Virginia Henley (22 page)

“Off ye go, then. I’ll get Andrew to go along, just to be on the safe side. Tell the shopkeeper to send me the bills.”

“Thank you. Jenny, the reason I asked your father if you could stay was so you could come to Edinburgh. Do you mind?”

“Oh, no, my lady, that’d be grand!”

“Please call me Cat. I’ll bring my sketchpad and do some designs in the carriage. Are you ready to go, Maggie?”

“Sit! Eat! Or I don’t budge, Mistress Impulsive.”

“She loves to bully me,” Cat told Jenny as she obeyed orders.

When the trio of females emerged from the castle, Andrew sat on his horse, waiting for them beside the carriage.

“Andrew, I’m sorry to take you away from your duties at Seton, but Geordie insists we have another man besides our driver.”

“It’s my pleasure, Catherine. I never turn down a chance to go into Edinburgh.” Andrew’s glance strayed to the red-haired girl.

“This is my friend Jenny Hepburn, from Crichton.”

“Hello, lass, welcome to Seton.” His eyes lingered on her face.

As soon as the carriage began to move, Cat took up her sketchpad and began to design a riding outfit. Nothing seemed right until she got an idea to make the skirt divided. While the wearer was standing or even walking, the split wouldn’t be evident if she made the skirt full enough. “What do you think?” When Cat glanced up she saw that Jenny was not looking at her sketch but had her attention riveted upon Andrew as he rode alongside them.

“I think he’s very handsome.” Jenny sighed.

Cat began to laugh. “Don’t you think he’s a bit old for you?”

“He’s a man. What woman would want a lad?” Jenny asked.

“Andrew can’t be more than twenty-eight. He’s just a bairn,” Maggie argued.

“That’s still twice Jenny’s age,” Catherine pointed out, “but he is handsome.” She changed the subject. “What sort of riding dress do you fancy for yourself, Jenny?”

“Exactly like the one you wore to Crichton. I never saw anything so lovely. Green would be a bonnie color for me too.”

Cat sketched quickly. “I’ll make the bodice the same, but make the skirt wider, like the one you are wearing. Green of course.”

Catherine put the pad aside as they entered the city. The carriage turned onto the Canongate and suddenly Edinburgh Castle loomed into view, towering over and dominating the whole city. Cat gazed in fascinated horror. It was a formidable fortress, its history steeped in blood like the Tower of London. The carriage turned down High Street and came to a halt before some shops at the bottom of the hill, where they had a clear view of Holyrood. “No wonder the queen prefers to live at the palace.”

Andrew opened the carriage door and lifted down Jenny, who went into his arms eagerly. Next he assisted Maggie, then with a bit more formality held out his hand to aid Catherine.

She smiled at him. “You have made a conquest, Andrew.”

“Only one?” he teased. “I fixed up the pony cart. When we get back perhaps ye’d both like to go fer a ride?”

“We’ll see,” she temporized.

Inside the shop, Cat was amazed at the number of bolts of serviceable cloth in somber hues and wondered who would wear such ugly stuff. She let Jenny pick her own material and laughed when she unerringly found a bolt of hunter green velvet. There were no bright colors, so Cat decided on jet velvet as her imagination conjured a riding outfit in dramatic black and white. She bought some feathers and beads, though there was little to choose from.

Catherine asked if they had any finer material in pastel shades. From the back room the shopkeeper brought yellow taffeta and watered silk in blue and pink, so she bought all three bolts. “When there isn’t much choice, at least you don’t waste hours deciding which to buy.”

“Ladies, I took the liberty of buying us some meat pies.”

“Thank you!” Cat winked at Jenny. “Let’s eat them in the carriage. I’m sure we can make room for you, Andrew.”

Chapter Thirteen

W
hen Catherine and Jenny got back to Seton, they spent the entire afternoon in the saddle. They found a meadow filled with clover where no longhorns were grazing and, side by side, rode the perimeter, at first cantering, then galloping and eventually riding full out. Cat watched everything Jenny did, and then tried to emulate all her moves. The pair became firm friends as they rode, talked and laughed until they were breathless. The outward contrast between them was marked. Jenny was long-limbed with a fresh-faced attractiveness, while Catherine was small and dainty. Both, however, had an abundance of courage and impulsive energy.

