Chapter 4

"My dear!"

Annice, Lady Agnes, puttered across the vast bedchamber on uncertain chopines shipped fresh from Spain. Lissie watched in grudging admiration as she navigated the chamber somehow without once faltering on the high-altitude footwear.

From beside the bed, Lissie rose, her servants still dressing her.

"No need to stand, my dear," said Annice, oblivious to the fact that Lissie was still scrambling to cover herself decently. Her cousin had entered without knocking—something she was prone to, as Lissie was fast finding out.

Lissie mumbled something half-hearted as the maid quickly laced up her gown and bustled out of the room. Lissie glimpsed her leaving, mouthing helplessly that she had not finished dressing when Annice came up beside her.

"Calm yourself, Lissie, I can assist!"

Lissie stared, opened-mouthed, as Annice circled, her eyes fastening to her like hooks.

Lissie was standing before the silver glass, reflecting back in fine detail the taffeta she was modeling. The ball was only a few hours away, and her nerves were rising.

She had been in London for two weeks now. In some ways, it felt like forever. And Lissie had begun to wonder if she would ever again see the green glens of Scotland.

Sometimes it felt as if the longer she was here, the less she was used to it. Everything in London was noisy. And crowded. And dirty.

For two weeks, she had trailed behind Annice, primped and primed, visiting dignitary after dignitary, and being prepped on the correct London etiquette.

But Annice had made it very clear she was not yet up to scratch.

"Hmm," said Annice thoughtfully, her eyes scrutinizing every inch of Lissie"s attire. Tensely, Lissie waited as Annice"s sharp eyes clung to her.

"Well, well, well," muttered Annice, almost to herself, as Lissie drew her long skirts and checked herself uncertainly. She hated it when Annice stared at her.

Her cousin"s breath was hot upon her collar. Rattled, Lissie chewed her lip. Her patience was wearing thin. She never could stand to have someone breathing over her. Especially when they were looking at her like that. And Annice was always looking at her like that.

Nervously, she fastened the hooks on her robe.

The dress looked good. Lissie rustled the cascading French silks around her ankles and admired herself in the glass. The sheer blue style set off her eyes to good effect and had been shipped directly from Burgundy that very week.

In ordinary circumstances, Lissie would be elevated and eager to show off her new fortune. But, with Annice so nearby, she could not relax one bit. Finally, after a long pause, her cousin sighed.

"Forsooth, Elisabeth, you are passable!"

Annice"s dark eyes shone as she probed her further, jabbing with a pointy finger into her midriff. Lissie, who could never stand to be poked, bristled in stony silence.

"Thank ye," she said meekly, although deep inside, her heart was bubbling. It was all she could do not to shove Annice out of the way. But somehow, she managed to button it down.

She had learned nothing if not the art of patience these last few weeks.

"Indeed, it is the truth," insisted Annice, perhaps realizing that she had sounded less than encouraging the first time around. "No one would think only weeks ago you were a little ragged teuchter1 from the savage Highlands!"

Lissie winced some more. Unsurely, she brought her eyes to Annice. She could not always fathom her intent. But her cousin"s expression seemed earnest.

"Well, wee I may be, but I am nae peasant," Lissie pouted. Indignation rose in her. Annice really was the most insufferable snob!

Her constant put-downs were one thing, but being called a peasant was a step too far. Lissie was just about to tell her so when Annice"s demeanor changed again.

Now she was sympathetic.

"Hoo there. Elisabeth, I do know that you seek to make the most impressive match…"

Annice hesitated. She sensed a "but" coming. Annice"s face contorted, confused. She was struggling.

Finally, it came.

"There is no problem with your looks. You are perfectly acceptable," she began, damning Lissie again with faint praise. "It"s your mouth," she said.

Lissie looked, completely stunned. "My mouth?" she repeated faintly. "What"s wrong with my mouth?"

She stared into the mirror, tracing the outline of her lips. Annice laughed.

"Not your actual mouth, but the words that come out of it."

Lissie was so shocked, she could not talk. Finally, she got the words together to speak.

"Pray tell, which of my words have offended you?"

She spoke cautiously and scrupled to use the correct parlance for her cousin. Although her tone held, inside, she was raging.

Lissie"s eyes met Annice"s, and for the first time, held her there. She did not waver. Perhaps she had suitably made her point, for Annice retracted her imperious gaze and appeared to be cowed.

