Page 31 of Lyon of Scotland (The Lyon’s Den Connected World)
Hannah felt caught in a bubble of safety, like a pretty globe of soapy water blown through a straw and set free to float—beautiful, prismatic, all innocent happiness.
But fragile hopes burst easily and often; Hannah knew that well, for her ideals had shattered before.
Yet her precious dream of a life with Lord Strathburn had come to be.
Life was full and joyful now, and she wanted that bliss to last forever.
“Almost there,” Dare said beside her. “We would have walked, as it is not far to the General Register House on Princes Street, but the lad was eager to drive us.”
On that early hour, they rode in Strathburn’s carriage driven by Dare’s groom, a young man with a bright smile and a dark cap pulled low.
His mother was Mary MacGowan, Dare’s housekeeper, who had returned to her duties in Strathburn’s home, delighted that he had brought home a bride.
With her came two housemaids and a cook, with others promised if required.
The servants had moved about the house dusting, polishing, replacing, and repairing in a whirlwind. As butchers and grocers came and went, the cook’s efforts in the kitchen produced tantalizing smells and delicious meals.
Before the servants returned, the townhouse had been quiet, dusty, peaceful, and theirs alone.
Now it was bustling, with rooms smelling of lemon oil and clean linens or bacon and fruit tarts.
Hannah, respected and welcomed as the new Lady Strathburn, felt a bit unsure of her duties as yet.
Not ready to direct household activities, feeling at loose ends, she often retreated to the small library and study on the second floor, where she read and sketched when Dare was out of the house.
October became November, and on the days that Dare went down Princes Street to Register House and the Lyon offices, Hannah read or went for walks around Edinburgh.
She visited her father’s house to visit the Pringles and the art students.
There, she learned that her father and sisters had not sent word of where they were, although their itinerary slated their return for mid-November.
She wished she could tell them about her marriage, but the time would come soon enough.
With each passing day, a burgeoning happiness lessened her worries, and she looked forward to the welcome that Papa, Maisie, and Catriona would give Dare.
He was no stranger to them, and was worthy and wonderful.
Life could only get better and better, she told herself.
This morning, Dare had invited her to accompany him to Register House now that he had cleared through some pressing matters. He had asked her to bring her armorial drawings that morning, so she had tucked the sketches into the tapestry bag.
“I can look at them officially there, aye?” he had said.
She appreciated his patience and understood that he wanted to nurture their relationship and marriage in a cocoon, and later review the drawings as Lord Lyon.
Her secret fear that Dare might have wanted her as an artist first, a wife second, had proven unfounded, and her sense of trust in him was unshakable now.
As the daughter of a stern, caring, widowed father, she and her sisters had been insulated and overprotected.
Hannah had craved independence, hoping to escape a cloistered life where she was expected to be an artist among artists and marry within a circle of acquaintances, without much chance to explore beyond that.
She had been eager but mistaken in choosing Jonathan Whitworth, who thankfully was becoming a faded memory now.
With Dare, she had learned that a true sense of safety and protection did not smother or confine, but fostered more confidence. He offered her the partnership of two people who could face both difficulty and happiness together, each growing stronger. He freed her rather than hovered over her.
And she realized now that he needed to protect her.
That urge was innate to his character, as was his sense of compassion.
He carried that protective instinct into his work, watching over the ancient and continuing symbols and tradition of Scotland and the Scots.
She felt so proud of him for that work, and she wanted to help.
Though she was not entirely sure what she gave him in return for all he gave her.
Yet she saw now that she was becoming essential to him in her growing role as his intimate, trusted, beloved helpmate, his equal and opposite.
And perhaps now, she could work as an artist beside him as Lord Lyon as well.
“Here we are, the General Register House,” Dare said as the carriage stopped at the end of Princes Street. “It contains the archives of Scotland and some government offices, including the Lyon Court.”
“It sounds regal and rather stuffy!”
He laughed. “It’s just the heraldry offices and a minor judiciary court where I am judge and authority over disputes regarding coats of arms, genealogies, tartan registration, and so on. I wear ceremonial robes. Quite fancy. You’ll see.” He winked.