While their horses grazed, they perched atop a rail fence and watched as cattlemen branded some longhorn calves.

“Are you betrothed, Catherine?”

“No, though I have one or two serious admirers at the English Court. I’m in no hurry to wed. I don’t come of age until March.”

“Have you lost your heart to Lord Stewart?” Jenny asked avidly.

“Lost my heart to Hepburn? Good God, no! We have a difficult time even being civil to one another.”

“Then you must be the only woman in Scotland who isn’t in love with him. He seems oblivious to admiring glances and treats all the females at Crichton exactly the same, but some lucky lady will be sure to capture his heart.” Jenny sighed.

“I’m not sure Hepburn has a heart. If he does, I warrant it’s as hard as his head.”

“Catherine, you don’t know him very well. Patrick is generous and tenderhearted. That’s why we love him.”

“Really? It has nothing to do with the fact that he is taller, darker and more handsome than the Devil himself?”

“Ah, so you
have
noticed his physical attributes?”

“How could I not, when he’s so blatantly ... male!”

Jenny giggled. “I’ve found someone new to sigh over.”

“Come on, it’s time to eat. After dinner, we can work on our new riding dresses, if you like. Do you sew, Jenny?”

“Yes; all the women at Crichton sew. I help my mother make my clothes. I made this riding skirt.”

“That’s wonderful. I’m good at designing and making patterns and even cutting the cloth to the pattern, but Maggie is much better at the actual sewing than I am. She has lots of patience.”

Before the pair went to bed that night, Jenny’s green riding dress was designed, cut out and pinned together, ready to be stitched. Catherine had designed her divided skirt and cut the sections from the rich black velvet. Maggie told her she would probably be able to finish the unusual garment by tomorrow night.

“You are so generous with your time, Maggie. I’m glad you came to Scotland with me. I’d be lost without you.”

“Go on with ye. Ye’re the child I never had.”

“I know, Maggie,” Cat said softly. “I love you like a mother.”

The next morning, the two friends arose early to go riding. Cat knew her skills were rapidly improving, but she doubted she would ever become as accomplished as Jenny Hepburn.

After lunch, Andrew appeared as if by magic and offered to hitch up the pony cart and give them a driving lesson. Cat soon learned the skill of maneuvering the cart and at the same time learned a few tricks about flirtation from Jenny.
Hepburn was right. It seems to come naturally to Scottish lasses.

“Andrew, I promised Jenny’s father that we would see her safely home. Would you escort us, later?” Cat asked innocently.

“It would be my pleasure. Ye should go before gloaming.”

“What a lovely, descriptive word. Yes, I agree. If we leave it too late, your father may not let you come again, Jenny.”

Catherine took Jenny to the kitchen, where Peg, the cook, fed them slices of cold beef and homemade cheese. Maggie wrapped up the cutout sections of green velvet for Jenny’s riding dress and Cat made her a present of green silk hose.

Jenny carefully placed the luxury items in her saddlebags and bade Maggie good-bye. “Please thank the Earl of Winton for me.”

They rode three abreast with Jenny in the middle, on Andrew’s right. Catherine felt a growing excitement and was appalled at herself.
Surely it isn’t because I’m going to see Hepburn? Perhaps I’m excited to see Crichton again.
An inner voice said,
Crichton and Patrick are the same thing, Cat. Damnation, there are two people inside my head, arguing!

When they arrived at Crichton’s stables, Andrew dismounted in a flash and lifted Jenny from her saddle.

“His lordship gave me my pony. I don’t allow the grooms to take care of her; I do it myself,” she told Andrew.

“Very commendable. Good-bye, Jenny. I’ll see ye again soon.”

Catherine suffered a moment of panic thinking she might not see Hepburn, when he emerged from the stables and strode to her side. He was wearing leathers and smelled of horses. Cat felt her breasts tighten and experienced a strange sensation in the pit of her belly. “Thank you for letting Jenny come to Seton.”

“Do you ride like a moss-trooper yet?” Patrick teased.

“I ride adequately, but I shall never be as skilled as Jenny.”

“You will, Catherine. I’ll let you in on a secret. It’s not the rider; it’s the animal. Jenny has a sure-footed Border pony.”

His words pleased her. Then she remembered their escort. “I’m sorry. This is Andrew Lindsay, my grandfather’s nephew.”

