Chapter 15
At least this will take my mind off the fact that Papa has found me, and the earl might be here soon too, Paisley thought, eyeing her reflection.
At the time, bringing her favorite gown seemed ridiculous, pointless, and plain foolish. Now, she couldn't help but feel a little smug. The gown hadn't taken up that much space in her bags, and she did, after all, look very nice in it.
"It's the most beautiful dress I've ever seen." Ava said approvingly. "Give me a twirl, lassie."
Paisley obeyed, spinning around so that her beaded skirts swung out around her.
The gown in question was her coming-out dress, commissioned especially for her very first ball, her coming-out ball, hosted at their home.
It was made out of lengths of white silk, decorated with pearls and beads climbing up from the hem towards the waistline, like ivy climbing a wall, and delicate patterns of lace across the bodice.
The neckline was especially daring. It was high, almost to her collarbones, but the curve of the neckline only skimmed the tips of her shoulders, forming tiny, frilly sleeves. Of course, with the long silk gloves she was required to wear, only a few inches of her arm would be exposed, but still.
She remembered how her mama had been dubious about the gown, but Paisley had insisted. The ball had been a huge success, and Paisley had been thrilled to see a lot of other young ladies – even other debutantes – wearing gowns whose necklines only skimmed the tips of their shoulders, just like hers.
It was the first and only time she'd started a fashion trend, and it was thrilling.
"I felt so beautiful in this dress when I wore it." Paisley remarked, smoothing out the beaded skirts. "I loved it. It was such a pity I couldn't wear it again."
Ava, lounging on the bed with a tattered book in her hands, snorted.
"Why could ye not wear it again?"
Paisley sighed, shrugging. "A coming-out dress is a special thing, almost like a wedding dress. There are some occasions where it would be permissible to wear it again, but not many. There'd be a lot of talk if you turned up to a regular ball or party wearing it."
"So what? Let them talk."
Paisley smiled wryly. "It doesn't work like that. Talk is powerful. Talk can make or break somebody, especially a lady. Our reputations are made of spun glass."
"It's ridiculous." Ava muttered. "It's unfair. What would they do if all of ye ladies collectively decided that it was all nonsense, and that ye worth wasn't decided by other people? What then?"
Paisley paused, considering. "Honestly, I don't know. it's never happened before, and I'm starting to think that it never will."
"It will," Ava said absently, turning a page in her book. "One day, I can guarantee it."
Hoofbeats sounded on the cobbles outside, and a skitter of nerves pattered in her chest.
"He's here," she said, suddenly breathless. "I'd better go down."
Ava smiled to herself. "Aye, don't keep him waiting. Have fun. Daenae dae anything I wouldnae dae! Or rather, daenae dae anything I would."
Paisley shot her a look and didn't bother to reply.
She hurried down the stairs and out of the foyer, ignoring the stares she received as she went. Outside it was cold and icy, with a hint of sleet in the air. Paisley wished, not for the first time, that she'd taken the long gloves and shawl to match the dress.
A carriage was waiting for her outside. It was all black, highly polished, drawn by glossy black horses. A lantern bobbed on the side of the carriage, lighting up the dark, and through the pulled shutters in the carriage window, she could see a beam of light from inside, too.
The carriage driver didn't bother to get down and open the door for her, so Paisley pulled open the door herself, climbing in quickly to get out of the cold.
Dominic was sprawled inside, his long legs taking up most of the space inside. He was wearing a fine linen shirt, a kilt in a tartan that she assumed was MacLennan tartan, and a plaid wrapped around himself.
He stared at her, mouth slightly open, eyes huge before turning hungry.
Paisley pulled the door closed and arranged herself on the seat opposite, primly shaking out her skirts.
"You look like you've seen a ghost," she said. Suddenly, her daring neckline seemed far too exposed, and her bare skin broke into goosebumps. She was aware that with her hair pinned up on top of her head the way it was, the curve of her neck and shoulders was very much on show.
Was it too much? Would she be thrown out of the Ceilidh for immodesty, shaming Dominic and making an absolute fool of herself?
I didn't even feel this self-conscious of my gown when I wore it in front of all of London, Paisley thought wryly, lifting a hand to rub at the back of her neck.
"Is it too much?" she burst out. "I do have other dresses, although this is by far the nicest one I..."
