Wolf, Joan

by Highland Sunset

  "Just give me half an hour with Vanessa, darling," Lady Linton interposed. "The cream satin ball gown needs only one more fitting."

  "Very well. Mama," Edward replied with resignation. He was already dressed for riding in a rust-colored coat and tan breeches that showed off his long, muscular legs.

  "I'll meet you down at the stables," Van said.

  His eyes just touched hers. "Very well," he said again. "I'll have one of the footmen escort you."

  "I know my way, thank you," Van replied irritably.

  He cocked a golden eyebrow and then nodded.

  "Come along, Vanessa," Lady Linton said. "We don't want to keep Edward waiting too long."

  An hour later Van arrived at the stables dressed in her green riding habit. One of the grooms immediately came over to her. "His lordship is riding Marcus in the paddock, my lady. I'll go tell him you're here."

  "That won't be necessary," Van said. "I'll go." She could see a horse and rider circling the paddock immediately behind the carriage house and she moved in that direction.

  Edward was riding Marcus in a large circle in one corner of the paddock. He was, as usual, bareheaded, and the April sun beat down on his bright hair and the richly shining dark bay coat of the stallion.

  Van's throat began to ache strangely. The two of them were so beautiful, moved in such perfect harmony together. As she watched, Marcus turned his shoulder slightly and, still traveling forward in a soft, springy trot, began to cross his inside legs over in front of his outside ones.

  Van's mouth dropped slightly open. She had never seen anything like that before. Then, smoothly and softly, with no perceptible movement on Edward's part, Marcus came back to trotting forward normally. As Van watched, he slowed the trot even more but came further off the ground at each step. It seemed, in fact, as if he hung in the air, the great, powerful stallion as light as a current of air himself.

  Marcus came down to a walk and Edward leaned forward to pat his neck. Then he looked up and saw Van at the rail.

  "Sorry," he said as he came up to her. "Have you been here long?"

  "No." Van's great eyes were fixed on Marcus. "That was beautiful," she said, almost reverently.

  "He's good," Edward agreed, patting the stallion again. He looked over Van's head. "Is Mallow ready?" he asked.

  "Aye, my lord. She's coming."

  "Good. Open the gate for me, please."

  The groom hastened to do the earl's bidding and Edward and Marcus came out to stand by Van. She still could not get over how quiet the obviously highly bred horse was, how tractable.

  "Here's Mallow now," Edward said, and Van let a groom give her a leg up into the saddle. She was much less tense this time and was able to sit relaxed and easy as the two horses walked out of the stableyard together.

  Van filled her lungs with air. It felt so good to be outdoors.

  "Beginning to feel a little caged?" the deep voice next to her inquired.

  She shot him a sideways look. "I'm accustomed to spending a great deal of time out-of-doors."

  He didn't reply and after a minute she asked, because she was intensely curious, "What was that you were doing with Marcus back in the paddock?"

  His splendid profile was grave, unreadable. "Just some exercises," he replied.

  "Can Mallow do them?" Van persisted.

  He looked at her. "He can do the shoulder-in, but his passage is nothing at all like Marcus'."

  "Passage?" she inquired.

  "That slow, highly cadenced trot we were doing."

  "Did you teach the horses to do those things?"

  She got his profile again. "Yes."

  Van was damned if she'd ask him any more questions. She directed her own gaze to the path in front of her and pretended she was alone.

  "I'd better bring Mallow up to London for you," he said finally as they came out of the home woods onto one of the farm roads. "You'll want to do some riding in Hyde Park."

  Van wasn't quite sure if her riding was up to London traffic, but she remembered the confinement of the last week and decided she'd rather look a fool outdoors than be relegated to the house all the time. "Thank you," she said expressionlessly. At that moment a dog erupted into the road in front of them, barking excitedly. Mallow began to dance around, but by this time Van was confident enough to sit calmly and tell him firmly to whoa. Marcus had his ears back but otherwise was quiet. A child dashed into the road after the dog and after a missed try or two finally grabbed it. Then he looked up at the earl and said guiltily, "I'm sorry, my lord."

