Page 36 of The Laird's Bride
"You'll see when you get there," the housekeeper said austerely. "Now come awa' wi' ye—and take off that apron. And there's a smut on your nose."
Mystified, Jeannie removed the apron and wiped her face, then hurried off to her bedchamber, followed by the housekeeper.
She entered the bedchamber and stopped dead. A small, dark, quietly elegant woman—a complete stranger—stood there with Mairie, her maid, and the neat, bare room Jeannie had left that morning was now a riot of color and texture.
Every available surface was draped with clothing; dresses in blues, greens, lilac, crimson, creamy yellow and more, patterned and plain, in silk, satin, linen and wool. On the bed lay mounds of what looked like underclothes; petticoats in fine lawn, bodices, camisoles—even drawers—all trimmed with lace and finer than anything Jeannie had ever worn.
"Wh—what is all this?" she stammered. And who was the strange lady who stood so quietly watching?
"It's the laird," Mairie said excitedly. "He ordered all this for you. It came in the boat with the other supplies—"
"From Madame Fouchet's, the finest dressmaker in Edinburgh," Mrs. Findlay added. She gestured to the small lady standing quietly by. "And this is one of her seamstresses, Mme—"
"Dubois," the lady said, and curtseyed. "How do you do, my lady. Madame Fouchet sent me to attend to the correct fitting of all the garments. They are not quite finished and will need some personal adjustments, non?"
Jeannie didn't know what to say. He'd ordered her all these beautiful dresses? Considering her needs when she'd thought he only had building supplies on his mind?
Dazed, she picked up one of the dresses at the top of the pile and held it against her. It was a simple day dress in a soft blue fabric patterned with tiny yellow flowers. A scooped neck, three quarter length sleeves and flaring out from a 'waistline' that sat high under the bosom—was this the fashion in Edinburgh, then? She gazed at her reflection in the looking glass. "It's so pretty," she breathed.
The little seamstress bustled forward. "Try it on, my lady, and we shall make the adjustments necessary. You wish to wear it at once?"
Jeannie did. For the next hour she tried on dress after dress, with Mm. Dubois tweaking and muttering in French and making notes, all with a dozen or more pins in her mouth.
The dresses fitted almost perfectly. "How did you know to get such a good fit?" she asked.
Mairie laughed. "The laird asked me to tak' the measurements of that dress you wore that first night—remember, I took it awa' for cleaning? And Mrs. Findlay and I made a list of everything we thought you might need. There's a shoemaker as well, waiting downstairs."
Jeannie was dazzled by the forethought and consideration her husband had shown, all without a word to her. And then she realized something. "So is this why the village seamstress was unable to help me out? And why there was such a shortage of ready-made homespun available? Because you knew this"—she gestured to the sumptuous pile—"would be coming in a few days."
Mairie giggled, and Mrs. Findlay nodded. "The laird's wife doesn'a wear homespun," she said simply.
And that was that.
For the rest of the afternoon Jeannie stood, slowly circling while the lovely new dresses were tweaked and pinned and tacked. Mme. Dubois was adamant that everything must fit 'just so.'
Then while the Frenchwoman was sewing, a neat little man was shown up. He, too had some half-finished slippers ready to be fitted on her and a pair of brown half boots that, amazingly, were a perfect fit.
By the end of the day Jeannie stood in front of the looking glass, breathless. The first new dress she'd had in years, and oh, it was so soft and pretty. Mairie and Mme. Dubois had dressed her hair in a sophisticated style, and from somewhere, the Frenchwoman had produced a handful of tiny yellow silk flowers that they'd woven into her hair.
She looked like a proper lady.
She couldn't wait for Cameron to see her. "He's coming, m'lady." Mairie had been keeping watch for him. "He'll be inside in two minutes."
Jeannie hurried to the head of the stairs and waited. She felt it the moment he saw her. He stopped dead, staring up at her, and the expression in his eyes set her heart a'thumping.
She swallowed and took a deep breath. She'd planned a dignified glide down the stairs in her new shoes and her new dress, acting every inch the lady.
But she couldn't restrain herself. "Thank you, oh, thank you Cameron. I didn't think you'd realize—I never imagined you'd—but you did—and oh, have you ever seen anything so pretty—and there's more upstairs—you must have spent a fortune, and oh, you shouldn't have, but I'm so happy you did—so many beautiful dresses—and the shoes—so dainty and yet a perfect fit—how did you know?" The words tumbled out of her, and the faster she spoke, the faster she moved until by the time she reached the bottom of the steps she was running. She flew across the floor and flung herself into his open arms.
Laughing, he swung her around in a circle and when he finally stopped, he cupped her face in both hands and gave her a kiss that practically dissolved her knees.
"I'm glad you like your new clothes, wife," he said, and she blushed, realizing that half the castle had witnessed her mad rush down the stairs, babbling like a loon and hurling herself at their laird. They were all clapping and laughing.
She clung to him dizzily. So much for a dignified ladylike entrance. And as for that kiss . . . Her cheeks were on fire.
"I think we'll walk through the village tonight," he said quietly. "Show off my bonny bride in her bonny new dress. What say you? Are you ready to meet my people?"
IT WAS DUSK BY THE time they returned. Cameron, to honor the occasion—and to underline his message to his people—had changed into the kilt he'd worn at his wedding. He fancied they made a fine sight, the laird and his lady, strolling through the village.
