The dress was just as beautiful—and just as tight-fitting—as Lydia remembered. As she smoothed her hands over the cerulean silk, she was conscious that, today, she felt very differently about wearing the gown. Alasdair’s regard had changed her views about herself. Now, she not only accepted the fact that she had a reasonable figure and face, she positively welcomed it. Eilidh had already begun taking in one of her plain day dresses and Lydia foresaw that, very soon, she would be accustomed to wearing well-fitting clothes all of the time.
Mairead was also wearing her own best dress—the white muslin trimmed with blue ribbons—and they had both done their hair in a more elaborate style. Lydia had braided the top part of Mairead’s hair into a pretty chignon, while leaving the rest flowing over the child’s shoulders. At the last, she had added a flower circlet made up of machair orchids, their soft petals bursting with colour—purple and lilac and spotted pink. When Mairead stood before the mirror, she gazed at her reflection, then turned to wrap Lydia in a tight embrace.
‘Thank you, Lydia. Thank you, thank you!’ She looked up at her. ‘Promise you will never go away?’
‘Of course I shall never go away!’ Lydia declared unthinkingly, before adding, ‘That is, I should hope to never go away. Sometimes things happen that we do not wish.’
Mairead tilted her head on one side. ‘Like Dòmhnall dying? And my mama?’
Lydia’s throat tightened. ‘Yes. My mother and father both died. They did not wish to.’
‘My papaidh could be your papaidh, if you marry him,’ the child offered, somewhat confusingly.
‘Oh, hush now, Mairead, that is not going to happen. Are you not happy to have me as your governess?’
‘I should much rather have you as my mother!’
Lydia kissed her cheek, then picked her up. ‘That is a sweet thing to say and I am grateful. But please do not say such things in company. I am your governess and that is all. Agreed?’
Mairead sighed. ‘Very well. But even if I do not say it, I shall think it, and no one will stop me.’
Lydia snorted, her heart warmed by Mairead’s attachment to her. ‘I should like to see anyone so brave as to attempt it!’
They made their way downstairs and outside to the shinty field, where what seemed like hundreds of people were milling about. A group of musicians were playing on the low stage, though no one was dancing as yet. Along the edges of the field, amid the chairs that had been placed there, merchants, tinkers and travelling pedlars had set up their wagons and carts. Some had even pitched pavilions of canvas and sailcloth and were inveigling people to purchase their wares. Lydia, having already succumbed to vanity, bought some ribbons and buttons from one man and some lace from another. If she was to wear nice dresses, they would need suitable trimmings. She also made a gift of some pink satin ribbon to Mairead and bought a simple straw bonnet for Eilidh. The girl seemed delighted when Lydia handed it to her and immediately began planning how she might trim it.
The dancing began a little later and Lydia was pleased to have offers to dance every time. She accepted some, rejected others, and ensured she spent most of her time with Mairead. The Laird had made his reappearance a half-hour ago, his hair damp from his bath, and had greeted Lydia and Mairead briefly before being taken away by some of the shinty players to settle a debate about some aspect of the game. It gladdened Lydia to see him so merry and carefree.
He seems happy, these days.
He had not, so far, danced with anyone.
As the day dimmed towards evening, lanterns were lit on the long poles that had been erected around the area. With the sky goldening towards sunset and the lanterns glowing softly, it gave the entire gathering a magical air. Lydia sat with Eilidh Ruadh for a while, enjoying her company and the sense of friendship that she had always felt with the other young woman.
‘Angus means to go to London in the spring,’ she said, ‘if our attempts to purchase the land near Rueval are unsuccessful.’
Lydia eyed her keenly, struck by her form of words. ‘He goes alone?’
Eilidh laughed. ‘You are too perceptive, Lydia! He believes Alasdair may not go—’ she sent Lydia a sly, knowing gaze ‘—so he thinks he is going alone, but that is not the case.’
Lydia grinned, ignoring Eilidh’s teasing look. ‘You mean to accompany him.’
‘I do and so I shall need you to teach me everything I need to know about London, and the ton, beforehand.’
‘Of course!’ Briefly, Lydia described the parks and Gunter’s, and the daring masquerade balls in Vauxhall Gardens. She had attended one, once, in the safe company of one of her employers, and had thoroughly enjoyed it.
Eilidh seemed fascinated. ‘Perhaps I may have the opportunity to experience such delights when Angus and I travel there,’ she declared with a saucy smile. ‘I must know more. I intend to learn as much as I can before I go.’ She patted Lydia’s arm. ‘It can be our project for this winter.’
Lydia agreed with pleasure. How wonderful it was to anticipate that she would still be here then! She could imagine herself saying goodbye to Angus and Eilidh, perhaps receiving letters from her friend, awaiting their return some months later. It gave her a good feeling to look further into the future and still imagine this happy life.