  Edward looked sternly at the tousle-haired youngster. Van judged the boy to be about seven. "You never even looked before you ran out into the road, Jem."

  "S-sorry, my lord,'" the child repeated. He stared fearlessly up at Edward. "I didn't mean to hurt you or the lady."

  "You are the one who would have been trampled," the earl replied emphatically. He looked then with distaste at the shabby ball of fur in the child's arms. "I hope you are keeping that mongrel away from my cattle."

  "I am that, my lord." The boy's eyes began to sparkle. "Sam's ever so smart, my lord. I'm learning him all sorts of tricks."

  "How delightful. Have you ever tried teaching him the trick of a bath?"

  "Oh, yes, my lord," Jem replied blithely. "Only, he rolled in the pig's mud this morning."

  At that Edward grinned. "He looks it. Get along with you, lad, back to your mother. The next time I come by, I'll expect to see those tricks."

  The boy grinned back. "Yes, my lord!" Then he obediently raced to the house.

  A reminiscent smiled lingered around the earl's mouth as the two horses started forward again. "I remember that age very well," he murmured nostalgically. "One never walked, one ran. And one's dog always seemed to be rolling in mud puddles."

  Van thought for a minute and then her elegant nose wrinkled. "I think I'm still in that stage," she said doubtfully, and at that he threw back his golden head and roared.

  "Do you raise cattle?" Van asked when his mirth had subsided.

  "Yes. Beef is coming more and more into demand." He guided Marcus around a fallen branch and Van followed. "Cattle raising is one of the main occupations of the Highlands, I believe," he said to her over his shoulder.

  "Yes. And we farm as well. The soil is rocky and hard, nothing like what you have here, but we plant corn. We fish. Mother has a huge kitchen garden filled with vegetables."

  She came up alongside him again. "Do you sell your beef to the Lowlands?" he asked.

  "No." Van's voice was cool and reserved. "We do all our trading out of Inverness. To France."

  "Ah," he said very quietly. "Of course. To France."

  The air between them, momentarily thawed by the incident with the dog, was frozen once more.

  The following day they left for the Lintons' house in London. England's capital was the first large city Van had ever seen—Edinburgh was a mere village in comparison—and she was overwhelmed by its magnitude.

  Linton House was a stately, sumptuous residence in the relatively new Grosvenor Square. Lady Linton informed Van that it had been built by her husband ten years previously. All the rooms were large and grand, either perfectly square or perfectly rectangular. Van thought of Creag an Fhithich, where no room resembled any other, and felt a stab of homesickness.

  Edward disappeared for the evening and Van went to bed early, pleading fatigue from the trip. The following morning the earl brought Carlo Martelli to see her.

  Van had dressed for the morning in a dress made of some soft apricot material and her hair was dressed loosely in long ringlets on the nape of her neck. She was running through some practice exercises when Edward arrived with the musician.

  Signore Martelli was a slight, dark man whose large brown eyes regarded Van with an expression of kindly patience. "I have come to hear you," he announced, "because Lord Linton asked this of me. You wish to improve your performance, eh?"

  "I wish to learn to play better," Van said.


  "Prego," the Italian replied. He walked to the harpsichord and looked through the music there. "This." He selected a sheet and placed it on the music rack. "Play that," he said.

  Van swallowed nervously and her eyes went to Edward. He nodded to her once, gravely, and she went to the instrument and sat down. The Italian had chosen a piece by Handel that Van knew quite well.

  At first the keys seemed strange under her fingers. She could feel how stiff her back was and her eyes followed the music in front of her with frantic attention. Gradually, however, the strangeness disappeared and the music took hold.

  When she finished she felt that familiar moment of quiet deep within herself and then she turned around. Edward was not looking at her and Van could not quite bring herself to look at Signore Martelli.

  "Play it again, please," the Italian said, and at that she did look. His eyes were directly on her, only now, instead of patient kindness they were filled with anticipation. "Again," he repeated softly, and Van turned back to the keyboard.