Stepping to the cobblestones, Hannah looked up at a massive building of creamy sandstone in a classical design with a rotunda, column-framed windows, and a soaring pillared portico.
Inside, they crossed a foyer wrapped in marble and gold, and climbed stairs to a suite of rooms which a brass plaque declared to be the Lyon Court.
In the front room, a few people sat at desks or stood beneath tall windows overlooking a broad view of rooftops and a distant Edinburgh Castle.
“I want to introduce Lady Strathburn,” Dare told the group that gathered around them. “My dear, meet my staff.”
“So pleased!” Hannah greeted each one in turn, trying to retain names and faces: Mrs. Moncrieff, a tiny white-haired archivist; Macnab and Thompson, both middle-aged herald painters; Allan Grant, Lyon’s secretary; and Mr. Henderson, an elderly lawyer.
As Dare guided Hannah to his office, Mr. Grant came along.
“My lord, we have received a claim about a coat of arms disputed between two families. One has held the crests for nearly four hundred years, while their cousins claim the right to use them. Mrs. Moncrieff went through the archives and says the original claim looks continuous and indisputable.”
“Then the cousins should alter their design. We can add a component indicating their relationship to the original family.”
“Both parties refuse to budge. The dispute involves a descent that may be natural and accidental rather than legitimate, if you take my meaning.”
“I will look into it. If they cannot compromise, we will decide the matter in a court session. Have Henderson review it for now.” He opened the door for Hannah to enter before him. “Thank you, Grant. Will you send in tea?”
“Sir, of course. My lady.” He went back to the main room.
Hannah turned in the large room, which was walnut paneled, masculine, and rather magnificent, with high bookshelves, tall windows carrying stained glass seals, and marble surrounding a brightly lit fireplace.
Richly patterned red carpeting covered the floor, and furnishings included a massive desk piled with folios and papers, a long table, and brocade chairs.
It was study, library, and meeting room all in one. “What a handsome office!”
“It is rather nice.” Dare sorted through a stack of envelopes and opened one letter. “From Sir Walter—how curious! He says he is returning to Edinburgh with John Lockhart and Oliver Huntly. They arrive by steamer today. I wonder why.”
Hannah smiled in delight. “How lovely! Oliver has not been here since he was a boy. Perhaps we could dine with them at the Waterloo.”
“Excellent thought. I want to show you a few things first, and then study your drawings. You did bring them?”
“Here.” She set her tapestry bag on the table and removed the sketches, rolled in a leather sleeve. Unfurling the drawings the opposite way to straighten them, she weighted the corners down with inkstands and two small books. Then she turned, and caught her breath.
Dare now wore a long coat and feathered hat. “What do you think?’
“Oh, my,” she said, blinking.
The ceremonial tabard coat was loosely fit with brightly colored embroidered patchwork and shoulder capelets.
The panels depicted the red lion rampant of Scotland, the three golden lions passant of England, then fleurs-de-lis and a gold harp on blue velvet.
The hat was a black tricorn with long white ostrich feathers, and draped over his chest was a heavy golden chain with a large pendant.
Strathburn was a tall and striking man in his everyday kilt and coat. As Lord Lyon, King of Arms, he seemed even larger and more imposing in the glorious costume.
“Magnificent,” she said. “I have seen that coat worn in parades and processions.”
“That would have been my uncle, Lord Kinnoull. This is all rather new to me. This gear is worn for public declarations, processions, coronations, and such.”
“Will you attend King George’s coronation next year?”
“And wear this gear, aye, along with a gold crown around a red velvet cap.”
“Very dramatic and rather gorgeous, all that pomp and authority.”
“That is the idea. I am no peacock, but it is tradition. The Lords Lyon have worn these things for three centuries. And for the judicial court, I wear a red velvet and ermine cloak with a long gray wig.”
As he shrugged out of it, Hannah hurried to assist with the heavy weight of the coat, which he folded, wrapped in silk, and put into a large wooden box that he replaced in a corner cover.
“It suits Lord Lyon, but my Strathburn is a quieter sort of man.”
“Who chooses to wear a kilt in the city to make his point clear,” he said.