Chapter Five
“Whatever you do, Portia, do not wear your spectacles,” Lady Maclean ordered in a furious whisper as they came into sight of Borrodale’s barn. She, Portia and Minnie rode in the pony cart all bundled up in their sensible woolen cloaks over their finery. Portia was driving.
The barn was a huge stone building and the site of numerous dances through the year, although this was the first the Macleans would attend.
Tonight the building was lit with what seemed to be a hundred torches.
A crowd was already gathered, and the sound of music and laughter could be heard all around.
“Yes, Mother,” Portia murmured with a hint of annoyance.
“Then take them off now,” her mother said.
“Wouldn’t you rather I see where I’m going this last bit of the way?” Portia demanded. “Or shall we just trot over people?”
“Oh, what nonsense,” Lady Maclean said, plucking the lenses right off Portia’s nose. “You see perfectly well without them.” She tucked Portia’s precious glasses into her reticule.
Portia didn’t see “perfectly well” . . . but she did see well enough. Unfortunately, she found she could develop a headache if she went without them for too long.
Minnie didn’t say one word and hadn’t most of the day. She seemed caught up in her own sad world. As Portia drove the cart to where the other vehicles were lined up, Minnie stirred and looked to the barn.
Their mother smiled. “He will be sorry,” she promised Minnie in a soft voice.
Minnie nodded, her expression grim.
Portia assumed they were speaking of Mr. Tolliver and found herself sympathizing with him.
It wasn’t as if he’d abandoned Minnie. Their mother had warned him away, it wasn’t as if he’d run.
He was not the sort of man who had time to fight over a woman.
He was a doctor. But she knew better than to express her opinion at this point—and if Minnie didn’t care so much, then she wouldn’t be believing the worst in the man.
Women always fretted over whether a man liked them when they cared.
Of course, Portia had never fallen in love, and wasn’t likely to at this late date, so she couldn’t speak from experience.
Local boys came running to help them with their pony, Honey, and watch the cart for them. Portia gave them a coin and then followed her mother and sister inside. She was several steps behind them, so she had a good vantage point to see everyone’s reactions to Minnie’s arrival.
The spirit was merry in the barn, which was like no barn Portia had ever seen before. The interior was enormous, with patterned stone floors and high ceiling beams. There was room for vehicles and equipment. Of course, everything, including the animals, had been moved out.
The rafters rang with music, laughter and greetings, and the place, especially by the door, was an absolute crush. Everyone of importance in the valley seemed to be there.
The guests were all in their finest. There was a kilt here and there, and most of the men and women proudly sported a bit of plaid in this once hotbed of Jacobite sympathies.
Lighting was provided by oil lamps hanging from the barn’s beams. The musicians were two gentlemen with pianoforte and violin.
One wouldn’t think that such a small group could create enough sound to be heard above the conversations, but they did.
The dancing was already going strong. Long tables decorated with evergreens and holly leaves, and holding punch bowls and platters of food, lined the wall farthest from the entrance.
Portia feared what the dancing would be like after all the punch in those bowls had been consumed, although it appeared a good number of the guests had been tippling before they’d arrived.
Expectation and excitement were in the air. There was no class structure here. Everyone in the countryside was all decked out in their finest and had gathered in this barn to celebrate the season.
Lady Maclean led their way into the barn.
Such was her presence, people created a path for her.
Or perhaps they were taken aback by the three large, green ostrich plumes she wore in her hair.
The hair decoration was common in London, but not so much here in the Highlands, and the Scots acted as if her mother was some grand peacock who had arrived to strut in their midst.
However, what started people whispering, what made them step back and really take notice, was not their mother. It was Minnie.
It started with the younger men—clearly still in their teens—who stood at the door to assist guests with their cloaks.
Portia watched in fascination as a red-faced lad offered to help Minnie with her cloak, his voice cracking with nervousness as he spoke to her.
Minnie, oblivious to the trueness of her beauty, smiled, and the poor lad almost swooned from being the focus of her attention.