"Sweeting," she said, taking a different tone. Annice hesitated and smiled. Even now, Lissie could not help but admire how effortlessly polished she was.

For a woman in her mid-forties, she held together well. Her skin was toned and smooth. She had scant lines and no pockmarks. Annice"s teeth were still completely intact, and her hair was yet to show any signs of gray.

Her cheeks were rounded, and her eyes retained their youth. Annice looked good for her age and was not afraid to show it. Lissie could not help feel drab in her wake.

But now, something terrifying was happening. Annice was being nice. Unbidden, she brought her arm to Lissie and placed it on her shoulder.

"Dear heart, what I am about to say is not intended as a barb."

Mentally, Lissie battened down the hatches. A deluge was coming. Annice smiled pityingly.

"But I do think you need to lower your sights a little for this ball." She eyed her warily. "It is not your fault, Lissie, but the English nobles will never accept a Scottish lass, no matter how comely she is. Tickling that they simply cannot understand a word you say."

Lissie blinked. Perhaps she should have been expecting this, but it was still like an anvil to her heart.

"Nay," she said stoically. She opened her mouth to speak, but Annice motioned her to hush.

"Lissie, I know you think I"m being hard on you, but it is not that. Truly, I want the best for you, and that will not be a lord. I can help you make a match, perchance with some wealthy merchant or bourgeois." Her eyes flickered quickly as she turned away. Lissie tried not to fume.

"Hark, I am well-placed within the guild of clothiers to find a suitable match. There are several eligible bachelors who grow rich off wool. One, a tailor named de Bois, has a good house in Highgate."

Finally, Annice turned to her, her eyes sparkling. She smiled, hopeful.

Fear burst through Lissie"s heart. She had listened enough. It could not stay inside her.

"Pray forgive me, Cousin, but nay. I cannae," Lissie exploded. She just about stopped herself from shouting, but a prickling, uncomfortable feeling ripped through her frame. "I just cannae. My sisters are expecting me to wed an earl. Oor clan depends on it. They need the gold. With respect, I didnae traverse the breadth o" the country to wed a wool baron."

From the looking glass, Lissie"s reflection smoldered. She glared at Annice, but this time through the mirror. Inside, her heart was thumping hard. The telltale signs of rage were there, the bitter, acrid taste in her mouth. The sharp drops of acid down her throat.

Crisply, she refreshed herself with a cool glass of ale from the dresser and then looked at Annice pointedly. She struggled to stay calm. Lissie could put up with a lot, but being dissuaded of her aim was something else.

Seeing her resolve, her cousin was clearly shaken. Annice"s eyes rounded with hurt. For just a split second, Lissie felt a tinge of remorse.

Annice had served her up a jewel, and she had rejected it. Now she was pouting at the side of the room and pretending not to notice her.

"I see," said Annice, between clipped lips. "Well then, as you will. We will go to the ball and see what happens."

She hitched up her skirts and turned to go. Just before she reached the door, she gazed plaintively at Lissie.

"The wagon will be at the door in an hour. Be ready!"

And with that, she exited the room, leaving Lissie to gaze at herself in the candlelight.

Ready? She would never be ready.

Staring back at her was a woman she didn"t recognize. Her gaze, her hair, and her attire were all as far as could be from the carefree lass who had left Scotland.

Somehow, she was older, more restrained, and lonelier. Pushing back her dark tresses, Lissie imagined herself in a crespinette or even a horned headdress.

So her voice was a problem? Well, then, she wouldn"t say a word. In fact, she would not speak at all.

Gazing at herself in the looking glass, Lissie resolved to do whatever it took to achieve her mission.

No matter what Annice said, she would marry a lord.

* * *

The bodice scratchedand dug into Lissie"s flesh. But it was far too late to change it.

Stepping out into the grand de Lacy hall, Lissie fell silent. The splendor and the sheer scale of it knocked her over. For a second or two, it was all she could do to stand there marveling.

"Come, come, Elisabeth," tutted Annice. She had been uncharacteristically silent in the wagon coming over. It was possible that Lissie"s outburst had affected her because she was rather more measured in her tone to her that evening.

Lissie shook her head, blinking. The night was overwhelming her. Ever since setting foot in Lady Eleanor"s home, she had been struggling.

But now, here, in the packed and heated grand hall, Lissie was beginning to panic.

