The Lady of the Lakes

by Josi S. Kilpack

  Walter would never wake up with Mina beside him.

  He would never return home at the end of the day to her warm embrace.

  She would not bear him a bairn.

  He would not write sonnets for her ever again.

  Five years.

  Five years of wanting and hoping and expecting they would be together.

  Five years of certainty.

  For nothing.

  Walter brought his knees to his chest and leaned his forehead against them. He began to rock slightly as though it might release the poison he felt inside himself—poison he had unleashed upon her. He could see her face in his mind, crying, regretful. She did not love him. He did not believe she even cared for him as she claimed to. If she cared for him she’d have never treated him as she had. How could she hurt him so badly? How could he have given his heart to a woman who would use it so horribly against him?

  Had she spurned him because he was not whole like other men? Was he too poor? Had he been inattentive? Had he paid her too much attention? Was he not handsome enough, interesting enough, good enough? It seemed that all those things were true. He had thought they were so perfectly suited, and yet now, in the streaked reality he faced, he wondered how he had ever thought such a thing. She did not enjoy the theater. She did not ride. She wanted comfort Walter had little use for. She did not understand his mind the way he’d convinced himself she did. Most of all, she did not love him.

  Had she ever?

  The first sob seemed to break through his ribs and chest, cracking and grinding the bones as they escaped and creating a wound for the other sobs to follow. So many dreams come to nothing. So much hope for naught. So much time wasted. He began rocking harder, crying harder, hurting more than he had ever hurt in the whole of his life. How would he live a day beyond this?

  Everything he had hoped for would now belong to William Forbes, a man of title, a man of wealth. Forbes would take Mina as his wife. Forbes would take her to their marriage bed. Forbes would father her children. Walter’s stomach roiled with realization after realization of how small he was. How discarded. How broken.

  I gave her everything, Walter said in his mind, screamed and shouted as his heart seemed to shred within his chest. I gave her everything, and she has left me in ruins.

  Gilsland, England

  September 1797

  Adam Ferguson looked over his shoulder and shouted to Walter, who was a full horse’s length behind him. “Did I not tell ya the morning would be splendid?”

  Walter gave his friend a sardonic smile, then kicked his horse to catch up. “You act as though I gave you so much trouble for the invitation,” he said when they were abreast of one another, shaking his head. “But if it will make you feel better, then yes, the morning is splendid, the weather is fine, and I’ve no regrets for having come on this wander-about.”

  Adam smiled widely. “Aye, I just wanted to hear ya say it.”

  “Well now you’ve heard it, ya sop.”

  Adam hooted, giving Walter the chance he needed to lean forward and kick Lenore—the charger he’d purchased some months ago and named after his first publication—into a run. In a flash, Walter was several lengths ahead, and Adam’s shouts were lost in the wind roaring past Walter’s ears.

  Walter bent even lower, so that he could just see between Lenore’s ears, giving the fine horse his head. After Mina’s rejection, Walter had spent a considerable amount of his savings on this horse. He only regretted the purchase when he thought too long on the initial intention of the money, which had been to secure a home for Mina and himself.

  Even a year later, Walter could not go a day without regret filling him near to tears. Nothing was as it had been despite his having gone to great pains to distract himself from his heartache. He’d nearly given up believing the sun would ever shine so brightly as it did when he’d loved Mina and believed she’d loved him too. He had lost himself in his work and helped organize a light dragoon unit in Edinburgh to fill his time, but this trip to northern England was the first time he’d sought out enjoyment. His thoughts would clear now and again, but it was never long before the clouds set in once more and life became gray. Sometimes Walter wondered if he would ever be truly free.

  Mina was married now, Lady Williamina Forbes, and happy by all accounts, though he avoided hearing news of her. He had not seen her since that day at Fettercairn. She and William had a house in Leith, far enough from the city that his path did not cross hers. He did not speak nor write her name. He once left a party when a whisper reached him that she had come with her new husband. When someone had told him she was expecting Forbes’s child, he’d felt physically ill and took to hiking the crags in an attempt to purge his mind.

  That Mina could find happiness when Walter could not rise from his misery was another offense that wounded him. Walter bore William Forbes no ill will; in fact, they had served together in the cavalry. How could Walter fault William for falling in love with Mina? It was Mina’s heart that Walter did not trust.

  The dragoon regiment had given him new purpose. Between the morning drills and occasional duties in quelling local skirmishes, being a soldier had filled whatever time was left over from Walter’s increased work at court. Time on his hands was the bane of his existence, for it was those empty moments when the dreams that had come to naught haunted him the very most.

  When Walter’s friend Charles Kerr had suggested he tour the Cumberland lakes of northern England, Walter felt ready to travel for the first time in a year. He had a break between Court of Sessions in Edinburgh and his additional court responsibilities in Jedburgh in October, and felt it was perhaps time to test his feet on new ground.

  Kerr claimed the lake country of northern England could rival that of the Scottish moors and lochs, and although Walter was determined to prove him wrong, the area was surprisingly similar and thankfully diverting. He had noticed wildflowers. He had smelled pine. He had composed his first verse in almost a year while they made their way through the Cheviots. That his mind had loosened enough to write again was perhaps the biggest indication that he was healing, finally, though the wound still felt raw when he thought on it, which he did. Every day.

