Lowland Romance Collection

Chapter 8

I sat, completely stunned, staring at Aunt Elspeth. I could not believe how wrong she was. Only a few seconds before I had been dreaming of a life with Willie Kemp, that large and honourable, if poor and eccentric man, and now she had told me I was to marry the dandified John Forres, a creature with the smoothest of tongues and the slyest of eyes.

“No,” I said. “You cannot mean it!”

Taking my exclamation for joyous disbelief, Lady Elspeth smiled and nodded.

“Oh, I do, Alison. As soon as I heard that he admired you at Lady Caroline"s Hogmanay Ball, I knew that he was just the husband for you. Imagine; you will be married into one of the largest landowning families in the Highlands, your own part of the world. When Mr. Alexander Forres dies, Mr. John Forres will have an income of some £20,000 a year. Imagine!” And she sat there, looking like the cat who has found a mouse hidden in its cream, the obtuse old harridan. I say old, but she was not old at all, but at that time I thought she was positively ancient.

I was unsure what was best to do. Should I begin to bawl my eyes out, or keep a stiff and polite silence, or beg her to reconsider?

“I realise that this news must be overwhelming,” Aunt Elspeth said, perhaps with some kindly intent, “so it may be best if you were to withdraw to your room and consider the possibilities of your new life.” She stood up and held out her hand as if she were a Queen awaiting a kiss from a flattered commoner. “Tomorrow we will take the carriage to the Forres Residence and make the formalities.”

“Tomorrow?” I stared at my aunt.

“There is no point in delaying such things. So repair to your room now and compose yourself.”

I obliged of course. It is always best to remain in the favour of the royals. Besides which, I did not know what to say.

“Well, Miss Alison,” Aunt Elspeth called out to me as I negotiated the stairs, “that"s your future assured, and so soon after your arrival in Edinburgh. I hope that you are as pleased with yourself as I am.”

Have you heard the expression about your heart sinking into your shoes? Well, that is exactly how mine felt. Tomorrow was very close.

John Forres. The name haunted me as I slouched up the stairs that led to my shared bedroom. John Forres, that smooth-mannered, perfumed mountebank. What on earth had Aunt Elspeth in mind when she selected him?

Throwing open the door, I threw myself down on the bed, buried my face in my pillow and began to howl. It was quite some time before I realised I was not alone. Louise was lying in exactly the same position on her bed, giving vent to her feelings in exactly the same way.

I looked over to her for a few minutes, noting how undignified a woman is when face down on her bed with her shoulders heaving and her bottom wobbling with emotion. Did I look like that? I must have, and the thought was not pretty. What would Mr. Kemp think of me now?

I watched as Louise lifted her head, took a deep breath and began another bout of grief-stricken yells that must surely have been heard in the street outside, let alone down stairs by Aunt Elspeth and the others in the household.

“What on earth is wrong with you?” I asked, nearly forgetting my horror at being paired with John Forres. After all, I was young, and such an event was somewhere in the future, not an immediate happening. The young have a way of putting tomorrow off in the expectation that it never happens. That way leads only to heartache, dears, so make sure you grasp your future firmly in both your own hands, rather than allowing others to direct it for you.

Louise looked up, her pretty face interestingly swollen by tears and her eyes puffy and red. “Mother is marrying you to John Forres,” she wailed, slobbering all over herself, “and it"s not fair. I should be marrying him.”

I allowed her to return to her sodden pillow while I lay back. For a few moments, I wondered about John Forres. True it would be delightful to be mistress of £20,000 a year, so there would be no more scrimping and saving, no more worrying about household expenses, and my children, and I was fully determined to have a whole brood of girls and boys, would be most carefully brought up.

Then I thought of Willie Kemp"s kindness and his enthusiasm over that ridiculous boat, and the way he looked after me that night. I thought of other things related to Mr. Kemp too, but they are not for your ears or eyes, my dears. Find your own man and do not peep into the intimacies I shared with one I fondly hoped would be mine, fool that I was.

There was no comparison. I honestly believed Mr. Kemp and I had chosen each other, while Aunt Elspeth had foisted John Forres onto me.

“Louise,” I said, but she was too intent on sobbing to hear me.

I tried again. “Louise!”

She looked round slowly. “Go away,” she said. “I hate you.”

“I hate you too,” I told her pleasantly, “but that does not really matter just now. You see, I don"t want John Forres at all.”

Louise"s look could have melted cheese. “I don"t care what you want. I only care what I want, and I want John Forres for myself!”

That really confirmed my opinion of Miss Louise but did nothing to help me. I could feel the tears returning to my eyes as I thought of the future that Aunt Elspeth had planned for me. Was there anything I could do to escape?

I did not know.

And that thought kept me awake for most of the night as I listened to Louise sobbing and snuffling and I thought about the happenings of the day.

Lady Catriona was not effusive in her welcome when Aunt Elspeth brought me back to the Forres residence. She looked at me as if I had crawled from beneath some stone but treated me politely for the sake of my aunt.

