Page 1 of Lyon of Scotland (The Lyon’s Den Connected World)
Edinburgh, Scotland
Sir Alasdair Drummond, Viscount Strathburn, recently appointed Lord Lyon, King of Arms of Scotland, was not fond of supper parties.
Dare, as he was known to his friends, kept to a corner at this one, smiling stiffly, responding politely as needed, sipping wine, and wondering when he could make his escape.
Usually, when he came down to Edinburgh from his Highland home, he preferred solitary evenings in his townhouse over social obligations, even those related to his legal duties and civic position.
While he loved the peace of the Highlands, he liked Edinburgh too, especially now that he was officially responsible, as the new Lord Lyon, to protect and preserve Scottish coats of arms, armorials, and Scotland’s history and genealogy as well.
He was anxious, even eager, to get back to the work that had accumulated since the previous Lord Lyon—his uncle—had left the office.
Lately he was expected more often at social events, having gained a reputation that made him a tad uncomfortable.
Word had gone round that the new Lord Lyon was an available Highland bachelor, a laird and viscount, well off, rather decent looking, and high in the government.
The combination appealed to doting parents considering matches for their daughters.
He was interested in one Edinburgh young lady only. The chance to encounter her here had brought the new Lord Lyon out of his lair that evening.
Sipping burgundy, he raised his glass in response when an acquaintance across the room lifted a glass to acknowledge him.
He lowered his hand quickly, still a bit self-conscious about the scarring along the back of his hands, a war souvenir he never wanted.
Scars or not, he knew some thought him reticent, aloof, even grumpy.
He knew his natural reserve could misguide others, masking a thoughtful, keenly attentive nature and an innate compassion that he hid from view.
If a situation required action, he was not the least reticent.
Tonight he need only stand about and smile, listen, comment, enjoy a buffet supper, and remain aloof.
Some might approach the Right Honorable Lord Lyon to request a new coat of arms or approval of an inheritance path.
Others were the doting sort who wanted to introduce him to their daughters.
He was adept enough at putting off both sorts while he looked about for the one person he hoped to see.
The room was stuffy, noisy with chatter and earnest, uneven notes of music as a pretty girl knocked away on the piano.
He glanced around the candlelit parlor, wondering if he should depart once he had seen a certain young lady.
Nearby, his good friend, Sir Walter Scott, leaned on his cane as he told an anecdote that stirred laughter.
Beside Scott stood their host, Sir Archibald Gordon, a renowned artist, father to three lovely daughters, all artists as well.
One in particular was on his mind that evening.
Then he saw her—the middle Gordon daughter—and his attention was caught.
He had hoped she would be here tonight. A petite blonde in creamy satin, Hannah Gordon sent Dare a shy, dimpled smile.
He nodded. Her cheeks went pink as she walked past on the arm of her older sister, Maisie, Lady Kintrie, a brunette in pale blue.
The youngest daughter, he knew, was Catriona of the cheerful piano playing.
Each time he had visited the Gordon house for supper or tea, when the place might be crowded with guests, he always looked for golden-haired Miss Hannah, and his heart would leap unaccountably.
He had seen her occasionally for three years now, yet he had never revealed his interest. He was too reserved, and still somewhat broken-hearted over the loss of his fiancée, though that was fading at last. Whatever held him back, he had not garnered the courage to clear the hurdle.
On this visit to Edinburgh, he had made up his mind to approach her.
But he was silent, missing the moment—she was with her sister, after all—and so she walked past and away, her head crowned in honey-gold braids, her skirts swaying.
Though they had spoken little over these past three years, each time he saw her, he felt enchanted.
She floated like a soft, bright light through the crowded rooms.
He hardly noticed his host as Sir Archibald paused beside him.
“My daughters are a blessing, the finest hostesses I could wish for,” Gordon said, following Dare’s gaze. “Their mother would be proud of them, were she still with us.”
“Lovely girls. You must be very proud as their father.”
“I am.” Gordon smiled. “I saw you gauging your route to the door earlier, my lord,” he chuckled. “I wish I could do the same. I am eager to return to my painting studio, but I must see this through. Perhaps I should summon the carriages early.”
“To be honest, I ought to leave soon. I have a stack of legal documents to review at home before I go to the office tomorrow.”
“Quite a responsibility you have taken on, Lord Lyon! Very impressive. Third highest in the governmental echelon. Congratulations.”
