Island of the Swans (13 page)

Jane and Alexander joined a set of dancers just as Thomas appeared at the ballroom door, looking for her. With an urgent wave of his hand, he signaled for her to join him, but she smiled faintly and shook her head as if she were powerless to obey.

Jane was forced to concentrate on the complicated steps of the dance, which she had only sketchily learned a few weeks earlier from her dancing master, the eminent and exacting Davie Strange. She could almost feel Thomas’s gaze bore into her back as she flashed discreetly flirtatious glances at her male partners—including the strikingly handsome Duke of Gordon—as she progressed up and down the line of dancers.

Briefly, she caught a glimpse of Simon conferring with Thomas as she threw herself into the lively rhythms of the reel and glided around the parquet floor among more than a hundred dancers.

As the duke and she stepped forward to take their turn as the lead couple, all eyes in the room feasted on them. Jane noted Thomas standing stonily on the sidelines. His jaw tightened and, abruptly, he spun on his heel, melting into the crowd. When, at last, the prolonged chord signaled the end of the dance, Jane could feel beads of perspiration trickling down between her breasts. She made the traditional deep curtsy, thanking Alexander for being her partner. Her eyes quickly searched the room for Thomas, who was nowhere to be seen.

Suddenly, from the far end of the chamber, voices called for quiet. Sir Algernon was stepping forward in front of the silent orchestra to ask his guests to partake of the traditional birthday ritual.

“Will you join me in wishing Mistress Jane Maxwell, daughter of Sir William and Lady Maxwell of Monreith, the happiest of sixteenth birthdays!”

Cries of “Hear! Hear!” and loud clapping startled Jane into another deep curtsy to the throng.

“And now, as is our custom at Prestonfield House, Jane, lassie,” Sir Algernon announced in a booming voice over the murmurs of the crowd, “would you do me the honor of dancing with me that elegant confection imported from France, the minuet?”

The Duke of Gordon gallantly passed her hand to Sir Algernon as Jane glanced frantically around the room for a glimpse of Thomas. The tall clock against the wall opposite the orchestra began to toll twelve, its deep tones reverberating throughout the room. Cries acknowledging the new year—1766—spread throughout the throng, as Sir Algernon and Jane walked slowly toward the center of the ballroom. He bowed low and whispered, “Better be on your toes, lassie! This is to be no ordinary debut dance.”

Before Jane could protest, the elderly man guided her across the floor to a smattering of applause. Jane was excruciatingly aware of the hundreds of pairs of eyes staring at her from the human ring surrounding them. She nearly flinched under the critical gaze of the Dowager Duchess of Gordon, whose husband had engaged the attentions of a pretty blond guest who appeared younger even than Jane.

A line of men congregated at the far end of the room, but there was no sign of Thomas among them. At a signal from Sir Algernon, the gentlemen one by one clasped Jane’s hand and danced a few phrases of the minuet with her, passing her on to the next swain waiting eagerly in line.

She could hear an undercurrent of whispering from the surrounding spectators as she spun from partner to partner in a dizzy whirl. She attempted her most dignified turn beneath the arm of Jamie Ferguson of Tobago fame, whose worshipful gaze and slightly bucked teeth unnerved her greatly. Suddenly, Thomas materialized as if by magic. He handed a bystander his woolen cloak. Unceremoniously, he cut in line ahead of the Duke of Gordon, who was, at that very moment, approaching to take Jane’s hand.

“I believe, sir,” the duke said to Thomas between clenched teeth, “that your opportunity to dance with the fair Mistress Maxwell is yet to come.”

“My claim to Mistress Maxwell’s attentions takes precedence—by previous arrangement,” Thomas interposed rudely, his voice nearly a snarl.

The crowd standing near them could be heard to gasp at Thomas’s insolence toward the duke who far surpassed him in rank, with or without the senior Sir Thomas Fraser’s forfeited title. The musicians had ceased playing and simply stared at the unfolding drama, bows in hand.

“Can you imagine the cheek of the lad!” Marietta Buchanan whispered loudly to the Duke of Gordon’s mother who was perched nearby on a gilt chair. “’Tis simply shocking!”

Jane stood between Thomas and Alexander, completely at a loss as to how to proceed. The duke and Thomas stared at each other unflinchingly.

“If I may interrupt,” said a voice behind the tense little group. It was Sir Algernon. “My good man,” he said to Thomas pleasantly, “would you be so kind as to assist the Lady Mary to form a set on the far side of the room for the upcoming ‘Captain MacBean’s Reel’?”

“I’m afraid I canna comply with your request, sir,” Thomas replied stiffly. “I’ve come only to bid adieu to Jane, as promised. I’m off to Perth Barracks where I’m to take up my new Commission in the Black Watch immediately and begin training for our mission in the Colonies. I have just learned that I must depart the White Horse Inn before dawn.”

Sir Algernon looked uncertainly from Thomas to the Duke of Gordon.

“But, of course, then, I must defer the pleasure of this dance to another time,” Alexander said coolly to Jane. His glance rested fleetingly on Thomas. “Good night…
lieutenant
, is it to be?” he added mockingly.

But before Thomas could reply, the Fourth Duke of Gordon had gracefully edged his way toward a clutch of gilt chairs and extended his hand to the plump Marietta, who preened with pleasure as she accepted the young aristocrat’s attentions. The buxom miss tossed a triumphant glance in Jane’s direction.

Thomas and Jane stared at each other wordlessly as Sir Algernon, with an abrupt wave of his arm, directed the musicians to strike up a tune.

“We can’t tarry, lad,” boomed Simon Fraser, striding over to them with Lady Maxwell and the toothy Jamie Ferguson at his sides. “We must be off, boy. You’ve not much o’ the night left to be packin’ your kit!”

