Soul Of A Highlander (Lairds of Dunkeld Series) (A Medieval Scottish Romance Story)(4)

I like the color of the doublet, he thought. It made his eyes seem bigger, somehow.

A shade darker than his pale green eyes, the doublet brought out the contrast with his hair and made his face – which he'd always thought of as funny-looking – seem aloof and interesting. He felt a small smile lift the corner of his mouth and abruptly hid it, trying to look serious.

“Thank you, Maman,” he said again softly. “It's a wonderful gift.”

His mother chuckled. “It suits you, son. You cut a fine figure. I'm so proud of you.”

Francis swallowed hard. He hadn't ever considered that before – that his Maman, beautiful, cool-headed and accomplished – was proud of him. It meant a lot.

“Thank you, Maman,” he said gravely. His voice was raw and he cleared his throat. She smiled.

“I'm sure even Yves thought it suited you,” she grinned.

Francis nodded. Yves served as manservant to both himself and his father. He was a curmudgeonly old man with a fine sense of humor and if he thought it suited him, it did.

“He did, Maman.”

“Well, then. There you are. You must know it looks exceptional, if Yves said it is just passable.”

Francis chuckled aloud.

“I could wish you and Father were going to come too...I'll miss your good company. Why should I face all that ceremonial heaviness without it?”

His mother smiled and impulsively kissed his cheek, reminding Francis of the formidable, determined girl she must have been in her youth before he was born. “Well, I am sure you'll enjoy it. It's not all ceremonial and dreary. There's lots of fun to be had if you let yourself just enjoy it.”

“I trust you, Maman,” Francis said fondly. “If you say it's fun, it probably is.”

“It is,” his mother said, tipping her head back and letting a laugh escape that long, pale throat. “Now, then. I should let you get on with your preparations. I need to go downstairs and talk to the cook.”

“Thank you, Mother,” Francis said fondly. “I appreciate it.”

“Well, you will if I can persuade Cook to stop using the smoked ham and give you something decent to take with you on the journey. It's not winter anymore...we have fresher things in the pantry.”

Francis chuckled and kissed his mother on the head fondly. “I'll leave it to you, Maman.” He grinned. “She's unlikely to withstand your active persuasion.”

His mother's happy laugh followed him out.

Even as he rode out in the coach, he found himself turning over his mother's predictions of fun at court in his mind. He wondered if she was right...If court would be fun and diverting and if he'd enjoy it. It wasn't how he imagined it turning out.

I imagine long, tedious audiences full of protocol and talking to the older lords about the productivity of the farmland here at Annecy.

He let his imagination run away with him. He filled it with a vast castle, wide courtyards, massive ballrooms filled with people. Fountains. Groves of trees. Walks. Balls, parties and opportunities to get to know others of their social status. A time and place for making matches.

The thought made Francis nervous. Not only because of lots of young ladies, but the prospect of trying to choose a wife was really difficult. How did one even go about it?

I suppose I find someone I like and ask Maman if she thinks they're suitable.

That seemed the simplest way forward to Francis.

All that matters to me is that I can talk to her.

That was, he realized, the problem.

The eligible young ladies he had met were like exotic birds – happy, chattering and playful. They seemed to think mainly of balls and parties and who said what to whom. He felt bewildered and didn't even know how to start talking to them. The few encounters he had with them had been strained and daunting.

I hope I don't find they're all like Marguerite, Henriette and Matilde.

These were the daughters of the Baron of Moreau, Castelles and the count of Paysanne, respectively.

Even just seeing them makes me feel awkward.

Beautiful and refined, the three girls were like something from another world. An unapproachable, inaccessible world that had no intersection with his.

He chuckled. “I'm talking myself out of this.”

The idea of marriage was appealing to Francis. He thought about it as he felt the jolt and roll of the carriage underneath him. He had a wonderful example at his home, after all... his parents were best friends as well as lovers. He liked the thought of a true companion after a life where so often he felt alone. Of course, the idea of someone with whom to share the act of love did appeal to Francis, sending a thrill through his loins.

He shook his head. Easy, Francis. You're not considering a pretty lass from one of the villages nearby. This is your wife you're going to choose. His loins were stirred now though, and he bit his lip, wishing he had time to seek Charmaine, the kitchen maid, with whom he'd had some happy trysts. The girl was friendly and willing, but he sensed she was reluctant now that they were both reaching an age to find a marriage partner. He respected her wishes to keep herself to herself.

He needed to focus on his own future. If she could be so level-headed and practical, the least he could do was follow her example! He himself had the succession of the estate to consider.

“Especially now. When I'm on court business.”