His hands shook as he helped remove the garment from her shoulders.
And then a hush seemed to fall over all the males within a ten-foot radius around Minnie as they took in how incredibly beautiful she was.
The dress was perfect for Minnie’s figure and probably worth the goodly amount of money paid for it.
It was a snowy white muslin decorated with layers of lace and trimmed with white ribbon.
The cut emphasized the fullness of Minnie’s breasts and the gentle curve of her hip.
She wore a white ribbon at her neck and had styled her blonde hair in loose curls high upon her head.
The crowd, which at first had reminded Portia of nothing more than a group of happy puppies climbing all over one another, took on form as men caught sight of her sister and stepped forward.
They were blocked in their pursuit by Lady Maclean, who, with a rap of her fan upon her gloved hand and a shake of her ostrich feathers, let it be known that this beauty was chaperoned.
So of course the men queued up to make their introductions and pay their respects to Her Ladyship before receiving a nod to speak to her daughter.
At first, Minnie appeared startled by the fuss she’d created. Her nature was such that she didn’t see herself as others did. She didn’t realize how truly stunning her looks were.
Minnie started to turn to Portia as if searching for support, but then her gaze riveted on a sight beyond Portia’s shoulder.
Portia turned to look directly where her sister stared. Mr. Tolliver stood off by a punch table, speaking to two not-uncomely women. He acted very interested in what they were saying and seemed not to have noticed Minnie’s arrival.
So then Minnie did what every woman in the room would have done, she began flirting with a vengeance and in short order was being led toward the dance floor where the dancers were taking positions for the next set.
“May I help you with your cloak, Miss Maclean?” Portia heard a man ask. “Seems a pity you haven’t joined us yet.” She turned to see it was a smiling Mr. Buchanan.
“Thank you, sir,” she said. She’d been so concerned for her sister, she’d not seen to her own needs. As for her mother, Lady Maclean was holding court with the young men left behind. She was obviously keeping a tally. There would be much reliving of this evening for months to come.
The duke’s man removed her cloak, saying, “We don’t stand on much ceremony here, not for the Christmas Assembly. As you can see, it is open to one and all. What’s important is that we enjoy a bit of merriment.”
“I’m looking forward to the evening,” Portia answered.
“Even introductions are easy,” he advised her. “As the punch bowls empty, we become very friendly. Beware. The lads will dance your feet off.”
“I thank you for the warning, sir.” Of course, Portia rarely danced. Not any longer. She was too old.
Certainly, she didn’t expect to cause a stir in any form close to her sister.
Her dress was a creamy muslin she’d worn to a family gathering years ago during better times.
It was trimmed in green ribbon so she thought it festive .
. . although she did feel a bit too aged for the gown.
The dress had been fashioned for her younger self. Her hopeful self.
And because she hadn’t any expectations for the evening, she hadn’t done anything with her hair other than what she normally did.
She’d just pulled it back with a matching ribbon from her dress.
She wished she had her glasses. She could see, but they had also come to offer protection over the years.
They made it easier for her to be the plainer sister.
“I have the money we owe for rent. We don’t want to upset the duke’s daughter any more than we already have, but I warn you, sir, Minnie is going to be an uncommon success tonight.”
“You are right, however, I’m not certain Lady Emma cares about the competition your sister may give her for being the belle of the countryside.
As you can see, her attentions are firmly fixed, which is one of the reasons so many of our bucks came running to claim your sister’s attention.
” He nodded toward the other side of the barn as he spoke.
Portia had been introduced to Lady Emma at church. The girl was all of eighteen with creamy skin, black-as-a-raven’s-wing hair and blue eyes—just the sort of Scottish lass troubadours would have lauded in songs.
She was also willful and condescending. Portia usually steered clear of her, as did Minnie.
But right now, all of Lady Emma’s attention was claimed by a man, a tall man, one who was familiar to Portia—the English Chattan.
For a second, all Portia could do was stare. Mr. Buchanan was introducing his wife to her, a pretty woman with merry eyes, but Portia listened with only half an ear.