the stable sooner. Or perhaps it wasn’t the weather’s fault. Perhaps she was putting off the tête-à-tête, anxious of what the day’s conversation might entail.
She reached the stabl
e and turned Jolie over to the groom after he helped her dismount. She had not bothered to wear a riding habit today; there was no one about to see her ankles.
Running her fingers through her hair, she didn’t notice the carriage out front at first. When she did, she stopped. “Oh, la,” she said. Lord Downshire was early and she was late. She went through the back door, considered going to her bedchamber to repair her hair, but she did not want to keep him waiting any longer than she already had. And she was, in fact, excited to see him. Surely he would not mind her undone appearance.
Charlotte found Lord Downshire in the parlor talking with Jane. He rose when he saw her, and she quickly crossed the room and kissed both his cheeks. “I am sorry I was not here to receive you, milord,” she said, knowing she sounded breathless. She took a seat beside Jane on the settee. “How was your journey? The weather is very fine.”
“Indeed,” he said, looking at her. “And it seems you have been enjoying it. Jane says you have taken to early morning rides, alone.” He cocked an eyebrow, and she chose to interpret his comment as nothing more than curiosity. Certainly not censure. She was twenty-six years old and living in the country; there could be no rules about riding out if she was of a mind to.
“Oui,” she said easily, attempting to smooth her hair, which hung nearly to her waist. It really was terribly tangled. “Shall I repair myself?” She began to rise, but Lord Downshire shook his head and motioned her to sit.
“We are friends. There is no need to stand on ceremony.”
“Merci.”
A footman brought in the tea tray and placed it on the small table. Jane moved forward to pour.
“You’re speaking more French,” Lord Downshire observed.
Charlotte hadn’t really noticed, but there had been a shift since leaving London. She would never be accepted by most of the English so why should she pretend to be one of them? “I suppose so. How is London? I am surprised you were able to get away during Parliament.”
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