Lowland Romance Collection - Books 1-3

Chapter 1-2

One was simply the most elegant of elderly ladies imaginable. She must have been eighty if she was a day, and she wore the wide skirt and low neckline of fashionable France in her youth. She could have stepped straight from a picture of the court of King George, except for the great green turban on her head and the ivory fan she languidly wafted in front of a face that was white with powder and enhanced by dark beauty spots. I dropped in a fine curtsey, for only a truly great lady could dress with so much style, and she acknowledged me with a gracious nod of her head.

“Young lady.”

Her companion was tall, with a long green travelling cloak and a shiny tall hat of black beaver that he doffed as soon as I stepped inside the room. He made an elegant leg, but the effect was somewhat spoiled as he had to grab for his hat, which toppled dangerously from his head and nearly landed on the floor at my feet.

“Miss Ballantyne?” he said when he straightened up, speaking in a soft accent with a strange drawl the like of which I had never heard before.

“No, sir,” I corrected gently. “Miss Ballantyne is my cousin. I am Alison Lamont.”

“Ah.” The gentleman belatedly doffed his so-lately-clutched-at hat, which sent his wig askew and allowed a quiff of auburn hair to flop forward over a face that was too tanned to be fashionable but still appeared most agreeable.

I stared at that face, wondering what sort of man could possess it. Although it had the features of a stranger, it possessed such amiability I could not help but smile. His eyes were as green as a mountain lochan, and his nose as Highland as peat, long and straight and imposing.

“Alexander Forres,” he introduced himself. “And this is my mother, Lady Catriona Forres, of Forres House and the Forres Residence.”

I curtseyed again, to which he made a much more successful bow.

Louise entered then, hurrying in with one hand holding up her skirts and the other clutching her fan as if it were a weapon of war rather than a folding sliver of carved ivory.

“Then you are Miss Louise Ballantyne.” Alexander Forres made the correct deduction, bowing once again.

Louise dropped in her most elegant curtsey, deliberately displaying her far-too-impressive cleavage to the eyes of Forres, who looked away as a true gentleman should. I liked him immediately and vowed that if I should ever be fortunate enough to find a suitor, he should be of the same calibre and possess the same fine manners as the honourable Alexander, although he would have to be considerably younger.

“Well now,” Lady Catriona spoke for the first time, and everybody in that room paused to listen. “Now that we all know each other, perhaps we can repair upstairs, for I am sure that there will be no dancing in this room.”

We followed her, of course, and you never saw so many butterflies and beaus before, for others had followed Louise and me so that great room was already overflowing with fluttering women and preening men. Ignoring any pretence at delicacy, Lady Catriona floated up a turnpike stair, with her wide skirt rubbing on both sides at once and her yellow high heeled shoes clicking and clacking on the bare stone beneath. Where Lady Catriona led, we must of necessity follow, and as she made no complaints about the starkness of her surroundings, why, then neither could we. All the same, I was surprised at the lack of decoration in that turnpike and the old-fashioned torches that illuminated our passage. There was nothing modish at all, to be sure.

We hesitated outside a varnished door on which some long-gone master craftsman had carved the Forres crest, and through which floated the sounds of revelry and music. I took an audibly deep breath.

“Whatever are you doing?” Louise enquired, and I informed her it was most fashionable to have colour on one"s face before entering a ball.

“But not like that,” Louise said and pinched her cheeks so the flush arose.

I copied her, but with more timidity so my face retained its creamy complexion.

“Oh, my,” Louise said with a disapproving shake of her head. Removing her right glove, she gave me a resounding slap on my left cheek. “There now,” she said with satisfaction and repeated the procedure with great energy on the other side. “That"s much better.”

Too astonished to scream, I could only stare as Lady Catriona nodded her approval.

“We all must suffer for fashion, must me not? That was a very sisterly thing to do, Miss Ballantyne.”

With my face burning and without bothering to thank Louise for her kindness, I followed directly behind Lady Catriona as she pushed open her own door and swept into the upstairs room.

I did not step far in, for I had to stop and stare. The upstairs room was vast. It must have extended the entire length of the house, with an elaborately plastered ceiling and an array of windows that stretched along two entire walls. Crystal chandeliers splintered their light onto panelled walls, while a fire of near mediaeval proportions was bright in the fireplace.

All these details, of course, mattered nought compared to the company, and here Lady Catriona"s guests excelled anything I had seen before, and most that I have seen since. I mentioned the butterflies and beaus on the turnpike, but they were only a shadow of what waited in that upper room. I may have seen the cream of the company in Badenoch, but until that evening I was a baby in sophisticated company.