"Dinnae fash, Annice," she said softly. "Ye go on ahead. I am just going to take a wee moment."

Annice looked unsure for a minute before spying Lady Eleanor, bedecked in furs, from the opposite side of the room, and quickly sped off.

"I will make your acquaintance for you, Cousin," she promised, before disappearing. Watching her go, Lissie held her breath.

It was a big room. The hall of the mansion was almost twice the size of anything she had seen and certainly made the Duncan castle hall seem rather poky.

Watching the amassed nobles enter, Lissie felt herself shake, then took a deep breath. The great and the good, the aristocracy of England, all gathered here in one great hall.

At least, that was what it felt like. Lissie felt nerves creeping up her spine. She had thought she could handle this, but she had been wrong. Casting her eyes wide, she saw what looked like hundreds of lords, all arriving to fanfares and cheer.

At the front of the hall, on a low dais, an announcer—a chancellor, or perhaps a knight—was reading from a roll of nobles as guests streamed in.

Watching them all, Lissie had to find time to catch her breath. Inside, her heart battled her rib cage. This was all moving so fast.

Stepping out in the lavish gown that Annice"s ladies had painstakingly picked out for her, Lissie tottered forward on uncertain chopines.

Step by step, Lissie prayed and held her nerve. It went without saying she had never worn chopines before. At least, not ones that rendered her a giantess. The wedges on the shoes were so high she almost had vertigo looking down. And yet, looking around, no one else in the feast hall had a problem with them.

For the first time, Lissie dared herself to look. All around were glittering robes and suave silks. Damask was in abundance, as were staggering high heels.

Lissie watched in amazement as ladies not only moved but swept across the great hall and even, in some cases, danced.

Inadequacy dawned on Lissie. What on Earth was she doing here? She was like a fish out of water. She did not belong here amongst these haughty people.

"Elisabeth!"

Annice"s voice reached her from the back of the hall. Lissie came to. To her surprise, people were staring at her, and a small crowd had gathered around. Then she saw Annice beckoning her over from the very edge of the hall.

"Come hither, sweeting," Annice hissed. She did not have to ask twice. Lissie was moving at the fastest pace she could manage in her stilted shoes. For the first time, she was actively glad to see Annice, pressed to the back of the hall, waiting for her.

"Pray, Elisabeth, meet Viscount Spencer. He has heard so much about you."

Annice was at her pearly best. Every inch of her was buffeted somehow, and she seemed to shine. Under the elaborate candelabra, Lissie marveled at the extravagance of her robe and headdress.

Pressed forward, she came to curtsy to the lord.

"My lord," said Lissie, falling into a curtsy, her head cast downward. She hoped she was getting it right. Annice had taught her how to do the correct curtsy for an English lord, but this was the first time she had had to deploy it.

It felt like forever before she was released by the lord.

"Enchanted," said the viscount as she rose gingerly, checking her skirts were intact. Wobbly, she emerged to her feet.

"Elisabeth is new to London," said Annice, but in a tone that suggested she was an unbroken house animal in sore need of taming. She glanced warily at the lord, who smiled.

"My dear, let me see you to your seat," said the lord. And taking her hand, he escorted her along to the top table.

There were so many thoughts pumping around Lissie"s young heart that she barely looked at the man accompanying her to her place.

The sights and sounds of the great hall swirled in her head, making her stiff and tense.

Her guide chatted pleasantries as he ushered her through the crowd, but she barely murmured a reply. And keeping her eyes firmly ahead, she did not see his face either, but she had a sense of his presence; tall and capable.

He was older, she could tell, from the outline of his hair, silver and gray at the temples. He was also solid and firm, almost round, with a ruddy pink glow from him.

Over the din of the chatter, she could barely hear him, but just about got by with nodding and grinning.

Instead, Lissie cast her eye over the amassed hall. It was teeming with arrivals. Slowly, the guests stood at the table of the sumptuous fare. It felt like forever, but eventually, her cousin returned from bamboozling nobles to take her place beside her. As soon as she did, Annice nudged Lissie in the ribs.

"Pray heed the lord and lady de Lacy before you commence the ball, Lissie. And remain upright until the lord and lady be seated. Then, again, attend for the marshal to assay the dishes, and of course, his lordship to take the first bite, and..."

Lissie tried her hardest not to roll her eyes. But inside, something growled. Annice really did think she was an idiot.