  "You have a very great talent," the musician said when Van had finished her second rendition. "But I must ask you this—are you willing to work?"

  "Oh, yes," Van breathed, her light eyes glowing.

  "I mean work hard." The dark eyes looking at her were stern. "I will make you do it again and again and yet again, until you are ready to weep. Do you understand?"

  Van's chin came up. "Yes," she said firmly. "I understand. And I am willing to work."

  "Very well." The Italian turned to Edward. "I will come tomorrow morning at nine o'clock, my lord."

  "Thank you, maestro," Edward replied. "You do Lady Vanessa a great honor."

  "Yes," the musician returned superbly. Then, "I only come for you. Never did I expect to find this," and he gestured grandly toward Van. He turned to the door and Edward followed to escort him out. "Such a pity," Van heard the Italian saying, "that she is a lady."

  "Why is it a pity that I am a lady?" Van asked Edward when he returned to the drawing room.

  He had not sat down but was standing at the chimneypiece, his shoulders comfortably propped against the marble. He was dressed in riding clothes and he slapped a whip thoughtfully against a polished boot as he regarded her. "I believe he feels a talent like yours should be shared with others, but the daughter of an earl can hardly go on the concert stage."

  Van frowned. "I do want to get better," she said. "I want to be the best I can be. But not for others. I want it for myself."

  He was regarding her with a strange look in his eyes. "I suppose that sounds selfish," Van said defensively.

  "No," he replied. "Just rare. Most people require the approval of others." The whip in his hands had stilled.

  "Thank you for bringing Signore Martelli." Van spoke with difficulty but it had to be said.

  He smiled at her, his blue eyes suddenly full of that lazy sunshine he bestowed so generously on others and so seldom on her. "It was my pleasure," he replied. He straightened up, away from the chimneypiece. "I won't disturb you further, however. I know you have only begun to play."

  Van's eyes followed him all the way to the door.

  CHAPTER 7

  Van's first venture into English society came the following evening with the Duchess of Newcastle's ball. Van had never seen anything on the scale of this entertainment. First there was the crush of carriages on the street, where they had to wait in line for nearly half an hour before they reached the door of Newcastle House and could alight. Then there was the crowd of people in the great hall and on the stairs. The air was filled with the fragrances of conflicting perfumes and hair powders and the noise of more than a hundred people talking at once.

  "My, what a crush," Lady Linton said next to Van. She sounded pleased. Van drew a deep breath and fought down a rising feeling of suffocation. Her eyes searched the crowd for Edward, who had been unceremoniously annexed at the door by an elderly man in an elaborate wig.

  "Where is Edward?" Lady Linton asked, echoing Van's own thoughts. Her "Oh, good, there he is" came seconds after Van had spotted him herself.

  He was crossing the room toward them as easily as if it had been empty. People seemed simply to fall away before him. Just so must the waters have parted for Moses, Van thought with a flash of mingled annoyance and admiration. To do him justice, it wasn't as if he seemed even to notice the effect his crossing created. He simply walked forward serenely, his unpowdered golden head inches higher than everyone else's his shoulders in their elegant blue velvet coat inches wider. He reached Van and Lady Linton, smiled genially, and asked, "Shall we go upstairs?"

  The duke and duchess were receiving their guests at the entrance to the ballroom. The duchess and Lady Linton fell into each other's arms and then Lady Linton presented Van.

  "So," the duchess said, her blue-gray eyes looking Van up and down, "this is Vanessa."

  "How do you do, your grace," Van murmured coolly.

  The duchess's eyes sparkled with approval. "She is perfect," she announced to Lady Linton. "The Ridley girl will have a rival this season." She nodded wisely at Lady Linton. "You were wise, Katherine, not to powder her hair." Van's hand was squeezed and then dropped. The duchess's whole face then lit up. "Ah, Linton. How good to see you here with your mama."

  Van's face was wearing its most austere expression as they proceeded into the ballroom. She did not at all care for the way the duchess seemed to regard her as a dressed-up doll.

