The Winter Sea

‘A dashing man, would you not say so?’ asked the countess of Sophia, as they stood and watched him from the window.

‘He is very handsome, yes.’

‘And very loyal, which in these days makes him rare.’

Behind them, Mr Hall spoke up. ‘My lady, if you will excuse me, I have correspondence to attend to.’

‘Yes, of course.’ The countess, turning from the window, nodded, and the priest, too, took his leave, departing with a bow. The countess smiled and sat, and motioned for Sophia to resume her seat. ‘He’s gone, you know, to write the Duke of Hamilton a letter, for he is obliged to tell his master all.’ A pause, and then, ‘What did you think of him?’

‘Of whom, my lady?’

‘The Duke of Hamilton.’

Sophia did not know how to respond. ‘He was quite kind to me.’

‘That is not what I asked, my dear. I asked for your opinion of his character.’ And then, because she saw the consternation on Sophia’s face, ‘Or do you not believe that the opinion of a woman is of value? For I tell you, I would rather have a woman’s thoughts on character than those of any man, because a woman’s thoughts are truer, and less likely to be turned by outward charm.’

‘Then I’m afraid I’ll disappoint you, for I found the duke to be most charming, though we did not speak at length.’

‘What did you speak about?’

‘He asked me my relation to you.’

‘Did he?’ asked the countess in that tone of guarded interest that Sophia was beginning to associate with any conversation that involved the Duke of Hamilton. ‘What else?’

‘We spoke of Darien. He said it was a blessing I had not gone with my parents.’

‘And it was.’

‘And that was all. The interview took but a quarter of an hour, perhaps. No longer.’

‘And you thought him charming.’

‘Yes, my lady.’

‘Well,’ the countess said, ‘I can forgive you that.’ She gave no further explanation of that statement, nor did she reveal her own opinion of the man, although Sophia reasonably guessed that, in the judgment of the countess, she had been herself deceived.

But nothing else was said about it.

Two more weeks passed, and the days began to lengthen, and the restlessness that held those in the castle in its grasp grew ever stronger.

‘I would ride today,’ the countess said, one morning after breakfast. ‘Will you come with me, Sophia?’

In surprise, Sophia said, ‘Of course.’

‘We need not trouble Mr Hall, I think. He is yet occupied.’ The countess smiled, and added, ‘I believe I have a riding habit that would well become you.’

The countess’s chamber was larger by half than Sophia’s and looked to the sea, too, although it was not as impressive a view, as one wall of the castle intruded upon it. The bed, richly carved, had silk hangings of blue, and the chairs in the room all had backs of the same blue silk, artfully reflected in the gilt-edged looking glass that caught the daylight from the narrow windows. Blue was clearly a favorite color of the countess, because the velvet riding habit that she spread upon the clothes-press in the antechamber was blue as well, a lovely deep blue like a clear loch in autumn.

‘My hair was the same shade as yours once,’ the countess said, ‘and I did always believe that this habit looked well on me. My husband brought it back from France. He chose it, so he said, to match the color of my eyes.’

‘I could not wear a thing so precious to you.’

‘Nonsense, child. I had rather that you would make use of it than it should lie in a corner, unworn. Besides,’ she added, ‘even were I not in mourning, there is no known magic that could make this fit my waist. Come, take it, wear it, that I might have a companion on my ride.’

The groom who brought the horses round to them was Rory, the same young man whom Sophia had seen rocking on his chair and watching Kirsty in the kitchen that first morning, when she’d lost her way. She’d seen him several times since then, but always he had passed her with a down-turned glance, and only nodded briefly to her greeting. ‘He’s nae one for talk,’ was Kirsty’s explanation, when Sophia asked if she had somehow given him offence. ‘He told me once there were so many folk lived in his house when he was just a bairn, that now he likes a bit of peace.’

Sophia said good morning to him anyway, and Rory nodded, silent, as he helped her to the saddle. He had given her the same horse she had ridden north from Edinburgh, a quiet mare with one white stocking and a way of twitching back her ears to catch the slightest sound or word.

The mare seemed faintly agitated and impatient, as though she, too, felt the changing of the season and the warming of the wind, and wanted only to be off. Sophia had to take a firm hold on the reins, once they were on the road, to keep her to a walk. When the mare danced lightly sideways in a step that nearly knocked them into the countess and her mount, Sophia said, as an apology, ‘My horse has a mind to go faster.’

The countess smiled. ‘Mine also.’ Looking at Sophia, she said, ‘Shall we let them have their way?’

It was so glorious a feeling, that free run along the road, with the wind at her back and the sun on her face and the sense of adventure before her, that Sophia half wished it could go on forever, but at length the countess reined her horse and turned it back again, and with regret, Sophia did the same.