Soul Of A Highlander (Lairds of Dunkeld Series) (A Medieval Scottish Romance Story)(8)

“Come on Francis. It's not battle, for Heaven's sakes. It's a ball. Have some sense.”

He couldn't help it, though – his first event at court was a terrifying prospect. He didn't know if he could navigate the uneasy seas of etiquette, if he could be a popular conversationalist, or if he could do the dances as well as expected here.

I don't know what anyone's supposed to be capable of.

Having spent his whole life at Annecy, with occasional trips for hunting to the other neighboring estates like Moreau and Paysanne, he had no idea of what would be expected of him here.

He swallowed hard. Only one way of finding out. Get it over with.

He strode forward into the hall.

Before he'd even got halfway across the threshold, a short man with a dour expression stepped forward. “Wait a moment,” he said.

Francis froze.

The man cleared his throat. “Francis McNeil, count of Annecy.”

Francis felt himself blush as the heads nearest to the doorway all turned. He wished he didn't have to mention his surname. It stood out a mile among all the French ones, drawing attention to his differences.

Damn the man. If he wasn't here I'd just have sneaked in.

“My lord of Annecy,” an older man said, bowing low. “A pleasure to see you at court. New faces are always welcome. Are they not, Matilde?”

The woman beside him, a sweet-faced older woman with a soft expression and flowing, elegantly styled gray hair, nodded. “Yes, indeed, Richard. Welcome, young man. Pray join us.”

Francis swallowed hard through a tight throat and nodded shyly. He couldn't help scanning the crowd as he looked around. Where was she? He knew it was silly – there were perhaps a hundred guests here in the hall. Why would he happen to see her? Nevertheless, the thought was sustaining him, making this evening marginally less fearful.

“Thank you,” he managed to say. “I'm glad to join you. It's my first time at court,” he added, realizing they had guessed that already. He sighed under his breath, feeling awkward at having made yet another gaffe. He'd only been there five minutes after all.

“Yes, indeed,” the older woman nodded with that same soft smile.

Francis shook his head, suddenly remembering his manners. “Forgive me, Madame! I know you know my name, but I ought to introduce myself. I'm Francis McNeil, count of Annecy.”

“Lady Matilde, countess of Chaudet,” she said politely.

“Enchanted, my lady,” He swallowed again, feeling awkward.

“You come to seek some petition, sir?” the count inquired kindly. “Or just for the social aspect?” he added with a warm smile.

Francis nodded. “Yes. I mean, um...for both, Lord Count.” Goodness, man! Can you say nothing sensible? What's the matter with you tonight?

“Ah!” the count raised his eyebrows with an inquiring look. “In which case, my dear,” he said to the duchess inquiringly, “we might introduce our daughter, Estella.”

“Oh.” Francis swallowed, throat tight, as a young lady with the same long oval face as Lady Matilde appeared, only with a mass of black curls piled in a highly fashionable style up on her head.

“I'd...it'd be an honor,” he said lamely.

“My lord,” the tall, elegant society woman said in a soft voice, dropping a breathtaking curtsy, eyes lowered modestly. “I am pleased to be introduced, sir.”

Francis tried to make a sound but nothing came out. He cleared his throat, feeling desperately at sea and rather foolish. “My lady,” he managed. “It's a real pleasure.”

He bowed and stood up briskly, relieved that the worst part was likely over. He felt his pleasure turn to sudden dismay when the two older nobles – the count and his elegant wife – moved subtly away. They left Francis and Lady Estelle, facing one another.

“You are enjoying the weather, milord?” Lady Estelle asked gravely. She had black eyes, heavy-lidded and slanting up at the corners. The low “v” of her bodice showed her pale skin and bosom to an enticing level of splendor. Francis swallowed again, though his mouth had gone dry.

“Y...yes, milady Estelle,” he managed weakly. “Most diverting, is it not? Good for walking.” What am I supposed to say? Francis tried to still his fidgeting and concentrate. He couldn't believe the nonsense that was coming out of his mouth.

“Oh, indeed. Though I do not go much further than the courtyard, I am afraid,” she said in a low voice. “I trust you are a very great walker.”

Francis frowned. He had no idea what the proper reply might be so he giggled a little awkwardly. “Oh, no great walker,” he said. “I just like an odd stroll out towards the woodlands. The King has elaborate hunting grounds.”

“Indeed he does,” she said softly. “Though I know little of hunting.”

“Ah,” Francis said, feeling silly. Of course she doesn't, you dolt. Ladies don't accompany the hunt. At least not ladies like her. Gently raised, polite ladies.

“Ah...yes,” he said, not sure what else to say. “I suppose.”

“Estelle, dear,” Lady Matilde said, appearing suddenly at her daughter's elbow. “Come greet the count of Trevier?”

“Yes, Maman.”

Francis bowed. “Enchanted to have made your acquaintance, my lady,” he murmured.