Chapter Thirteen
The ball was to take place at the Countess of Inverness’s stately mansion on the Canongate High Street. If Elspeth had found the gracious elegance of her aunt’s townhouse a wonder, the gilded, candlelit opulence of Inverness House was a sight beyond compare. She had never imagined such a profusion of candelabra, glinting gold against the stuccoed and painted walls, nor such a press of richly dressed people.
Elspeth bobbed along in her aunt’s wake, feeling like a gawky gosling paddling after a swan—Aunt Augusta was a vision in palest French lilac and white powder, and even though Elspeth knew she herself had never looked so lovely in all her life, she had nothing of her aunt’s ease and grace.
Still, she could learn. She could follow her aunt’s elegant example, and nod and smile and bow her head graciously. She could look over the crowd for a certain tall gentleman without craning her neck as if she were the veriest bumpkin. She could pretend that this was how she had always lived, in luxury and light, and always would.
“There you are, dear Letty.” Aunt Augusta kissed their hostess on the cheek. “Let me introduce my dear niece and protégée, Miss Elspeth Otis. Elspeth, I give you the Countess of Inverness, my dear friend Letty.”
“What a delightful girl, Gussie. Welcome, my dear.” The countess turned to Elspeth with every appearance of gracious delight. “A pleasure to have you with us, Miss Otis.”
Elspeth sank into a deeply reverential curtsey. “My lady.”
“Such graceful manners, Augusta. We must have her dancing. The gentlemen will be all agog to have a chance with her.”
“We shall be excessively selective, Letty. Only the best will do for my darling girl.”
“I see.” The two women turned to survey the floor, much like Elspeth imagined generals might do when surveying the field of battle. “The Marquess of Cairn is here, just up from London.” The countess gestured with her fan to an imposing gentleman in crimson velvet.
“Ah, yes.” Those mischievous dimples appeared deep in Aunt Augusta’s subtly rouged cheeks. “Perfection. Let us take ourselves in the marquess’s direction.”
And that, clearly, was Hamish’s cue. Elspeth Otis was his discovery, his diamond in the rough, and under no circumstance could he stand to lose her to his charming brother Rory’s even more charming crony, Alasdair Strathcairn, Marquess of Cairn. Because in the hours between leaving Lady Ivers’s house and arriving at the ball this evening, Hamish had been unable to think of anything or anyone but Elspeth.
And her kisses.
“My ladies.” Hamish swept in, taking the hands the ladies instinctively and automatically proffered when he bowed before them. “Countess Inverness, Lady Ivers. And Miss Otis.” He bowed particularly reverentially before the object of his increasingly devoted attention, who looked like a breath of sweet summer sky in a blue silk gown the deep color of the ocean. “What a pleasant surprise.”
Lady Ivers didn’t look in the least bit surprised. “Mr. Cathcart. Your timing is impeccable, as always.”
Hamish took the backhanded compliment in the spirit it was intended—as a challenge. Time was of the essence. “My dear Miss Otis, might I beg the honor of this dance?”
The darling lass looked halfway between horrified and delighted. “Of course you may beg, much good it will do either of us. You see, I’m afraid I cannot—”
“Of course you can.” Lady Ivers looked from Elspeth to Hamish in shrewd assessment, before she decided to voice her full consent. “Mr. Cathcart is harmless enough, Elspeth. I see no reason why you should not dance with him, provided he behaves himself. And I shall watch quite closely to make sure that he does.”
Hamish bowed deeply to acknowledge the warning. “As you wish, my lady.” He offered Elspeth his hand. Which she did not take. In fact, she looked at his proffered palm the way a wee mousie might eye a rat.
“Come now,” he laughed. “’Tis only a country dance, my dear Miss Otis, not the end of the world.”
“Not yet, anyway.” But she let him lead her toward the dance floor. Toward, but not exactly to—she held back at the edge of the crowd.
“Forgive me if I notice some hesitation on your part, Miss Otis. If the trouble is not with me—and what trouble could there be with a fellow of my charming sort—then it must be you. Is there some difficulty?”
“Yes. There is a great difficulty. Not exactly with me, but with the dance.”
“The Montgomery’s Rant? ’Tis a simple dance.” But at her continued frown he was prompted to ask, “You do know how to dance, do you not, Elspeth? Even if there was no kissing, surely there were dances even in whatever wee benighted village you came from?”
His tease had at least a little of the desired effect—she crushed her lips between her teeth in an effort not to smile. “I am quite sound on the theory. And assemblies were held in the public rooms of the village inn—which while not exactly benighted, I will acknowledge were a trifle dim—the very grand sum of four times a year—”
“Four times? So many as that?” His own pleasure was all in her arch sweetness. “I begin to see your trouble. Not exactly a whirlwind social calendar.”
“No,” she agreed. “I am also forced to admit”—she lowered her voice, as if imparting the greatest of confidences—“they often have to invite the whole of the hedgerows, including the badgers, in order to have enough couples for a proper set. So I ought to be well used to dancing with your sort.” She took a deep breath, and peeped up at him from the corner of her eye. “But the real truth of the matter is that while I have danced imaginary dances with real badgers, and real dances with imaginary people, I have never danced a real dance with a real, live, handsome gentleman of your sort, or any other.”
He could not help but smile at such sweetly charming flattery. “I think you’ll find gentlemen differ from blacksmiths and farmers only in the cut of their clothes and not in their appreciation of the dance. Or of their partners.”
A lovely flush swept across her cheeks. “You are very kind to misunderstand me, Hamish. But let me be more plainspoken.” She stood on tiptoe to impart the whispered confidence. “I have never danced.”
“What do you mean?” Hamish was beyond astonished—it was one thing not to have been kissed, but never to dance as well? “Not once?”
“Shh,” she implored, before she admitted, “Not ever.”
Something strange and fine and indignant stirred to life within his chest—a sort of inchoate rage that anyone might ever have slighted this creature by not asking her to dance. “Why the hell not?”
Please.” She glanced around to see if they were being overheard. “Circumstances simply didn’t permit—”
No kissing, no dancing—who knew what else she’d been denied. Which made her writing all the more remarkable. She was remarkable.
“What a marvelously mixed up world you’ve lived in, dear Elspeth. My duty is clear—you don’t need lessons in kissing, but you do need lessons in dancing. But we shall need somewhere more private than this crowded floor for your first lesson.” He put out his hand. “Come with me.”