Glancing around, she saw that Mairead was seated with Mrs MacLeod and eating a sweetmeat.
All is well.
When two gentlemen approached to invite Lydia and Eilidh Ruadh to dance the next reel, Lydia declined, having had a better idea.
She hurried off through the dusk to a particular trader she had noted earlier. He was selling fabrics, threads and gloves, but she had absent-mindedly noticed something else among his wares when she had rummaged through his stall earlier.
‘Good evening, miss.’ His eyes gleamed as she approached the stall. He had probably assumed he would make no further sales tonight, given that the crowds were now devoting their attention to dancing, talking, eating, and drinking. ‘How may I assist you?’
‘How much for this?’ Lydia asked, pulling what she wanted from underneath a bale of cotton. It was a masquerade half-mask of black satin and would make a perfect gift for Eilidh Ruadh. She had been surprised to see it earlier, for masquerades and masked balls were unknown in the islands.
‘Ah, that is a special piece, that came all the way from Lunnain.’ He named an outrageous price and she raised a sceptical eyebrow.
‘I too, came all the way from London, where such masks are commonplace, I assure you.’ She set the mask down. ‘It is worth no more than five shillings and that is all I shall pay.’
He moved around the table and came to stand beside her, picking up the mask. ‘You are Sassenach, then? And you have attended masked balls in Lunnain?’
She took a step backwards, for he was standing uncomfortably close. Abruptly, all her senses were alert. This part of the field was worryingly quiet and the music and noise down the far end might mask any sounds from this far away.
‘It is none of your concern who I am and what I may have done. You may keep the mask. It would be a simple matter for me to fashion one for my friend.’
He grinned, displaying numerous gaps where teeth should be. ‘Ah, now, do not be hasty, pretty lady.’ He laid a hand on her arm, preventing her from leaving. ‘I shall make a bargain with you. You may have the mask for five shillings, if you also give me a kiss!’
Before she could even cry out, he had wrapped his arms around her and was trying to cover her mouth with his. He smelled strongly of whisky and sweat and her stomach heaved. She struggled furiously, managing to turn her head and scream, at the same time shoving him away with both hands. He stumbled into the table, laughing. The entire incident had lasted only a moment.
Lydia was struggling to remain standing. She felt dizzy and weak, and her pulse was tumultuous. She was breathing rapidly and her knees felt as though they could not support her.
I need to get away.
She turned and began walking, yet somehow, her legs refused to hurry.
In an instant, all of the hopes she had built were shattered. Once again, a man had forced his attentions upon her, despite her making her distaste apparent in the clearest possible way.
There is clearly no place on this earth where I can be safe from the worst of men.
With a stifled sob, she stumbled on—away from the pedlar, away from the smell of him and the putrid taste of him, and the dawning realisation that she would likely be forced to leave this place if anyone had seen what had just happened.
‘Lydia!’
Eyes wide, she halted, as the inevitability of events settled around her. It was Alasdair, and he had clearly seen what had occurred. He was grey-faced and grim and in his eyes she saw anger and—was that mortification? Well, naturally he would feel awkward about dismissing her, given how well she had done with Mairead, but she understood what must be done—perhaps even better than he, for had she not been in this situation before?
‘I saw what happened!’ He eyed her closely, seemingly reluctant to touch her. She stood impassively, retreating behind the wall of shamed nothingness that had served her well before. His jaw hardened. ‘I shall return instantly,’ he murmured and left.
Feeling bewildered, she turned to watch him as he made his way to the pedlar’s stall. His expression must have been formidable, for the trader began scrambling backwards, declaring in a wheedling tone, ‘I meant no harm, sir. She is no islander and I only wanted a little kiss! Why, she came to find me and it getting dark! It was her doing, really. I—’
He had run out of time. The Laird floored him with a single punch. ‘She is more an islander than you are, amadan!’
Lydia’s jaw dropped. Her shock was quickly tempered by the realisation that this was the first time one of her assailants had ever had any sort of punishment.
Maybe because he is a pedlar we shall both be blamed and not just me.
Still, it was undeniably satisfying to see the man floored. Her own sudden bloodthirstiness surprised her, though it should not.
The man scrambled to his feet, holding his busted nose. ‘Yes, a thighearna! I meant no harm, truly.’
‘You are never to return to Ardmore. And should I hear of any similar incidents elsewhere, I shall ensure you are banished from the islands altogether!’
With a final sound of disgust, the Laird turned on his heel and began walking back towards Lydia. At the same time, his earlier words began to sink in.
She is more an islander than you are.
