Soul Of A Highlander (Lairds of Dunkeld Series) (A Medieval Scottish Romance Story)(22)

Bernadette nodded and lifted the creation off the bed. With a v-shaped waist, a wide skirt and long sleeves that lapped down over the hands, the dress was beautiful. It was made of blue silk. Claudine felt a wan excitement as Bernadette helped her out of her night dress and into the dress.

“There, milady! You look a picture.”

Claudine stood back from the mirror, uncertain about that. She tilted her head on one side, surveying the effect.

“I suppose I do look pretty,” she said.

Bernadette smiled fondly. “You do indeed, milady.”

The woman in the mirror had a thin waist, generous hips and a full bust that pushed at the low collar of the dress. Her long arms were covered by the long sleeves and her blonde curls cascaded down loose round her shoulders. Her sky blue eyes shone. They were a shade paler than the dress, a slate blue silk that winked in the evening light as she moved.

“Will you dress my hair now?” Claudine asked. She felt weary again – the exertion of the dressing had sapped almost all her energy.

“Of course, milady. Come, sit.”

Claudine watched the transformation with detached interest, studying herself in the flickering light of the candles on the dressing table. Bernadette arranged her hair expertly into a bun, her face framed by soft curls that escaped it.

I wonder if Francis will be there?

She smiled at the pink-lipped, lovely face in the mirror. She hoped he would be. If she must sit through an evening with people who pitied her or mocked her, at least he would enliven things.

And I have to admit I like him.

She recalled their meeting in the courtyard. She liked him a lot. It would be lovely to sit and spend some time with him. He will be almost sure to be there. He is a nobleman and if I know the duke, he'll have invited everyone at Court.

“Niece?” a voice called. “Are you ready? We should leave.”

“Coming, Uncle. Thank you, Bernadette,” she added. “I should return before midnight.”

“Very good, milady.”

“Claudine! My niece! You look lovely. I feel quite proud to have you grace my arm,” her Uncle Lucas smiled as she appeared, bending his elbow so she could slide her hand into it for support.

“Oh, Uncle. You're so good to me. What would I do without you?”

“I wish I could be even better,” her uncle said musingly. “But such is life.”

They headed through the colonnade and down the stairs, slowly, to the great hall. As they reached the stairs, they found themselves caught in a crush of other guests, scented and elegant, all heading downstairs. Claudine stalled, wanting to hang back to let the faster guests pass.

“My lady. Come, let us walk together. I don't wish to outpace you,” the count of Rheims said from behind her. Claudine looked at her hands.

If he doesn't wish to draw attention to my ailment, why say that? Why cannot he just ignore it?

“The count is kind,” she said thinly.

She walked on down, biting her lip to ignore Mirella and Jacintha, who drifted past.

“I cannot wait to dance,” Mirella said. She looked at Claudine. “Oh! I suppose I shouldn't say that. I'm sorry.”

“Not at all,” Claudine said tightly. “I'm sure you'll enjoy it.”

She cast a glance sideways at her uncle. His eyes had narrowed and he looked defensive.

“Just tell them you're disinclined to join in,” he suggested.

Claudine closed her eyes as tears flowed there. His concerned advice made it worse.

I wish I could join in! I loved to dance. I was so good at it and now they all think I'm a crippled, helpless thing.

The sadness was a living thing within her. They went down the stairs together, where they were stopped at the door by a footman.

“Ah, here we are. The count of Corron, good man, and his niece, the fair lady Claudine.”

Claudine blushed. The footman at the door announced them and she walked in slowly, steadied by her uncle's strong arm. She looked at the floor, hating the feeling of all those eyes on her. She could see compassion in some eyes, scorn in others. The ladies of her own age mainly just looked glad it wasn't they themselves who was so ill.

Why do they have to stare so pityingly?

She tensed and her uncle patted her hand gently. “Almost at the table,” he said under his breath. “I think we're seated at the end. Ah! Yes. My lord duke! A happy birthday to you,” he added as a man stepped out to great them.

The duke, a short man with graying hair and big blue eyes, smiled winningly at Uncle Lucas and bowed to Claudine.

“My lady! Always a beauty. Welcome. Welcome.”

“Good wishes, my lord,” Claudine said faintly.

“Thank you, Claudine.”She kissed the duke on both cheeks fondly, but found she wasn't paying attention. Her eyes were already scanning the long tables of guests, looking for the one face she wished to see. Where was he? He must be here! If Francis wished to see her, he would have come.

I suppose he was just being polite yesterday. She felt disappointed. If he were here, he'd stand out, so her failure to spot him meant he wasn't.

“Come, niece,” her uncle said. “Here we are. Let's sit. I feel hungry enough to not wish to delay my dinner.”

When dinner began, she picked at the soup, the fish, the eggs...she barely felt hungry and her head was starting to hurt.