  Walter, his older brother, John, and their friend Adam Ferguson had arrived in Gilsland last night in time for a hearty dinner, a few hands of cards in the hotel card room, and an early enough night to allow this morning ride. John hadn’t wanted to venture out so early—he’d become a bit of a layabout once on leave from his military service—leaving Adam and Walter to tame the countryside by themselves.

  There were scheduled evening entertainments all week long in the resort town, including a dance tonight at the hotel, and endless country to explore by day. Walter was glad they’d embarked on this adventure, and hoped that the new people he met and places he saw might replace Mina in his thoughts. If his heart could forget her the way hers had forgotten him, then perhaps he too could move forward.

  Finally, after a mile or more, Walter slowed Lenore, thoroughly invigorated by the exertion and enjoying the tingle on his face. Adam eventually caught up and began defending himself when a flash of blue to the west caught both men’s attention.

  Assuming they had been alone this early in the morning—the sun had only just risen above the hills—both men fell silent, focused on the meadow before them, across which the streak of blue and black was moving quickly from one side to the other.

  Walter spurred his horse forward until he saw a fuller view of the meadow, which was down a slight rise and surrounded by trees. A woman in a rich blue riding habit rode on a fine horse as black as the hair that streamed behind her like a banner. He was not close enough to make out any other features, but her riding was certainly worthy of admiration.

  Adam reined in beside Walter, and they both watched as the woman crossed the center of the meadow, only then beginning to slow and straighten in her sad
dle. Her black hair hung nearly to her waist.

  “Perhaps you should race her next time,” Adam said, pointing his chin at the woman. “I think she might get the best of you.”

  Walter smiled but made no comment as he watched the woman turn the horse with ease, then crouch over the horse’s neck once more and kick her mount into another run. She created another striking picture as she raced to the other side of the meadow, the skirts of her habit billowing like a sail when the air caught them just right.

  “Is she alone?” Adam asked.

  Walter scanned the area for a companion. Surely she hadn’t ridden out alone—not in England. He could see no other riders, however, unless they were beyond the tree line.

  The woman slowed as she reached the far side, but instead of turning for another run across the meadow, she slowed her horse to a canter and disappeared into the trees. Walter and Adam stayed where they were, waiting for her to reappear but she never did.

  “There must be a trail,” Adam said, nodding to the trees. He kicked his horse forward, but Walter reached out and grabbed the sleeve of his coat, causing Adam to stop.

  “We shouldn’t accost her if she is alone.”

  “I’ve no intention of accosting her, only seeing where the trail begins.”

  Walter didn’t want to interrupt the woman in blue for propriety’s sake, but, truth be told, she made him a little nervous. She was out of place, both with the time of day and the extreme riding, to say nothing of her possible lack of companionship. That he could still see the stark blue of her habit and the stream of dark hair in the meadow, despite her disappearance, gave him even greater caution.

  “If she’s staying in Gilsland, we’ll have opportunity to cross her path another time,” Walter said.

  Adam let out a breath.

  “And I’m hungry,” Walter added. “Let’s return to the hotel and enjoy our breakfast now that we’ve had the chance to work up an appetite.”

  “Very well,” Adam said, turning his horse.

  Walter was still looking at the meadow, wondering whether the woman in blue would return, when he heard Adam ho forward. A quick look over his shoulder revealed that Adam was turning Walter’s own challenge upon him.

  “Och,” Walter said, turning Lenore quickly and hunkering down. “Overtake him, Lenore. Have your way!”

  The men arrived at the hotel stables disheveled and breathless, yet Walter felt light as air inside. He had managed to overtake Adam at the end, which left Adam sputtering.

  “My horse is older than yours, and not used to such extreme exercise.”

  Walter laughed. “Better luck next time, my friend.”

  He dismounted and handed Lenore over to the stableman along with the coin to pay for a good brushing and a bag of oats. On a horse, Walter was equal to every other man, but it took just one step for him to be reminded of his deficiencies on land.

  When Adam finished handing over his own horse, the men fell in step together, only to be brought up short when the woman in blue emerged from the road on the opposite end of the grounds.

  She guided her horse to the stable and then dismounted, unattended, from her sidesaddle, expertly throwing her long riding skirts over her arm, then murmuring to her horse as she stroked the fine animal’s neck. Her black hair was windblown, and when she glanced in their direction, Walter noted her olive-toned skin and dark eyes—as out of place as she and her horse had been in the meadow.

  The title of “dark lady” from Shakespeare’s sonnets came to Walter’s mind along with the air of mystery the title evoked. She gave the men a quick smile, then turned and led her horse into the stable without a second glance. There was no one else with her; it seemed she had been riding alone after all.

  Adam whistled under his breath. “I’m going to dance with that woman tonight, Walter,” he said as though it were a matter of fact. “Mark my word.”

  Adam wore his dragoon uniform to the dance, which was attended almost entirely by visitors to the resort town, and John wore his full regimentals. Walter, however, chose his standard evening dress: black trousers and coat, with a green waistcoat. He looked dull compared to his comrades, but he had never been one for vanity and it was not as though he would be dancing.