"I will try an" remember," she said, banishing the sarcasm from her voice. It was not as if she did not already live in a castle and had hosted numerous balls herself. However, Lissie had long since given up convincing Annice of this fact. No matter how many times she tried to tell her she was accustomed to feasting, it seemed to go in one ear and out the other.

Never mind. She was here now and needed to concentrate on what was important: finding a lord. The only problem was, as Annice had surmised, this was likely to be difficult. As she looked around the room, she saw all the eligible bachelors, one by one, be seated beside other ladies of considerable standing.

Lissie somehow limped to the end of the ball. Pushing away the remnants of civet or hare and draining her goblet of wine, she felt quite queasy.

It was the final course, and many fine wines were flowing. This had added to the conviviality immensely, and now even buttoned-up Annice seemed to be relaxing.

Music was playing, the small quartet of minstrels in the center of the room being accompanied by more, as well as a choir of women singers. And now people were beginning the dancing.

To Lissie"s surprise, it was uptight cousin Annice who seemed to be leading the charge into the dancing. Lord de Lacy, the ball"s host, had commenced the revelries, and Annice was immediately requisitioned.

Watching her go, Lissie gazed blankly upon the proceedings; it was easy to feel overwhelmed by them. Every eligible man this side of London must be here, chased by a bevy of sophisticated ladies, none of who were nursing bruises from tripping over their chopines.

Rubbing her throbbing limb, Lissie wondered how on Earth she was even going to get across this room, much less dance in these dratted things. Perhaps she was too deep in thought because she did not even notice there was anybody near to her.

So when a hand tapped her shoulder, she nearly leaped in fear.

"Hoo there!"

Lissie turned around to see a slight young man with mousy hair and a soup-stained lip smile hopefully at her.

He did not look like a lord. Turning her head swiftly, Lissie hoped to avoid him, but he was nothing if not persistent.

"Hoo there," he cried, tugging her elbow. Finally, it was impossible to pretend she had not noticed him. Reluctantly, Lissie turned to greet the lad.

"Guid day to ye too," she said politely. But really, she was looking almost anywhere but at the lad.

Instead, something else had piqued her interest. A ripple ran through the crowd as more guests got to their feet and took part in the dance. There, through the hall, she noticed a clump of ladies, their flowing robes and enhanced headdresses marking them out as the most eligible women in the room.

Lissie could not help but gaze at the figure in the center of them, a tall and well-built man with dark hair.

If Lissie had to pick one word to describe him, it was trapped.

Even from halfway across the room, she could see it in his deep-set eyes. Staring, she drilled in deeper. His eyes were striking and blue.

She jolted. There was something about this man she recognized.

"Miss?"

The lad beside her cleared his throat. For the first time, Lissie scrutinized him properly. He was about twenty, if that, with the leftover remnants of adolescent acne, not to mention a few pockmarks for good measure. Lissie looked at him and thought his skin resembled a well-nibbled piece of cheese.

"Aye," said Lissie, before remembering her accent. Instead, she just nodded.

"Miss, may you do me the honor of this dance?" asked the lad, his pale watery eyes almost on stalks as Lissie gazed in horror.

His teeth!

Lissie found herself quite entranced. The lad"s two front teeth were completely missing, and the rest almost completely rotten. Added to the remnants of the civet caked over them and Lissie had to stop herself from recoiling in horror.

"Och, um…" She coughed into her handkerchief. She did not know how else to get out of this. Coughing hard, she hoped she had dissuaded the lad, who watched her in worry.

"Dinnae fash, it is nothing!" muttered Lissie, her eyes still pinned on the small crowd drawing across the room.

She coughed once more. With no warning, the lad thumped her on the back.

"Th-Thank ye kindly, sir," she murmured, smiling weakly. This seemed to have the desired result. Finally, the toothless lad backed off, but not before a few more hopefuls took his place.

Hovering closely, their pale eyes stuck to her like hooks. To her surprise, there were a fair few curious to meet the new sensation on the London scene.

But not as many as there were waiting for the tall, dark stranger that day. No, there was quite the swarm encircling the tall, dark man across the hall.

And finally, Lissie realized why she was so intrigued by him. Not only was he easily the most striking man in the room, but she actually recognized him.

She had seen this man before.

Screwing up her eyes, Lissie looked again.

It was him. The man from the bridge.

1 ?Rural, uncouth