“We’ve met. Take good care of her, Andrew. You’d best be on your way, Catherine. Once the sun sets, darkness descends rapidly.” He grinned. “I’ll see you on Saturday, at Court.”

When he used her full name, he rolled the
r
in Catherine and the sound never failed to thrill her. She finally realized that the strange sensation she felt in her belly was desire.

Late Saturday afternoon Catherine and Maggie unpacked their clothes and hung them in the antique wardrobe.

“I can’t believe we have our own chamber at Holyrood Palace.” Maggie was in awe. “I’m glad ye talked me into bringing both my blue dress and my burgundy. I don’t want to be outdone.”

As Catherine hung up her riding outfit, she was pleased with the way it had turned out. She had decided to pair the black velvet skirt with a tight-fitting white padded doublet, and had arisen at dawn to embroider it with the black winged dragon with a bright red fiery tongue that was the Winton device. She already owned a black-and-white ruff, black riding boots and soft black riding gloves. A small hat onto which she had sewn a black ostrich feather completed the outfit. It was so dramatic; Cat was confident she would stand out.

Catherine had known since the moment she received the invitation which gown she would wear tonight. It was her newest, made especially for the English Court. The pointed bodice emphasized her tiny waist, then flared into a full skirt. It was made of white silk tulle, embroidered with golden beads. Her ruff was delicate gold lace, edged in seed pearls, and she had a matching fan. Cat recalled when Philadelphia had seen the gown, she’d declared it looked as delicious as a wedding cake.

Maggie said, “The earl is wearing his Winton dress tartan tonight, according to Craig, his valet.”

“I was stunned when I learned that Geordie had a valet.” Catherine could not help laughing.

“Oh, aye, yer grandfather is quite the dandy on rare occasion. I want ye to rest yer feet for the lively Scottish dancing. I’m going to have a prowl round, and if I find the kitchens I’ll bring a wee snack to fortify ye.”

Within the hour Maggie returned with a tray of traditional Scottish confections—shortbread, currant cakes, plum tarts and marzipan comfits. She also brought a bottle of Rhenish wine. As Cat reached for a piece of marzipan, Maggie smiled knowingly. “I thought these would tempt yer sweet tooth, my lamb.”

“Mmm, just one more; then it’s time to do my hair.”

Ninety minutes later, when Geordie knocked on the door, Maggie opened it and was amazed at the earl’s transformation. A frothy white lace jabot topped his formal black jacket, and his kilt fell below his knees to disguise his bowlegs. He stood gazing with undisguised delight at his granddaughter. “Catherine, my wee lass, without doubt ye are the most winsome lady to ever grace this palace. I am so proud of ye. Come, or we’ll be late.”

“Thank you, Geordie. We make a handsome couple. At Court, it is always fashionable to be late and make a grand entrance.”

Maggie handed her the gold lace fan, then Cat slipped her arm through her grandfather’s. “I’m ready,” she said breathlessly.

The connecting chambers where tonight’s entertainment was being held were ornate and brilliantly lit with myriad candles. They already overflowed with people, and still a small line of royal guests waited at the entrance to be announced. When it was their turn, Geordie gave their names to the chamberlain, who called out, “The Earl of Winton and Lady Catherine Seton Spencer.”

Catherine held her head high and stepped forward, sensing that every eye was upon them. The crowd moved aside, allowing them to walk down the center of the chamber toward the royal dais where the King and Queen of Scotland were holding Court.

The first thing that Cat noticed was that she was the only one wearing white. Her glance swept the chamber seeking another female gowned as she was. When she saw none, she became nervous.

It was the custom for Elizabeth to surround herself with maidens and for those tender young ladies to wear white at her Court, but it was obvious now to Catherine that such was not the custom in Scotland. She began to hear whispers and realized people were talking about her. She searched desperately for young ladies her own age, but the youngest females she saw were in their late twenties, and most were in their sophisticated thirties. She clutched Geordie’s arm tightly as she heard a woman say, “What a beautiful child!”

My gown is all wrong! I’m too short! I shouldn’t be wearing white silk tulle! They think I’m a child because I look like a little girl!
Catherine wished the floor would open up and swallow her. She pinned a smile to her face and tried desperately to stretch her neck to make herself appear taller.