“So, this is the young lady that so interested my grandson.” Her eyes were shrewd as she surveyed me. “There"s quite a lot of you,” she said pointedly, and I felt myself colouring up.

To explain, Lady Catriona was little more than a wraith, a woman who had kept her lack of shape while generations had grown past her. I was not quite so slender, but curves were in fashion in 1812, you see, and we were not afraid to eat.

“Yes, Lady Catriona,” I said.

She probed me for a long moment. “I had to ask you to leave my Hogmanay Ball, Miss Lamont.”

I agreed again, hoping she would see fit to ban me from her family as effectively as she had banished me from her house.

“Well,” she said, suddenly smiling, “I am sure that we can put that behind us, now that we know the truth of the matter.” She stood up from the chair to which she seemed to have been rooted for some time. “John told me what really happened, so it appears that you hold a genuine appeal for him.”

Lady Catriona began to circle me, like a cat stalking some defenceless bird. Although she had changed her gown for something so comfortable that it seemed a shapeless blanket of a creation, her turban remained the same. “Perhaps there is something there, after all, Miss Lamont. Perhaps there is something other than your wild Highland ways.”

Unsure what to say, I said nothing and allowed her scrutiny to continue.

“So, this is Miss Alison Lamont is it?” I had not noticed there were two other women in the room. One was young and handsome, with auburn hair and a strong face. The other woman was older and sat half hidden behind the pianoforte. She emerged now and looked at me in a manner every bit as direct as that of Lady Catriona. “From Badenoch, I believe?”

“Yes, ma"am.” I waited hopefully for an introduction.

“Mrs. Anne Cairnsmuir,” Aunt Elspeth told me.

“And you are to be married to Mr. John Forres?” Mrs. Cairnsmuir continued as if my aunt had never spoken.

I nodded as the stark truth returned to me. I was to spend the remainder of my life chained to a man I despised. The sheer horror of that sentence struck me anew.

“I believe that the two of you met only on Hogmanay?” Mrs. Cairnsmuir asked. “It is so short a time for such a deep commitment.” She looked at me quizzically. “But sometimes one needs only a few moments, I believe.”

Thinking of Mr. Kemp, I agreed.

“Then perhaps things are already decided,” Mrs. Cairnsmuir said slowly.

The tears were hot behind my eyes.

“So greet your intended, Miss Lamont,” Lady Catriona ordered and watched to ensure I was standing correctly or perhaps that my curtsey was low enough when the lucky man stepped in.

Mr. John Forres looked exactly as he had on the night of the ball. He was tall and smart, with that scarlet uniform like a badge of honour and a smile stretching his glossy, immaculately shaved skin.

“My dear Miss Lamont; I am so pleased that we are to be united in marriage.” His bow was so low his head nearly bobbed from his mother"s Axminster carpet.

“Mister Forres.” Wishing I was anywhere but in the Forres Residence, I gave the briefest of curtsies. When I straightened up, Mrs. Cairnsmuir was watching closely, with a small frown on her face.

“Good,” Lady Elspeth said. “Now that we have agreed upon the union, we can make the arrangements as quickly as possible. There is no need to delay such an event. Your grandson John requires a wife, and my niece will be better with a husband to curb her waywardness.” Her nod was as good as the full stop that ends a solicitor"s letter.

“Waywardness?” Mrs. Cairnsmuir stepped forward. “As the godmother of John Forres, I believe that it is in my interest to know the details.”

I had wondered what her position was, and why she was present at what should be a family affair.

“My niece is quick-tempered,” Lady Elspeth said evenly, “and she is apt to impulsiveness.” Her smile was full of irony. “I can add a distorted sense of direction to her faults, and sometimes a lack of judgement.”

“Impulsiveness is natural for somebody of her age,” Mrs. Cairnsmuir said, “as is a quick temper. Maturity will cure both.”

Good advice, my dears, but completely false, of course, for I am as impulsive as I ever was, and if you want an example of my temper, then cross me, once. But Mrs. Cairnsmuir, God rest her bones, was not to know that away back in 1812.

“As for a distorted sense of direction, well, that may be an asset, given the correct circumstances. However, a lack of judgement could be serious. Tell me, Miss Lamont,” surprisingly, Mrs. Cairnsmuir addressed me directly, rather than speaking as if I were only an object to be discussed. I began to like her a little better. “In what manner did this fault become apparent?”

“I am not quite sure what my aunt means,” I replied cautiously. “Perhaps it would be better to ask her.”

“Miss Lamont is quite aware what I meant,” Aunt Elspeth said hotly. “She lost herself on the journey from this residence the other night and…”

“I see.” Mrs. Cairnsmuir nodded. “I have indeed heard that story.” She looked at me, then at John Forres. “And what does Mr. Forres think about it?”