My first impression was of scarlet and feathers, with the occasional military kilt and sporran thrown in. I grew up deep in the heart of the Highlands, but I had never seen kilts like them before and the sight made me stifle an unladylike and very impolite giggle. Wherever did they get their ideas about Highland dress? I must have gaped at the tall feather bonnets and over-elaborate sporrans, the pointless plaids and cairngorm-decorated dirks that were about as Highland as they were Chinese, but I was also awed by the overall sense of splendour.

Nevertheless, I did think the wearers of these exotic costumes more than made up for their strange appearance. To a man, they were tall while those who were not young and handsome were dignified and imposing and all were military enough to frighten Bonaparte. I could feel Louise drawing herself taller, even as she arched her back and put on her most imperious expression.

“My, my,” she said softly, “what a delicious display of officers. Now you follow my lead, young Alison, and we can find a fine husband for you.”

“Husband?” I said, or rather squawked, for I am sure my voice rose a score of octaves, “I did not come here for a husband!”

Louise"s look was a mixture of astonishment and amusement, and once again she wielded that fan of hers, closing it and poking it sharply against my arm. “You did not come here for a husband? My dear, dear cousin Alison, pray tell me for what other reason you would possibly attend Lady Catriona"s ball?”

I could not answer that I was only here for the dancing and because Aunt Elspeth had decided I should go, so I gaped at her with my mouth open instead.

“Exactly so.” Louise chose to take my silence for agreement. “So let us dance.”

And so, we did.

I have danced in many fine places since, but I will always remember that night as we bid a fond farewell to 1811 and welcomed the infant 1812. And what a year it was to prove, but of course we did not yet know that as we pirouetted and bowed and whirled away the night in a riot of bright colours and flashing shoulders and swirling kilts.

“You dance uncommonly well, Miss… Miss… I am sorry, but I do not know your name?”

My companion of the moment was as tall as any guardsman, with dark hair fashionably ruffled and a scarlet tunic that did nothing to conceal white breeches so tight they could nearly have been painted in place.

“Nor I yours, sir, for we have not yet been formally introduced,” I said, somewhat stiffly, for I was unused to such forward behaviour from a man posing as an officer and gentleman.

“Well now, that"s an easy matter to put right,” said he, unconcerned at my offhand attitude, and within a moment he had whisked me across the crowded room to the honourable Alexander Forres who made the necessary formalities.

“My dear Miss Alison,” Alexander gave his elegant bow, “may I present my own younger son, the Honourable John Forres, Lieutenant in the Edinburgh Militia?”

The exquisite gave an elaborate if slightly mocking bow.

“And, John, it is my greatest of pleasures to present Miss Alison Lamont, niece of Lady Elspeth Ballantyne, come all the way from Badenoch just for this ball, and some other family business, I believe.”

John Forres gave another bow, so low I feared, or rather hoped, his trousers would split and embarrass him in front of the entire company, but the devil favours his own and instead he only delighted everybody with his elegance. He put out his hand, but I declined the tease of a kiss and withdrew. Unfortunately, my most aloof formality was spoiled when Louise came close and stepped on my trailing gown so I jerked to a somewhat abrupt and very inelegant halt. I am sure she did it deliberately, the minx.

“And this is Miss Louise Ballantyne.” Alexander Forres seemed not a whit put out by Louise"s forward behaviour.

The bow was just as low, but Louise did not pull back her hand, and Lieutenant Forres made the most of his opportunity. It must have been a good minute before he rose, but Louise did not mind in the least. There was no mistaking the sparkle in her eyes when she looked at me and no ambiguity in the look of triumph I was too young to then understand. I learned though, as you will hear, by and by.

Lady Catriona had hired a small band to play for us, and once we started dancing, we did not stop save to nibble at the table of snacks or engage in light conversation. I cannot remember exactly what we danced, country reels, I believe, and the occasional Highland dance, complete with high screeches and the most intricate of footwork. The waltz did not make its way into Scotland for a year or so, as it was considered most indelicate. Honestly, my dears, you have no idea how much hypocrisy ruled our lives when romantic affairs were considered normal, and only became a scandal if they were broadcast in public, yet to wear even a fraction of makeup was to chance being ostracised from all respectable society. Life is so different today.

Lady Catriona was not conservative in her taste, and soon we were executing a quadrille, with gentlemen and ladies all higgledy-piggledy together in that upstairs room. If I close my eyes, I can picture it now, all the swirling kilts and flowing gowns, the sheen of exertion on noble foreheads, the bright eyes and laughing mouths and the shimmer of silk and satin. I can nearly hear the rhythmic drumming of feet on that polished floor and see the reflection of the chandelier on the windows. You might never have heard of the quadrille, a most enthralling dance with complex movements you youngsters would never enjoy or probably understand, but while we were engaged, that Lieutenant John Forres arrived again, all tight breeches and pride, and seemed intent to partner me for the remainder of the evening.