  In fact, this was the first dance he had attended in over a year. He had attended such functions in the past to see Mina or to spend time with his friends if she were not in Edinburgh. Without her in his life, he had nothing to look forward to at such events. And yet he was here. It was time to move forward with his life without Mina. Somehow.

  The three men entered the ballroom connected to the hotel, and, as Walter had expected, the men in uniform easily drew the eyes of the women in attendance. It was a fine room, with vaulted ceilings, large windows, and a massive chandelier boasting at least a hundred candles.

  Walter scanned the guests, made up of all levels of gentry, without the expectation of knowing anyone. However, midway through the inspection of the room, his eyes stopped on a young woman with dark hair piled on her head, a slim figure, and olive skin. She wore a pink dress tonight, but Walter was certain she was the dark lady he’d seen in the blue riding habit that morning.

  Walter felt the same nervousness he’d felt the first time he’d seen her. The feeling wasn’t sinister, just . . . anxious. Perhaps the very fact that she stood out, when every other woman this last year had faded into the background, was what caused the sensation. He had not noticed a woman for such a long time, and he wasn’t entirely sure he wanted to notice any woman now—even a striking, exotic one. All women seemed dangerous these days, deceptive and greedy. Yet he didn’t look away from the dark lady.

  She was watching the newcomers, but then her companion, a plump woman of at least thirty years, whispered something in her ear and diverted her attention. The dark lady nodded, then walked with her companion toward the refreshment table.

  Walter watched her go. She did not look back.

  There were perhaps sixty people in attendance, more men than women, surprisingly, which meant Walter would not have to worry about making small talk with women awaiting their turn on the floor. Because the women would be easily occupied, he would likely be able to find conversation with the extra men, a far more comfortable prospect in his mind.

  Because Gilsland was so close to the Scottish border, just through the Cheviots, he imagined the company was equally divided between Scottish and English, though he’d wager the dark lady had neither of those origins.

  “There she is,” Adam said. He took hold of John’s forearm and pointed with his chin toward the dark lady. She was sipping tea and speaking with two men who looked like brothers.

  “Och, she is rather exotic, isn’t she?” John said, straightening his shoulders.

  “Just as I said,” Adam confirmed. “I’m going to get an introduction so that I might ask for the first dance, but you can follow after if you like.”

  The orchestra had not begun yet, so Walter watched Adam cross the floor and bow before the lady, envying how easily Adam could make any lady’s acquaintance. Since Mina’s rejection, Walter’s confidence was as wobbly as his leg. He turned away and surveyed where he might find the best seat. He deeply missed the pub areas of the Scottish assembly halls. Had there truly been a time when Walter had enjoyed entertainments like this? Had he looked forward to such events, rather than attending out of a sense of obligation?

  Walter took a rather cryptic pride in the fact that he was wiser than he’d been a year ago. No longer was he a man of fantasy and fairy tales. Life was not so sweet as he’d once believed, rather it was lined with brambles. Now that he knew, he hoped to avoid them completely.

  When the music began, John hurried off to find a partner—a blonde in a green dress—while Adam led the dark lady to the floor. Walter found a chair next to an older gentleman with kind eyes and quickly engaged the man in conversation. Mr. G
rimm, it turned out, was in Gilsland with his daughter—he pointed her out on the floor dancing with a very tall man. They were visiting from Leeds. Walter soon had the man relaying stories from his years of service in the King’s Navy. The telling of those tales was so gripping that Walter lost track of time until a pair of well-polished boots stopped directly in front of him. Walter looked from the boots to Adam’s teasing grin, then immediately to the woman on Adam’s arm. It was her, the dark lady, with a careful expression on her round face as she regarded Walter with large brown eyes.

  Walter excused himself from Mr. Grimm and stood, careful to put his weight on his left leg. His palms began to sweat, and he wondered what Adam was about.

  “Walter Scott,” Adam said. “This is Miss Charlotte Carpenter, of Bracknell.” He turned toward the woman. “Miss Carpenter, this is my good friend Mr. Walter Scott of Edinburgh.”

  “Pleased to meet you,” Walter said, bowing.

  Miss Carpenter gave a slight curtsy. “Mr. Ferguson says dat you would like to escort me to supper,” she said with a lilt to her words. French, Walter thought, though the accent was not strong enough for him to tell for sure.

  Walter looked past her to the other couples pairing up outside the open doors leading to the dining room. Supper already? That meant he’d been talking to Mr. Grimm for some time.

  “I would be honored, Miss Carpenter,” Walter said, smiling politely. Adam stepped aside, allowing Walter to take his place, the men exchanging a glance in the process. Adam winked so that Miss Carpenter couldn’t see, and Walter narrowed his eyes. He did not want this, but that was likely why Adam had orchestrated it. None of the machinations, however, were Miss Carpenter’s fault, and Walter would not be rude.

  “I hope you will save me a place after supper,” Walter said to Mr. Grimm, who had watched the exchange with a bemused smile on his face.

  Adam excused himself, leaving Walter and Miss Carpenter to find their own way to a table.