John Forres was surreptitiously engaged in admiring his silhouette in a mirror. As I watched he placed two fingers inside an inside pocket and produced a snuff box in the shape of a woman"s leg. Still watching himself, he practised opening it with an apparently casual flick of his left thumb, removed a pinch and thrust it up each nostril in turn. His sneeze was as elegant as any could be, and only then did he return his attention to us.

“I do beg your pardon, ladies, were you addressing me?” He indicated his box. “Belongaro, don"t you know. One of the finest snuffs ever made.”

I hoped Mrs. Cairnsmuir would allow the matter to drop, but she seemed determined to embarrass me. “I asked what you thought about your intended"s behaviour the other night.”

“Simply appalling,” he said. “She should be thoroughly ashamed of herself.” He fixed me with what he thought was a stern glare. “Miss Lamont requires a good man to keep her in line, and I"m just the fellow.”

“Just the fellow,” Mrs. Cairnsmuir repeated.

I had remained demure until then, but as I opened my mouth to give my opinion, Lady Catriona rang a little handbell and a liveried servant brought in a tray of drinks. There was orgeat for me, probably the safest and least powerful drink known to man, or woman, no doubt in case I fell down again, or ran off with the footman or started to sing a republican song, while the ladies could imbibe claret, and Lady Catriona slurped down a tumbler full of the finest Ferintosh. For somebody who claimed to despise my wild Highland ways, she made short work of the whisky.

“So you have no objection to your intended spending the night at a man"s house and with no female chaperone?” Mrs. Cairnsmuir seemed to be labouring the point.

“There is no harm done, apparently.” John Forres sipped at his claret. “It seems that the gentleman in question did not take advantage of the opportunity thus presented.” He looked at me with a smile. “Of course, once you are mine, my dear, I expect you to act with more circumspection.”

I swallowed hard, feeling frustrated tears rise to my eyes. Should I meekly agree? Or give vent to my true feelings. “Of course, Mr. Forres.”

“You know that your duty as a wife is to provide one healthy male heir. After that, you are free to amuse yourself as you please, as long as it does not involve me in a scandal. I have no desire to wear the cuckold"s horns.” His laugh was light. “Conduct your affairs with discretion, madam, and I will not embarrass you with mine.”

So, my dears, you see, my intended had no intention of being a faithful husband. I might have expected the ladies present to look scandalised at this display of John Forres" moral philosophy, but none of them turned a hair. My generation was the most dreadful hypocrites, you see, where adultery was accepted, but scandal was not. John was merely voicing what was common practice. He was a man of his times, and honest in his own way.

Now I am not asking you to emulate our behaviour, my dears, for we have moved on since my time, and this Queen Victoria has installed much higher standards in the country. However, we all live according to the lights current in our formative youth, I believe, and treat all other values with disdain.

I stood beside Mr. John Forres for quite ten minutes, waiting for him to say something of the slightest interest, but save for some casual comments about the weather; his conversation was of fashion and high society.

“Not that I would expect you to know these people, dear Miss Alison,” he said most condescendingly, “but when we are married you will be moving in the most exalted company and it is best to be able to fit in, don"t you know?”

I nodded and attempted to look demure. “Yes, Mr. Forres,” I agreed. I could see the other ladies nodding their approval. To them, it seemed obvious John Forres would lead me in the correct manner. I would be the dutiful wife, attending the correct parties, and meeting only those of our own social standing.

William Kemp and that small hut by the loch began to drift further away. I wondered how his steam boat was today, and if he had managed to steer it in a straight line yet. Somehow, I doubted it.

“And as for the servants.” John Forres was teaching me how to manage a house, now. “You must treat them with a firm hand, dear Miss Lamont, and never allow them to take over. They will cheat you from morning until Christmas, given half a chance, you know.” He looked at me, “Indeed perhaps I should check over your household accounts every month. I was fairly good at mathematics.”

“He was indeed.” Lady Catriona nodded to support her grandson. “He was far from the bottom of the class.”

And equally far from the top, I wagered, wondering who he bribed or coerced into doing his prep for him.

The remainder of the day passed in equally exciting conversation, but I will refrain from including you in my exquisite boredom. Suffice to say that by the time I left the Forres Residence I knew I would never marry John Forres, however much my aunt, Lady Caroline, Mrs. Cairnsmuir, and Uncle Tom Cobley and all tried to persuade me. Actually, Mrs. Cairnsmuir did not try very hard, but asked a great many difficult questions and generally acted as Devil"s advocate, which was just as bad.

Louise was not interested in my complaints, being far more concerned with her own shattered dreams. However, she was no longer engaged in washing the pillow with her tears and had time to scream her hatred of me.

I allowed her to vent her feelings for a few minutes.

“Besides, I have a new beau now. You can keep Mr. John Forres.”

I shook my head, “But I don"t want him,” I said.

Louise"s scream must have been heard right along Queen Street. “You don"t want him, and I do,” she said and began a new bout of sobbing that kept me awake half that night. As I lay there with the pillow muffling the sounds, I planned how best to escape from this intolerable position in which I found myself.