"Nay," Dominic interrupted. "Nay, that's a beautiful dress. Ye look... well, it makes ye look... uh, very nice. It suits ye."
Was this the infamous Dominic Sutherland, stuttering? Paisley shifted uncomfortably on her seat, trying not to meet his eyes. His gaze was burning into her, hungry and intent, just like the previous evening.
Desire sparked in Paisley's gut, more powerful than before. If she'd thought that the things they'd done last night would cool off her desire, she was quite wrong about that. If anything, it had made them worse.
Then Dominic looked away, clearing his throat, and broke the tense moment between them. Lifting his fist, he banged on the roof of the carriage, and the vehicle lurched forward.
"It willnae be a long journey," he said, his voice sounding tight and a little hoarse. He wasn't looking at her now, and had his hands clenched tight into fists. "We'll be there soon."
"Oh. Good." Paisley managed lamely.
Keep MacLennan was not what Paisley had expected. There was a sort of attitude back home about Scottish lairds, that they lived a primitive life in stone and wood huts, cooking food over open fires. She'd known, in a vague sort of way, that couldn't be true, but the reality was something else.
The Keep was huge, bigger than the finest stately homes Paisley had visited, all rugged stone and smooth, polished marble flags on the floor. The ceilings were cavernous, set in rooms older than anything else Paisley had ever known.
Colorful and probably priceless tapestries hung on the wall, along with large, exquisite paintings.
The main room – the Great Hall, Dominic had said – was vast, at least twice as large as their ballroom back home.
It was warmed by a huge stone hearth in which a gigantic fire blazed, and wooden tables lined the walls, full of food and drink.
There were rushes on the floor, which was a very old-fashioned thing to do, and not something Paisley had ever encountered before. But the rushes – interspersed with dried wildflowers and bunches of herbs – were soft under her feet and let off a delicious savory-sweet scent of greenery and herbs.
"Well?" Dominic said, his voice low in her ear. "What do ye think?"
"It's beautiful." she breathed. "You live here?"
"Aye, I do. Well, not at the moment, actually, but it is mine."
"Why wouldn't you want to live in a place like this?" Paisley breathed.
Dominic paused, glancing around, following her gaze.
"That's not a bad point." he murmured. "Not bad at all."
They enjoyed a full five minutes to take in the breathtaking place, then other people noticed they were there.
There was an immediate flurry of excitement. Some people headed straight towards them, and others contented themselves with hanging back, craning their necks to see.
Paisley at once noticed that nobody else was wearing a gown like hers. Some of the finer ladies wore dresses of silk and satin, but nowhere near as elaborate as hers. Most of them wore wool dresses, pretty but plain.
And yet the gazes directed her way weren't jealous or angry. The other women were smiling at her, whispering among themselves, admiring her dress. When Paisley smiled nervously at them, they smiled back.
"Laird MacLennan!" boomed a man in his fifties, entirely bald and hugely fat, waddling across the room towards them. "What a pleasure to see ye. We thought ye would not turn up. And who is this fine beauty?"
"My name is Paisley." Paisley spoke up, before Dominic could say a thing. She was tired of letting other people speak for her, tired of being introduced by others. "Paisley Burton."
"Lady Paisley is me betrothed." Dominic said shortly, staring at the man as if daring him to argue.
She extended a hand, careful to angle it so that he would have to shake it, instead of bestowing a flourishing kiss on her knuckles.
The man gave her a small, approving smile, and shook her hand.
"It's a pleasure to meet ye. Me name is James, the chief councilor here at Keep MacLennan. It's been a fair while since we had an English woman here, but ye are very welcome."
Paisley smiled back, beginning to feel relieved. She'd expected dirty looks, glares, and snubbing. It wasn't like English Society here. Not at all.
There was a tiny cough beside her, and Paisley looked around to see a young girl of no more than ten beside her, wearing a tartan skirt with a linen shirt on top. She was twisting her fingers together nervously and glanced back at an older woman – possibly her older sister – behind her.
The older woman smiled and nodded encouragingly at her sister.
"I like yer dress very well, me lady." the little girl said nervously. "Me name is Dora, and that is the prettiest dress I have ever seen. We only wear wool gowns, as it is usually too cold for anything else."
The older sister whispered something in Gaelic at the girl – Dora – and she blushed.