“Our prayers and good wishes go with you, Thomas,” Lady Maxwell cut in quickly. “A safe journey to you to Perth—and to America, when you sail this spring, m’lad. Come, Jane, dear,” she added, grasping Jane’s arm firmly. “We mustn’t delay Thomas another instant.”

Jane yanked her arm from her mother’s grasp and whirled around to face her.

“Don’t for a moment think I am so daft as not to know your scheme!” she spat in a low voice.

“Jane!” Lady Maxwell recoiled. “You will cease this insulting display
instantly
!”

“I will say the truth, and nothing less, Mama
dear
!” she retorted. “You and Simon have mixed this poisonous brew this night, and
you
, Thomas, have drunk it to the dregs! What manner of man are you, that you’re led around by the nose on your face and don’t even know it!”

Thomas stared back at her, stunned by her insult. Jane turned to the flustered Jamie Ferguson and forced her most seductive smile to her lips. She offered him her hand.

“Would you be so kind, dear sir, to remove me from this stifling atmosphere? A glass of punch, perhaps? I so long to learn more about Tobago. Are the natives there as uncivilized as the savages in North America?”

And with an angry toss of her head, she turned her back on her mother, Simon, and Thomas, urging the bewildered Mr. Ferguson to escort her out of the candlelit ballroom.

The Duke of Gordon paused to survey the tableau of shocked bystanders who had witnessed Jane’s dramatic departure. Much to Marietta Buchanan’s chagrin, she detected a ghost of an admiring smile lingering on his aristocratic lips. Soon, the crowd resumed its chatter, speculating who would be the “first-foot,” the first person to cross the threshold of a home after midnight and thus determine the luck that household could expect throughout the coming year. A well-favored visitor bearing a pint o’ whisky brought good fortune, indeed, ’twas said.

Alexander inclined his head politely to the guests nearest him and casually walked through the door to the small room where the Hogmanay punch was being dispensed to the fiery Miss Maxwell. The future Lieutenant Thomas Fraser of Struy glared at the Duke of Gordon’s retreating scarlet coat and stormed out of the ballroom in the opposite direction. Simon Fraser and Lady Maxwell were left, amid the swirling dancers and inquisitive onlookers, to gaze at each other, open-mouthed.

Seven

M
ARCH
1766

J
ANE PULLED THE COUNTERPANE UP AROUND HER SHOULDERS
and sank deeper into the bed linen, ignoring the shaft of morning sunshine that sliced across her four-poster. Suddenly, Eglantine’s voice and the sound of her footsteps taking the stairs two at a time shattered the stillness in the room.

“Jane! Jane… ’tis from Thomas!” came her muffled cries. Her younger sister burst through the doorway waving a piece of parchment, followed by Catherine, who appeared out of breath. It was the first word Jane had had from him since their angry parting on New Year’s Eve.

“Uncle James brought it,” she continued excitedly. “Thomas’s training is complete. Their company’s sailing to America straightaway! Uncle James and Aunt Elizabeth arrived late last night from Perth Barracks and then he and Thomas departed immediately for the Port of Leith at dawn’s light. Aunt and the boys are going to live with us again while Uncle James is at Fort Pitt! ’Tisn’t it grand?”

But Jane wasn’t listening. She snatched Thomas’s missive out of her sister’s hand and tore it open. It said only:

Jenny
,

I sail from Leith on the evening tide. So much to say… Tho.

Jane sagged against the bedpost. Tears began welling in her eyes. Incapable of stifling the sobs rising within her, she gave way to them. The weeks of pent-up anxiety and anticipation over Thomas’s departure only served to darken her despair.

Jane had soon been filled with remorse over her fiery display of temper toward Thomas at the birthday ball. Lady Maxwell had forbidden her to write to him and had watched her every move since that night, like a jailer.

As her sisters watched helplessly, Jane pounded her fist against the wooden four-poster, the note crumpled in her injured hand.

“Jenny… please… don’t carry on so—” Catherine began, awkwardly putting her arms around her sister’s heaving shoulders. Eglantine stared at both her sisters, agog at the drama her little announcement had created.

“Will you not just leave me alone!” Jane cried. “What does this matter to you, Kitty? You have Mr. Fordyce, safe among his ledgers! What care have you for my concerns?”

Immediately, Jane was contrite. She turned her tear-streaked face toward her older sister who had shown seeming sympathy for her unhappiness in recent weeks.

“I—I’m sorry, Kitty,” she sighed, trying to regain her composure. “’Tis just… I
so
wanted to see Thomas before he left, and now—”

Fresh tears coursed down her cheeks. Catherine and Eglantine looked at each other in distress. They were at a complete loss as to what to say or do.

“James and I said our good-byes before dawn, Jane dear,” Aunt Elizabeth said firmly to her niece an hour later as they sat opposite each other at breakfast. The young matron, her pale blond hair pulled neatly to the nape of her neck, appeared composed, though there were dark circles under her eyes. The journey from Perth with the children after parting from her husband at dawn had taken its toll. “He’s probably aboard ship by now. Our going to Leith is absolutely out of the question.”

Barely able to swallow her disappointment, Jane stared at her hands twisting the edge of the tablecloth in her lap. Her eyes fixed on her amputated finger. What if she had driven Thomas away for good? She felt a wave of apprehension sweep over her. How could she have taunted him so cruelly, flirting with the very man whose family had been a factor in the downfall of Clan Fraser? Thomas must be
furious
—if he still had any feelings for her at all. The weeks of misery since the birthday ball had taught her how empty life felt without the certainty of his love. She
had
to see him before he sailed!