Island of the Swans by Ciji Ware

Hamilton leapt out to assist Lady Maxwell, whose wide-hooped ball gown barely squeezed through the narrow opening. Jane paused on the small step of the coach as she gazed above the heads of the arriving guests and caught sight of a tall, scarlet-coated gentleman with a white wig. He was just emerging from another black barouche that bore a stag’s head crest on its shining enameled door.
    Despite his pyramid of hair, the man was young, of medium height, with strikingly patrician good looks. His nose was slightly aquiline in shape and his hazel eyes were wide set beneath arching eyebrows, which instantly signaled approval or disdain.
    The youthful Fourth Duke of Gordon paused and cast his eyes on Jane’s face. The young man’s gaze traveled down to her velvet cloak that was parted at her throat, revealing the deeply cut neckline of the pale blue ball gown beneath. The slim sleeves of the satin gown ended at her elbow and cobwebs of lace swirled down to her delicate wrists. For the longest moment, the gentleman stared at her with practiced aplomb before finally stepping onto the crimson carpet that led the way into Prestonfield House.
    Jane remained frozen on the carriage’s narrow running step. The duke’s imperious mother emerged next from the coach and cast a curious glance in Jane’s direction. The final passenger in the coach to set foot on the scarlet carpet was a man at least ten years the dowager duchess’s junior. Staats Morris, Katherine Gordon’s second husband, took his wife’s plump arm and guided her up the steps and into the house.
    “Jenny!”
    Thomas Fraser approached Jane’s coach with a scowl, having just emerged from his godfather’s smart new landau.
    “Must you stare at that blighter who practically undressed you with his eyes!”
    Startled from her reverie, Jane glanced down at Thomas and Simon Fraser, who had joined his ward on the gravel drive.
    “’Twas just that he looked so familiar,” she mused. “I think he was trying to place me as well.”
    “I think the Duke of Gordon was trying to place you where you have no business being!” Thomas retorted heatedly.
    “My, my, Thomas,” Jane twitted him, glad to have the man positively identified. “His Grace certainly ruffles your feathers, doesn’t he?”
    “Thomas is right,” Simon growled, heading for the ornate entrance.
    “You shouldn’t be so brazen just because the flamin’ Duke of Gordon looks at you cross-eyed, lassie.”
    Jane shot the brigadier a murderous look, which he took in, unblinkingly. Then she pointedly grasped Thomas’s arm, leaving Simon to escort Lady Maxwell up the stairs following the path taken by the duke and his family.
    All right, lass , Brigadier General Simon Fraser thought, grimly staring at Jane’s velvet-cloaked back. So you, too, acknowledge we are enemies. Let the battle begin!
    In December, dusk fell by three o’clock in the afternoon. Hogmanay guests had been invited for nine and, thus, Prestonfield House was ablaze with a thousand candles. Light poured from the open entrance as the magnificently adorned ladies and handsomely tailored gentlemen mounted the front stairs in succeeding waves. The night air had taken on a crystalline quality, transforming the lighthearted chatter exchanged by arriving guests into puffs of white smoke.
    During the long years of friendship between the Maxwells and Sir Algernon Dick and his family, Jane had visited Prestonfield House countless times. Never had she seen the mansion look so beautiful as it did this New Year’s Eve. As the housemaids scurried to relieve the Maxwell party of their cloaks, Jane caught sight of the red-coated figure from the drive. He was striding in the direction of a small library off the far end of the hall. Turning abruptly toward Thomas, who looked subdued as he watched the elegantly attired nobleman disappear from view, she asked softly, “Do you think we could find a quiet place where we could review the minuet just one more