Page 2 of Kilgannon #1
“Becca!” I cried. “Can you not postpone your trip? Just a day or so? How will I get through the evening without you?”
Miss Benton raised her head before Becca could answer. “Your mother is here with Countess Randolph, Miss Washburton?” She rose, firmly pushing pins into the cushion she wore on her wrist.
“They are in the parlor, Miss Benton,” Rebecca said. “Do you wish to speak with her?”
Miss Benton nodded. “I must discuss the fittings for your wedding gown with her, and if you will be away next week we need to schedule them for some other time.” She gave me a cursory glance, already moving toward the door.
“If you’ll excuse me, Miss Lowell, I will return in just a few moments.
” I nodded, with what Rebecca called my “regal” look, but Miss Benton was already gone and I turned to my friend.
“How horrid you are!” I said, lifting the dress high so that I could stalk over to her. “Why did you mention Robert? Did you see her reaction? She stopped working to hear what we would say. She’ll repeat every word!”
Rebecca laughed. “Mary, you act as though she isn’t always listening to everything. Give them something to talk about.”
“Why not you instead of me?” I flounced into a chair.
“I’m old news,” she said, arching her eyebrows, “already engaged and the wedding day set. The only thing of interest about me before my marriage would be if Lawrence was found in some dreadful woman’s company or if I suddenly started gaining weight.”
“Easy for you to say,” I answered. “The vigilance has been relaxed. I’m still watched every minute.
Really, Becca, I do envy you. Once you are married you will enjoy much more freedom than we do now.
” It was true. My every moment was observed for signs of appropriateness and propriety.
If Robert and I were together we must be under the watchful gaze of a relative or my maid, and the door of the room we were in must be left ajar.
I often wondered just what exactly my maid could prevent if Robert chose to misbehave.
But, I reflected, Robert would never misbehave.
“Poor Mary,” Rebecca teased. “Life is so very difficult.”
“You don’t have to dine with the Mayfair Bartletts tonight.”
“We did last night and survived.”
“Let me guess. You discussed politics.”
Rebecca nodded. “Queen Anne, King Louis, and the war with France, King Philip and whether Spain will side with us or France next time. Lawrence was spellbound.”
I shook my head. “I get so bored with it. Endless discussions of the same things., And don’t forget the gossip. Lord Someone spoke to Lady Someone at a party and Miss Someone accepted a sip of punch from Mister Someone. Hours’ worth of discussion.”
Becca laughed. “You’ll survive, and tomorrow is the Duchess’s party.”
“For which we will prepare all day. And then we’ll spend the next week preparing for Louisa’s party.” I grimaced. “At least Will and Betty are still in London.”
“How much longer will they stay?”
“Two weeks, then they’re off to Mountgarden. Perhaps I’ll go with them,” I said, feeling a sudden longing for my childhood home. “But it’s not the same with my parents gone. I don’t know what I’ll do.”
“You’ll go with them. You know Will enjoys your company.”
I nodded. “And I his. But, Becca, it’s their home now. I have no home of my own. I live with Louisa or Will and Betty. There is nowhere that is mine, truly mine.”
Rebecca patted my hand. “I know,” she said, suddenly serious.
I shrugged and smiled at my friend. “What will I do without you to listen to my complaining? What a spoiled child I am, thinking of such things when Will has offered me a home for forever, and Louisa as well. I should be more grateful.” But just now I didn’t feel grateful.
Outside, a cloud passed before the sun. Tomorrow, no doubt, it would rain.
And I would change my clothes four times before dinner.
I did survive dinner with the Bartletts, although I amused myself only by counting the number of scandalous stories waspish Edmund Bartlett told.
Twelve, I decided at the end of the evening, unless I’d forgotten one.
I smiled genuinely as I climbed into the coach with my aunt and Will and Betty. The evening was over.
The Duchess’s party the next night was a great success, crowded and happy, and I enjoyed myself much more than I had thought I would.
My aunt’s dear friends, John and Eloise Barrington, the Duke and Duchess of Fenster, had warmly welcomed me, lavishing compliments on the new blue dress, and I had laughed and bantered with them.
Lawrence was very accommodating, and Becca and I had time to talk with our friends Janice and Meg.
Even my sister-in-law, Betty, was in great spirits after having been complimented by several men, which meant that Will had a good time as well.
The party was over before I’d expected. If I had found the handsome man Becca said had watched me for hours my evening would have been complete, but despite our roaming through all the rooms he was nowhere to be found, and I teased Rebecca about inventing a mystery man for me.
The only cloud in the evening was the chilly manner of the few Whigs invited.
The Barringtons were influential Tories—-the party that currently dominated the Parliament and vied for Queen Anne’s attention—-and were considered quite tolerant to invite the opposition to their home, although many Tories were doing that lately.
Both political parties were in their infancy, but the Tories generally favored the Anglican church and were considered insular by the Whigs, who favored the dissenters and military involvement in Europe.
While the Whigs were polite to me and my aunt, we were both aware that we were mere women and therefore of little consequence.
For the most part they ignored us, which suited me.
Their behavior and its political ramifications would be discussed endlessly, I knew, in the week before the next event, and I would hear hours of it.
There was no need to dwell on it tonight.
The next week flew by, a kaleidoscope of preparations for Louisa’s party.
I trailed behind her in awe as always of her effortless abilities.
She managed household and servants with the ease of a born commander, and I watched and learned.
Serene at all times, Louisa dispensed orders to her staff and instructions to me in one breath, and we hurried to do her bidding.
By early afternoon the day of the party, all was in place.
Louisa was resting and I was in my bedroom with my maid, debating which new dress to wear.
Louisa had strongly suggested the rose gown, and in the end that was what I wore, with my mother’s simple jewelry and a white rose from Louisa’s garden tucked in my sash.
Becca had left for Bath with Lawrence, the Pearsons, and her parents.
Janice and Meg were both already gone from London, and Robert had not returned from France. I expected a lonely evening.
I noticed him the moment he stepped into view in the doorway of Louisa’s ballroom.
He was waiting to be announced, but I knew who he was immediately.
I did not know his name, but surely this was the man Becca had talked about.
He certainly fit the description she’d given and was as memorable as she’d hinted.
He wore traditional Scottish Highland clothing while everyone else was dressed in the latest London style.
Taller than most of the men in the room, he was simply groomed with no wig, his blond hair pulled into a queue at the nape of his neck.
He wore a very white shirt under a muted green jacket that topped a plaided kilt.
Over his shoulder was the rest of the plaid, fastened with a simple gold brooch.
He was lean and graceful, his shoulders wide, his legs long, the muscles visible under dark socks below the kilt.
The other men in the room suddenly seemed overdressed .
My interest heightened as the Earl of Kilgannon was announced and walked down the stairs.
I watched as my aunt approached him with a welcoming smile, and I admired her easy grace.
Louisa, the Countess Randolph, married to the Earl Randolph, was accustomed to greeting nobility, for she moved in titled circles.
The Duchess, at her side as usual, also greeted the newcomer warmly.
Behind me I could hear the murmuring of two men who were not pleased that a “damned Scot” was among us.
I recognized the voices and turned to find my suspicions confirmed: the men were the Whigs who had ignored me at the Duchess’s party. I turned back to watch the Scotsman.
“Not only a Scot, but a Highlander,” growled one of the Whigs. “He’ll likely stab someone before the night is out. They have the manners of pigs. Barbarians. What is the matter with the Countess Randolph that she has him here? Damned inconsiderate.”
His friend laughed. “I believe he’s some sort of relative. She was married to a Scot, remember. She says he makes her laugh.”
“So does my dog, but I don’t invite him to dinner.”