Page 6 of Laird of Twilight
She made her way through the crowd, sidling through the throng. Everyone seemed to be surging toward the closed doors that led to the audience room. As she looked for her cousins, she found herself close to the enormous set of doors closing off the reception room designated for the royal introductions taking place today. The doors were guarded by Royal Archers in dark green, while inside, she understood, King George steadily and individually greeted a long line of hundreds of Scottish ladies, each with their escort parties.
This would take until doomsday, Elspeth thought, sighing, longing for fresh air amid the gathering heat and press of the crowd. She wished the king would just greet all of them at once and have done with it.
Bumping against the lush satin-draped curves of a large woman, she stumbled, clutching the flounces of her gown to keep from tripping on her dress’s train. The gown was a confection of sheer silk draped over pale blue satin embroidered with silvery buds. It had been remade for her from a dress belonging to Lucie Graham.
Turning to avoid yet another substantial woman, Elspeth spun, connecting suddenly with the angular jut of a male elbow.
“I beg your pardon, Miss,” came a deep murmur. A strong, solid arm clothed in black superfine brushed her bare shoulder, and a hand came swiftly to her elbow in support. She tilted inadvertently against him and looked up.
A broad chest, wide shoulders clothed in black, a cream brocade waistcoat, snowy neckcloth. He was a tall and muscular man, lean and firm. Afternoon sunlight cascading from tall windows gilded his brown hair, touching the handsome plane of his face, clean jaw, straight nose. His touch through her ivory elbow glove was warm and sure. Her heart jumped a little.
“Pardon,” he repeated.
“Quite all right, sir,” she answered. “The crowd—“
“So true. Enchanted,” he said in farewell, moving past her with the crowd. The mingled scents of spicy soap, of green and outdoors, wafted after him. Elspeth closed her eyes, took a breath, senses heightened.
For an instant, she felt lightheaded with the odd wavering sensation that sometimes preceded a knowing. The Sight had a way of flashing images in her mind, of whispering a truth about someone rather unpredictably. Touch could trigger it, and the gentleman had lightly grasped her arm.
Please, not now,she thought. When the Sight came over her, her tongue often loosened with it, and she could speak her mind too freely. Please no—she could not make a fool of herself here and now. Rising up on her toes anxiously, she was relieved to spot Lucie in the crowd at last. She hurried toward her.
“Oh, Lucie,” she said, reaching her side. “How is Lady Graham feeling?”
“There you are!” Lucie linked arms with her. “Mother is better now that she’s out of the crowd. John left her with friends and came back with me. But Mother will not return in time to introduce us, and John did not attend the Gentlemen’s Assembly the other day. So he so cannot introduce us here at the Ladies’ Assembly.”
“Oh dear. We could ask the Lord in Waiting, I think.”
“That gentleman is simply drowning in requests. But luckily, John found us a substitute, so we may proceed after all. Elspeth, you look a darling, just like Cinderella at the ball,” she added, smiling. “Perhaps we will find you a prince today!”
“In this crowd? Truly, if I were Cinderella, I would run just to get away from this press of people,” Elspeth half-laughed. “Though Grandfather would be pleased if we found any sort of gentleman. He is absolutely determined to marry me off to any Lowlander who meets his approval. Truly that’s why he brought me with him to Edinburgh, I think. Not to meet the king, but to find—well, a prince of a sort.” She wrinkled her nose, and Lucie laughed.
“I hope that it happens for you in the very nicest way. Come with me. John has arranged for his friend Lord Struan to introduce us.”
“Struan?” Elspeth lifted her brows. “Is he a Highland man? Struan House sits at the head of our glen.”
“He’s from Edinburgh, I think, but inherited the title and some Highland property.” Lucie leaned closer. “He would be anyone’s fairytale prince if he wasn’t such a scowler. Even John says so. Struan teaches at the university, where John attended some of his lectures. He is a very knowledgeable expert in something, but a very somber man, I hear, who keeps to himself. But he is certainly a catch with his title and property, and it is rumored he will inherit quite an income. He attends so few social events that it is surprising to find him here, king or not.”
“Well, I am not fishing for a catch, so it does not matter. He is Lowland anyway, from what you say. I would be content as a spinster if I could just stay in the Highlands forever.” Grandfather wanted her to make a good marriage in the south, but she did not agree. Her home and her heart were in the north.
“You are not suited to spinsterhood, my dear,” Lucie said, hugging her arm. “And you will never find a good match if you stay up in the Highlands weaving tartan and hardly ever coming to the city. Nearly two years have gone by since we made our debut together in Edinburgh, and you have not been back since. I’ve been to so many parties that you could have attended as well. Oh look, there is John with Lord Struan now.”
“Perhaps we should be looking for your prince instead.” Laughing, turning, Elspeth stopped suddenly.
Beside Cousin John, so blond and attractive in his black frock coat and white waistcoat, stood a dark-haired gentleman: the same one who had brushed against her earlier, the one who had made her heart flutter madly. But her response then had nothing to with him, she told herself; just the mad crowd, the heat, too few open windows to offset perfumes.
She moved toward them with Lucie. The man with John turned, glanced her way, paused, glanced away. Something rippled through her. He was taller than most, handsome in every proportion, with a classic and pleasing profile, a slightly arched nose, straight dark brows over long-lidded eyes. A sweep of thick, wavy brown hair gleamed with golden threads. But his jaw had a stern set and his expression—brows pulled together, mouth drawn down—was dour despite his rather striking masculine beauty.
Not that it mattered, Elspeth thought. She was no romantic ninny looking for the attention of a possible suitor. “He is indeed a scowler,” she whispered to Lucie.
“But so handsome, and his frown rather suits him. So serious,” Lucie said.
“The room is full of handsome gentlemen, John among them. Many of them are scowling. It is awfully hot in here,” Elspeth replied.
The strange feeling was returning. Lightheaded, breathless, she felt again that a knowing was on the verge—or else the oppressive air in the room was simply too much. She flapped her painted fan, ivory struts and painted silk, frantically.
Lucie was not the delicate porcelain doll she appeared to be, all blond and pink silk flounces, for the uncomfortable crowds and warmth did not seem to bother her. She pulled Elspeth forward through clusters of women, as shawls slipped from smooth shoulders, pearls and jewels flashed, and the hooped skirts peculiar to court dress swung, interfering with easy passage.
“Ah, ladies,” John said as they came near. “Lord Struan, may I introduce my sister, Miss Lucie Graham, and our cousin, Miss Elspeth MacArthur of Kilcrennan.”
