“’Tis my first ball and I am too fraught to enjoy it,” Fiona told Lorelei and Louisa that Wednesday evening after they’d presented their invitations and entered Almack’s.
Lorelei looked around the assembly room where the balls were held. The rectangular room was easily triple the size of any private ballroom in a town house and already half full of people. Debutantes in an array of pastel colors chatted in groups, trying not to appear obvious as they glanced across at young gentlemen gathered near the refreshments table. Meanwhile, anxious mamas hovered along the walls, eagle-eyed and assessing the pickings so far.
“It can be a bit overwhelming,” she assured Fiona, “but do not worry. No one has started signing dance cards yet.”
“I think I might find a nice potted palm to hide behind before they do,” Louisa said. “I hate balls.”
Lorelei glanced over to where Lady Bute had joined several other matrons. “Your mother will come and pull you out if you do.”
“I know.” Louisa sighed. “But the men here are barely older than boys out of school.”
She didn’t argue the point, even though most of the “boys” were well into their twenties and Louisa was only eight-and-ten herself. While they had been collaborating on how to leave the house without a host of servants—or Alasdair—following them, Louisa had confided that she’d found her one true love several years ago—a second cousin who her parents deemed much too old for her at one-and-forty. She’d steadfastly declared she wasn’t interested in anyone else.
“Perhaps you can spill something on your gown and have to go to the retiring room.”
Louisa looked contemplative. “That is an idea.”
Fiona widened her eyes. “Ye would ruin your own gown?”
“Well, I could wash out a punch stain with water before it sets.” She grinned. “Then I would have ahugewet spot and would not be able to come out for hours.”
“Ye really doona like to dance?”
“Not really.” Louisa patted Fiona’s shoulder. “But do not worry. Lorelei is right. The boys—gentlemen—will line up to sign your dance card.”
“I am nae worried so much about me,” Fiona replied. “I am more concerned that Lady Melissa Talbot’s card will be filled before Alasdair gets here.”
Lorelei looked around the room and didn’t see him. Fiona had mentioned that he’d wanted to escort them tonight but, since Lady Bute had accompanied them, it would not have looked proper. She supposed she should be grateful for the protocol at Almack’s.
“Did you tell him what time was appropriate to arrive?”
“Aye. Three times.”
She had been careful not to be available when Alasdair had called on his sister three days ago, partly because she didn’t want to look expectant and, contrarily, because she didn’t want to listen to Fiona explaining why he should pay attention to Lady Melissa. She saw the value in his making her acquaintance and more importantly, that of her father. A duke’s favorable opinion carried much weight, especially while opposing the Duke of Argyll. She also realized that if Alasdair’s attention was diverted, it would give her the freedom she wanted but, perversely, shehadflirted with him, as they’d done before he’d gone to Ireland. She wanted to continue that but then he would be evenmoreinclined to loom protectively over herself and Fiona. And that would upset theirotherplans. She sighed. Better that his sister play matchmaker.
Just then the object of her disjointed musings came through the doorway. Even though the room was already crowded, those near the door noticed him and conversation halted like a silent wave washing across the room.
Alasdair had chosen to arrive in full Scottish regalia. A part of the reason for the instant hush that fell was because wearing of the tartan had been banned by King George II following the Battle of Culloden. As part of the restoration of the MacGregor clan name, the current King George had allowed the ceremonial donning of their plaid for the occasion. Lorelei suspected His Majesty hadn’t intended for it to be wornafterthat, but she’d learned in the months she’d spent in Scotland, that Scots—and particularly MacGregors—thought it much wiser to do first and ask permission later—if necessary.
The other reason for the stunned silence was because…because Alasdair looked magnificent. The fitted Prince Charlie jacket molded his broad shoulders while the snowy ruffles of his jabot shirt set off the midnight darkness of his hair worn loose and nearly touching his shoulders. The colorful red and green plaid of his kilt reached just to his knees, displaying powerfully muscled calves with the black handle of asgain dubhsticking out the top of one boot. A tooled leather sporran covered the frontal part of him where a proper lady shouldn’t look.
Lorelei doubted there was a female in the assembly room who didn’t look.
“I cannot believe he wore that,” she said.
Fiona shook her head. “Itoldhim to dress like a Sassenach.”
“Umm. That explains it then,” Lorelei replied. “Your brothers rarely do what they are told.”
“’Tis true enough.”
“Well, at any rate,” Louisa said, trying not to laugh, and not succeeding, as she gestured. “I think you have accomplished whatyouset out to do.”
Lorelei glanced in the direction Louisa indicated and then frowned.
Lady Melissa Talbot was separating the crowd as she moved forward, her full attention focused on Alasdair.
…