Could it be—had he actually taken her side?
He was standing right in front of her. His Adam’s apple moved in his throat, but he seemed unable to speak. He lifted a hand, as if to touch her face, then paused, letting it fall.
Lydia remained entirely bewildered. Everything was happening much, much too quickly and her mind was struggling to keep up.
‘Lydia!’ he said finally, then opened his arms. The expression on his face was one of raw pain. Without conscious thought, reacting only to the pure emotion on his face, she stepped forward, feeling his arms close around her.
Almost instantly, as though walls had collapsed, her whole body began to shake and tremble. Tears soon followed, then gut-wrenching sobs. Dimly she knew that her reaction was not just to tonight’s assault, but to all of them. All of the times when she had been distressed and attacked, and helpless and alone. All of the times when there had simply been no one there to offer her a hug of comfort. She had spent her entire adult life alone and isolated. Now, finally, here was someone to hold her. Someone who, astonishingly, had defended her.
After what seemed like an age, her distress began to ease. At some point he had provided her with a clean, soft handkerchief and she leaned back a little, wiping her face and neck and delicately blowing her nose. Afterwards he held her close for another moment, dropping a kiss on her head, then leaned back to look at her.
‘Lydia.’ His hands were on her back ‘I apologise that you had to experience such an ordeal on Ardmore lands. I have failed in my duty to protect you. I assure you, you will never see that unprincipled villain again.’
‘You hit him!’
It still seemed as though it might be a dream.
He grimaced. ‘I only hit him once, which I may regret. His craven cowardice saved him from a proper drubbing.’
‘I did not seek an assignation with him, I promise!’
He laughed at this. ‘What a preposterous notion! Of course you did not, mo leannan.’ He drew her fully back into his embrace. She could already feel her tumultuous pulse slowing as her mind began to understand that she was safe from further harm and that she was not being dismissed from her post.
Mo leannan. My sweetheart. She translated the endearment in her mind, saving it to think about later. ‘Yes, even Lady Barnstable would not have blamed me this time, perhaps,’ she murmured into his chest.
‘Who is Lady Barnstable? And why should she blame you?’ He leaned back, and she looked up at him.
Tell him.
‘You have asked me before why I left Master Pickering and the Barnstable twins, and the others.’ Her face twisted. ‘Men do not always behave as they should. Although I have never offered them any encouragement, I have been...importuned on numerous occasions. Afterwards, I was always blamed for their wicked actions and let go.’
‘Outrageous!’ He had stiffened in anger. ‘Why, anyone who knows you can see you are an innocent!’
She eyed him shyly. ‘You are the only man I have ever kissed by choice.’
His arms tightened about her. ‘I am honoured by you.’ He bent his head, pausing an inch away from her lips, seeking permission.
She gave it, joy flooding through her at this further evidence of his regard. The pedlar was forgotten as she arched up to claim her laird.
Alasdair led her to the dancing area, his heart filled with a mix of pride, joy and hope. Somewhere, anger at the pedlar still lingered. With a quick glance, he had ensured the man was gone, driving his wagon away from Ardmore in the fading light. He knew exactly who the man was and would ensure word of his villainous actions was spread among the lairds and captains.
He shook his head, reflecting on how lucky it was that he had seen the incident, Eilidh Ruadh having pointed him in Lydia’s direction. He had followed Lydia to the trader’s stalls, witnessing the entire episode between her and the miscreant. He frowned briefly. Assumptions about the moral code in profligate London had undoubtedly fuelled the villain’s behaviour, though it were no excuse.
The heinous incident had changed everything. Witnessing Lydia being assaulted by that bleigeard, comforting her in her distress afterwards...all of it had served to finally force him to let go of his last remaining doubts. His head and his heart were finally at one and Lydia was his love.
As the music began now he took his place opposite his darling, feeling honoured to have the regard of such a woman. Her beauty he had seen from the beginning. Her character had revealed itself slowly, each day, each week, giving him more and more reasons to love her. The knowledge of her ill treatment at the hands of scoundrels—yes, and by her cowardly employers—made his blood boil with rage. Yes, he had failed to protect her from assault here, in the heart of his lands, but at least he had not afterwards blamed her for it. He looked at her now, skipping through the set with a wide smile, and his heart felt fit to burst with love for her. He was done with hiding, done with tormenting himself with self-doubt. He loved Lydia and he cared not who knew it.
They moved through the dance, sharing smiles and glances. All the while his mind was working furiously, thinking and planning. It would soon be time for the formalities...yes, that would work well.
And so, when they came for him at the end of the dance, he bowed to Lydia, kissed her hand and told her that he hoped to be back at her side very soon.
And sooner than you expect, he added inwardly.