Island of the Swans by Ciji Ware Page B

driven, by some force she scarcely comprehended, to deliberately misunderstand him. “You’ll need an heiress’s purse to repair and restore your estate, and you know, better than most, that I have none.”
    Thomas approached her solitary figure and rested his hands on her shoulders.
    “We can’t lose what we have , Jenny,” he said simply, his voice low and intense. “No matter where I go, or whatever happens, always remember that: we cannot lose this precious thing that has been given us.”
    Her eyes brimmed with tears. She stared at him, unable to speak. Thomas always understood her, always knew somehow what words would make her feel like herself again. She closed her eyes and felt him brush away with the back of his hand the moisture that had spilled down her cheeks.
    A soft knock, followed by the sound of a deep voice booming outside the library door, startled them both.
    “There they are!” said a young man not much older than Thomas, as he burst into the room with Jane’s elder sister in tow. “Not to worry, Kitty,” Catherine Maxwell’s escort exclaimed, and he strode toward Jane and Thomas, who were struggling to look composed. “I told you we could find them in a quiet corner,” the stranger said jovially.
    “Mama’s been asking where you were—’tis time for the buffet,” Catherine said to Jane reprovingly. Turning to Thomas, she announced gently, “Simon wanted to know if I’d seen you , Thomas. He said he and Uncle James wanted to talk to you straightaway.”
    Catherine stepped forward to introduce the ebullient young man who’d led her to the library.
    “Jane, may I present John Fordyce? Mr. Fordyce, this is my sister Jane and our friend Thomas Fraser.”
    At that, Catherine led her sister out of the library, trailed by the gents. The dining room was still crowded with ravenous guests helping themselves to roast pheasant and joints of beef. The diners scooped up ample spoonfuls of haggis bulging from casings made of sheep’s stomachs, and piled their plates with boiled turnips. Young Fordyce assisted Catherine in selecting the tenderest morsels, and it was obvious to Jane that her sister’s swain was taking a proprietary interest in everything Catherine said or did. Fordyce had a solid, respectable look about him, and yet he didn’t seem pompous at all. What’s more, he seemed to treat his newfound prize with kindness and respect.
    Well, well , thought Jane with a mischievous glance at her sister. Catherine may just have landed the perfect catch for the New Year!
    The New Year. What would it bring? Jane wondered. As she and her group passed back through the center hall, Sir Algernon called to them from the Italian Room, the old physician’s favorite spot at Prestonfield.
    “Come, come, children… won’t you join us while you enjoy your supper?” he invited them.
    Seated at small tables set up for the evening were Sir Algernon and his wife, Mary, and Lady Maxwell, still squired by Simon Fraser. As Thomas and Jane entered, it appeared her mother and Simon had been deep in conversation.
    “I saw that nice young Jamie Ferguson and you dancing several times,” Magdalene said with a disapproving glance at Thomas as Jane took her seat. “No doubt that fine lad will take up the responsibility of the family estates in Tobago.”
    “Where’s Tobago?” Jane asked politely, struggling to eavesdrop on the conversation Simon had quickly initiated with Thomas. As far as she could make out, Simon was describing a battle called Bushy Run—a clash between a company of Black Watch and those dreadful Indians in North America. All of Edinburgh knew of Bushy Run, and Jane shuddered silently, recalling what she had heard about the bitter battle in 1763 where two companies of Black Watch fought furiously against the Indians deep in the Pennsylvania wilderness. Reports of the scalping and horrifying carnage had been the talk of the town when the first reports filtered back to Britain.
    “Why not