  She was certainly dressed up, however, she thought as they came down the few steps that led to the ballroom. She was wearing her first formal ball gown, a creation of golden silk whose full skirts were spread wide by twin panniers. The gown's bodice was cut lower than anything Van had ever worn and ended in a point just below her waist. Her hair was dressed with golden roses, and high on her right cheek Lady Linton's dresser had placed a small black patch. Van had shrugged and let the woman do as she wished, not realizing how effectively the patch called attention to the blackness of her brows and lashes and the contrasting lightness of her eyes.

  The ballroom was filled with people. Unconsciously, Van moved a step closer to Edward. He put his hand under her elbow and began to talk to her easily.

  In two minutes they were surrounded by people wanting to be introduced.

  When the music finally started up, Van was immensely relieved to find that she was to dance the first dance with Edward. As she walked out on the floor, her hand in his, she glanced up at his profile and said with a flash of wry amusement, "I never thought I'd be happy to see you!"

  He threw her a mocking look. "Feeling a little overwhelmed?"

  "Feeling smothered," she returned promptly. "Dhé, but there's a crowd of people here."

  "There is. And they all want to meet you." He grinned. "Mama has surely been busy."

  "I feel like some sort of an exhibit," Van said a little acidly.

  "Not at all. You are a very beautiful young lady." Van was startled by the thrill of pleasure his words gave her. Did he really think her beautiful? A hint of steel came into his voice. "Just remember that, please, and don't start proselytizing about the bloody Stuarts."

  Van glared up at him. "You don't have to give me a lecture on manners," she said through clenched teeth. He was such a condescending Sassenach bastard, she thought forcefully, and jerked her hand away from his to take her place in the line for the dance.

  She remembered her dance with Edward very well, but the rest of her partners were a uniform blur. The one other person she did notice that evening was the extremely lovely girl whom Edward seemed to be spending so much time with.

  "Who is the girl with Edward?" she asked Lady Linton during the one brief moment they were alone. Van had never learned the trick of obtaining information slyly. If she wanted to know something, she asked.

  "That is Miss Caroline Ridley," Lady Linton replied promptly. "Isn't she lovely?"

  Caroline Ridley's hair, also unpowdered, was almost as golden as Edward's. Her eyes, Van thought sourly, were probab
ly blue. "Yes," she said. "Very lovely."

  "It's about time Edward married," the countess said firmly. "He's had a number of years to enjoy himself, but now it's time for him to set up his nursery. He was twenty-seven this year."

  Van stared at Lady Linton. "Does he love Miss Ridley?"

  "Why shouldn't he?" the countess returned a little defensively. "She comes from an excellent family, is extremely beautiful and very charming. She appears to be a perfectly lovable girl to me."

  Van was astonished by this point of view. "One doesn't love people simply because they are lovable, Cousin Katherine," she said.

  Lady Linton stared at her son. "I don't see why not."

  Why not? thought Van. Well, if what Lady Linton had just said were true, she, for instance, would love Alan MacDonald. Alan was also perfectly lovable. The fact was, however, that Van had scarcely spared him a thought since she left Scotland. Her thoughts at this point were interrupted by two young men who, it appeared, desired to be presented to her. Van repressed a sigh and forced herself to make polite conversation.

  The following morning Signore Martelli arrived at nine o'clock and Van, who had not got to bed until three in the morning, was waiting for him. After her lesson she discovered that almost a roomful of flowers had arrived for her. The flowers were followed by a series of male callers, all of whom wished to take her driving in the park.

  Van did go driving with Viscount Standish, principally because she discovered that he was the eldest son of the Marquis of Altop, one of the English Tory nobles her father had desired to know about.

  It was a very depressing afternoon. "I am familiar with your family, Lord Standish," Van said almost as soon as they reached the park.

  "You are?" The young viscount looked both surprised and pleased. "How is that, Lady Vanessa?"

  "I believe your father and mine have the same principles," Van said meaningfully.

  The viscount's slightly chubby face was puzzled. "Have our fathers met?"