Page 26 of A Highland Lass for the English Duke

Whatever else she thought of her highfalutin cousin, Lissie could not fault her style. And she had to admit, she had thrown her all into attempting to civilize her. And when Lady Agnes gave something her all, everyone knew about it. Subsequently, Lissie had been to every lord's townhouse this side of the Thames.

In the last three weeks there was no ball, joust, or hunt she had not been to; night after night, day after day, and she was beginning to flag.

Taking in the early evening air, Lissie gave a deep sigh. It was a beautiful night. The drenched pink sun was setting, sending the evening into gentle darkness. Out there, in the distance, spring was happening; buds were blooming, birds were singing. Lissie knew that the Duncan glen would be especially beautiful with the scent of grass in the air.

Except, in crowded London, it was hard to find. No matter where she was, the commotion of hammers and banging followed everywhere. From the smell of the tanners to the constantly smoking chimneys, it was hard to find anywhere that was clean.

Well, maybe not quite. Lissie cast her eyes balefully over Lord Percy's large estate. Certainly, there was plenty of green. But she could not put her finger on it. It just was not the same somehow.

It isn't home.

Hot tears pricked up in her eyes. Swiftly, she moved to brush them away. This would never do. Annice had spent hours applying a thick paste to her face in the errant hopes of banishing her freckles for good.

"You will never snare a lord with peasant skin, Elisabeth! You are as brown as a nut!" tutted Annice. Then, she had set about painting Lissie's entire face with some sort of noxious paste before adding some vermilion to her lips and almost giving her a cardiac arrest when she saw herself in the glass.

That was before completely banning her from strong sunlight and forcing her to wear a very unfetching wide-brimmed hat out of doors.

"Ladies such as we should nary be outdoors, Elisabeth," said Annice primly.

Lissie just frowned. The old her would have laughed and then gone out for a long ride. But since arriving in London, she had become less certain.

She was no longer the carefree girl she had been. Since arriving in London, she had created quite a stir. But despite the interest, she was still a million miles from marriage.

"Lady Elisabeth?"

Lissie looked up.

"You have suitors wishing to dance," murmured the lady, whispering surreptitiously in her ear.

Time had passed. She was indoors, and the ball was in full swing. It was nearing the end of the formal banquet, and now guests were dancing.

Fanning herself demurely, Lissie tried to look enthused. Turning around, she saw a tubby, gray man of the usual English variety; more hair in his ears than on his head and a girth a yard wide.

"Lord Amersham desires the pleasure of your company, madam," said the courtier, a middle-aged woman with prematurely white hair.

Lissie glanced over. Her feet hurt, and she was not in the mood for this. But that attitude would not get her a husband. So, she shuffled gamely to her feet and puttered over to the balding lord.

"Your lordship," she said, and curtsied. Lissie stayed bowed for as long as she conceivably could, showing off her perfect poise. But even as she curtsied, a twitch of annoyance surged up from within her.

She was the lady. Surely he should be paying court to her? After all, he was the one requesting to see her.

As she crouched on the cold floor, Lissie was aware of eyes upon her. A ripple of silence spread around the room. Dancers stilled in their moves, and even the players paused, waiting for the lord to respond.

Lissie glowed. She had become a sensation. But not of the kind that she wanted. Far from setting the London scene alight, she had become a curiosity. A talking piece—or even a laughingstock.

The ladies' eyes burned into the back of Lissie's skull. Without looking, she knew they were there. Everyone was. Even the servants had stopped going about their business and were frozen, watching her every move.

"My sweet lady, you are brighter than the day's light! Scotland is a fine land indeed."

This instantly drew ripples of laughter, leaving Lissie even more uneasy than ever. Instead of speaking, she simply nodded, rising to her feet as graciously as she could manage. Amersham helped her up as he pulled her toward him for the next dance.

The evening passed in a flurry of dancing; first Amersham, then the host, then... Well, Lissie was not quite sure. They all melted into a haze.

Exhausted, Lissie dragged herself to her seat. Eyes closing, she drifted off into a pleasant reverie, the sweet contours of the Duncan glen. Her eyes closed, Lissie wondered how long it would be before she returned when a strange hand materialized on her shoulder.

She jolted awake.

"Pray, forgive me, my lady," a voice murmured. Blinking, Lissie came face-to-face with a man.