“Thank you. Initially, it is just while my uncle, Lord Kinnoull, is away for a year or so. He may return to take up the mantle again.”
“But will he? They say Kinnoull does not care a whit about armorials or crests, or who claims what coat of arms. A fine man in other ways, but not suited to the work. You, on the other hand, are quite dedicated, I hear.”
“I appreciate that, sir. My uncle is a good soul, but not academically inclined. I enjoy the responsibility and the privilege. Lord Lyon’s primary duty is to act as keeper of the heritage of Scotland.”
“Excellent. We need that at this time. It seems others might enjoy the title, the gold chain and badges, and the annual fee.”
“The fee is nominal. Thirty pounds per annum,” Dare drawled.
Gordon laughed. “So dedication to the service of Scotland and the art of heraldry is worth more to you! Speaking of which, I have a question.”
“Shall I look into your Gordon crest for redesign?”
“I am curious about heraldry art. May I ask if you perhaps need more artists?”
The inquiry was odd, Dare thought, for Gordon had a busy studio and several students and painting assistants.
“We rely on our artists, of course. At the moment, we have three skilled painters. But if you know an artist who could do that sort of work, please give me the name. With King George’s coronation coming up next year, we will have extra work to prepare new armorials, shields, banners, and so on. ”
“Well, my daughter Hannah is a skilled miniature portraitist with a fine hand for detailed work. When she was a girl, she would pore over the heraldry books in our home and copy out the designs. It helped hone her knack for precise work. She would be quite suited to heraldry painting, if she were inclined.”
Hannah Gordon! Dare glanced at her slim, bright form across the room. Yet he was puzzled that her father would want his daughter to work outside the home; it was certainly not the norm in a well-to-do family, especially in a household already busy with art commissions.
“She would probably learn the knack of heraldry art very quickly,” Dare said. “But at the moment, we do not need another painter.”
“Pity. I had hoped—you see, the lass wants to go to London. I want her to stay here. I thought perhaps heraldry work, given the upcoming coronation, might interest her.”
“Ah.” A widowed father wanting his daughter nearby made sense. “London?”
“She wants to stay with our Scottish cousins there. While she has her reasons, I do not necessarily agree. But I am not one to dictate harshly to my daughters.”
“I plan to visit London in the fall on heraldry business with England’s College of Arms to discuss plans for the coronation. If Miss Hannah is in London, I would be happy to call on her—on your behalf.” His heart thumped.
“I would consider it a favor and an honor, sir. She would be staying with her cousins, the Gordon-Huntlys, in Lincoln’s Inn Fields.”
“I will keep it in mind.” He was unlikely to forget the chance to see her again.
“Thank you. Ah, Lord Kintrie,” Gordon said then as a tall gentleman came through the crowd, relying on the assistance of a cane. “Have you met the new Lord Lyon? Sir, my son-in-law, Colin Stewart, Lord Kintrie.”
“Lord Lyon indeed! Good to meet you, sir.” Kintrie took Dare’s extended hand.
“Strathburn, if you will,” Dare said with a smile.
“Of course. Congratulations. I heard we had a new Lord Lyon. Your offices are in New Town off Princes Street, I believe?”
“Aye, in the Registry House.” Dare went on to chat with Kintrie about the Lyon Court and then Kintrie’s work as an engineer, helping Thomas Telford in building new roads through the Highlands.
Soon Kintrie’s wife, Maisie Gordon, who Dare had seen walking with her sister Hannah earlier, came by to tell her husband that some of the gentlemen were looking for him, and Dare turned away with a smile.
He replied politely to a feather-bedecked matron who seemed convinced that Lord Lyon was a perfect match for a daughter newly hatched in the latest nest of debutantes, and extricated himself kindly on the excuse of looking for Sir Walter Scott, but the celebrated poet, button-holed wherever he went, was engaged in yet another animated conversation.
Then he saw Hannah Gordon watching him from across the room, her gaze calm and intriguing. She sent him a shy smile and turned to answer a question from a slender, fair-haired young gentleman beside her, who leaned very close. Seeing that, Dare tucked his brows together.
He could not look away for a moment; the girl glowed like a gentle candle flame in the noisy crowd. She was graceful, with a whimsical smile, though her sisters and other young women here were attractive too. Yet Hannah Gordon was like a burst of starlight in a dark sky.