Page 6 of A Rogue in Twilight
He should have shot the blackguard when he had the chance.
“I must go,” he said abruptly, standing away from the door where he leaned. “A meeting at the university. And it seems I shall have to request a sabbatical for a length of time.” He gave them a brief wave, snatched up his cane, and limped out the door.
Chapter Two
Edinburgh, Scotland
August, 1822
Lifting the flouncedsatin of her silvery blue court dress in one gloved hand, Elspeth MacArthur surged ahead in the crowd of elaborately dressed, perfumed women. The long train required of a lady’s dress for this occasion was cumbersome, and she twisted to tug on it once again. Mr. Scott’s booklet containing hints and advice for those attending the functions associated with King George’s visit to Scotland specified a train at least four yards in length.
Easy enough for a man to declare, as they did not have to fuss with them, she thought wryly, as she reached down to twitch the part of the fabric train that was draped over her wrist. Slippery satin, she thought, as she glanced around for Lucie.
She had lost sight of her cousin, Lucie Graham, in the sea of ladies bedecked in satin, silk, damask, lace, jewels, feathers, and Highland tartan. The feathers in her hair—nine, another specification for the event—were held fast in her dark hair by pearled pins. She lifted a hand to her carefully arranged curls—she was not used to the fussy style—and looked around.
The press of the crowd was unbearably warm and close. Perhaps she should flee entirely, Elspeth thought, like Lady Graham, Lucie’s mother, who not long ago had pleaded faintness and was escorted out by Lucie’s brother, Sir John.Following them, Lucie had been swallowed in the spectacle. Over two thousand ladies and gentlemen were crammed into a few rooms and corridors in Holyroodhouse while each Scottish lady awaited a chance to be presented to King George the Fourth, lately arrived in Scotland.
With Lady Graham taken ill, Elspeth wondered how she and Lucie could be introduced to the king, since only those who had met King George previously had the right to introduce ladies to him at today’s reception.
For a moment she wished she could just vanish, like one of her supposed fairy ancestors, and flee this crowd. Her grandfather had always claimed that the purest fairy blood ran in her veins, and that it bestowed wonderful abilities. But Elspeth doubted that. To be sure, she had more than a touch of Second Sight, which proved more inconvenient than magical. Besides, The Sight was common enough in the Highlands, fairies or none.
Her intuition had not warned her to keep clear of the palace on this long, hot day, where the waiting was interminable, and the reason for attending—greeting the king—might be impossible for Elspeth and Lucie now.
Her grandfather’s business meeting had kept him away, leaving her in the care of her cousins, although he would have relished the event. He would have dressed spectacularly in tartan too, as the Highland laird and weaver he was, and would have enjoyed spinning exuberant tales of his early smuggling days and personal encounters with fairies. And in so doing, he would have soundly embarrassed their Edinburgh cousins. Donal MacArthur was like strong whisky, best in small quantities.
He had insisted that Elspeth go in the company of her cousins. “What other chance will you have to meet Fat Geordie?” he had boomed, using the name so many Highlanders favoredfor the king. With such blunt ways about him, Elspeth thought, best her grandfather stayed away from Edinburgh altogether just now.
No chance at all to be introduced to the king now, she realized, as she edged through clusters of women gusseted up like colorful, plumed, chattering birds, all waiting to meet the king. Many Scotsmen accompanying ladies today wore full Highland dress, from belted plaids to tartan vests, coats, stockings, and carried weapons too. Others wore austere black and white, though some had adhered to the suggested dress for men of blue frock coat, white vest and breeches, intended to reflect the colors of the St. Andrew’s cross. Not a flattering costume; Elspeth had heard many had forgone the suggestion.
Most ignored her as she wound her way through the crowd. Everyone was so intent on reaching the doors of the royal audience room that they thought of little else.
Sidling among the throng 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, as she understood, King George was greeting a long line of hundreds of Scottish ladies, each with their escort parties.
Surely this would take until doomsday, she thought, sighing, longing for fresh air amid the gathering heat and the 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 rather large woman, she stumbled in her slippers, clutching the flounces of her gown to keep from tripping on her long train. The gown, a confection of sheer silk gauze over pale blue satin embroidered with silvery buds, had been remade from one ofLucie Graham’s gowns. Avoiding yet another woman, Elspeth turned again, connecting with the angular jut of a male elbow.
“I do beg your pardon, Miss,” came a deep, murmured apology. A solid arm clothed in black superfine brushed her bare shoulder, and a hand came swiftly to her elbow in support, while she tilted inadvertently against him.
She looked up. A broad chest, wide shoulders clothed in black, a cream brocade waistcoat, a snowy neckcloth. A tall and muscular man, lean and firm. Afternoon sunlight cascading from tall windows added gilt to his brown hair. She glimpsed a handsome jaw, straight nose, modest sideburns. His brief touch through her ivory elbow glove was warm, strong. Her heart jumped a little.
“Pardon,” he repeated.
“Quite all right, sir,” she answered. “It is very crowded here.”
“So true. Enchanted,” he murmured in farewell and moved past her in the crowd. The mingled scents of spicy soap, of green and outdoors, wafted after him. Elspeth closed her eyes, feeling her senses heighten suddenly.
For a moment she felt lightheaded, felt the odd and unwelcome sensation—especially here and now—that sometimes preceded a knowing. The Sight had a way of inconveniently showing her images in her mind or whispering a truth about someone. Touch sometimes triggered 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 must not make a fool of herself here. Rising on her toes, anxious, she felt relief to spy Lucie in the crowd. She hurried toward her cousin.
“At last,” 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 he did not attend the Gentleman’s Assembly the other day, and so cannot introduce us today at the Ladies’ Assembly. We might ask the Lord in Waiting, but that gentleman is simply drowning in requests. Luckily, John has found us a substitute, so we may proceed after all. Elspeth, you look darling, like Cinderella at the ball,” she added. “Perhaps we will find you a prince today!”
“Not in this crowd! Though if I were Cinderella, I would run home before midnight,” Elspeth half-laughed. “Grandfather wants me to marry a Lowland gentleman now, not a Highlander. He has become devoted to the idea. I think that is why he brought me to Edinburgh for the royal visit—not to meet the king, but to find a husband willing to take me away from the Highlands. But I do not want that.” She wrinkled her nose.
Lucie laughed. “I hope you find a prince to please you, my dear. Come, John said he could arrange for his friend Lord Struan to introduce us.”
