A Laird for All Time by Angeline Fortin (room on the broom read aloud txt) 📗

pursed her lips.  “The laird doesn’t have much time or tolerance for anything else.”

“What does that mean?” Emmy asked.

Dory only shook her head.  “I should not have spoken so candidly.  I will leave you now to prepare myself for dinner.  Margo will help you finish.”

“Candidly?  You didn’t tell me anything!” Emmy sighed at her departure but was quickly distracted when she turned to the mirror again.  She was stunned by the vision she beheld.  The gown was amazing.  The front panel of ivory satin was heavily embroidered with leaves and flowers, though the rear gathered over the wire basket in the back making, she thought, and her butt look much bigger.  The tiny sleeves fell off her shoulders while the bodice nipped at the waist flattering the outrageous hourglass figure they had cinched her into and, despite her reservations, she felt ridiculously feminine in it.  Feminine and beautiful.  “This gown is…gorgeous.  I feel like a princess, if you don’t mind the cliché.  But I have to ask…what is with the big butt thing?  I feel like my butt is sticking out a mile behind me.”

Margo giggled.  “It is the tournure, m’lady.

“The torture what?”

“The big bottom…that is what it is supposed to do.  It’s the fashion.”

Emmy released a snort of disbelief.  “Well, I can tell you right now, I know tons of women who would scream ‘hallelujah!’ if a big ass were fashionable.”  Margo gaped in shock over her language but Emmy ignored her and turned to the side again and back to the front examining the outward thrust of her rear in the mirror.  “How do you sit down with this thing on?

They practiced several times with Margo coaching her to the proper method of sitting to hit the edge of the seat with the tournure behind her but not under her.  When she sat the corset kept her erect but put more pressure on her stomach.  “I’m starving!  But how am I going to be able to eat?”

“It’ll work out in the end, m’lady.  I did not have to lace you very tightly to make the dress fit.”

“This isn’t laced tightly!?” she asked in disbelief.

Margo shook her head with a smile.  “Not at all, m’lady.”

“Well, Lord help me then,” Emmy muttered as Margo led her over to the dressing table.

“Now for your hair,” the maid announced.

“Oh, I got that covered.”  Emmy pinched the claw clip that held her hair where she had twisted it.  As it was released, it fell in a long shimmering mass to her waist.  Her hair was her pride and joy.  She cut it only to keep it healthy, highlighted it only to give it depth and texture.  Only the long sweep of bangs she kept did not meet the rest at the lightly layered length.

“It is lovely,” Margo complimented as she stroked it through her fingers.  “Very soft as well.”

“Nothing better than a good conditioner and hot oil treatment.”  After a quick brushing, Emmy grabbed up the mass of hair a wrapped it around her fist.  Pulling the ends through, she knotted it, then wrapped it around her hand and knotted it again.  She bound the remaining ends around the base of the double knot and using the claw clip secured with whole.  Although not a loose topknot the other women seemed to favor, the process took 15 seconds and looked elegant with only her cheekbone length bangs remaining free and swept to the side.  Digging in her tote, she pulled out her favorite tinted lip gloss and applied it.  She had no other makeup with her and felt a pang of regret that she couldn’t do her face up to match the elegance of the dress. “Okay, I guess that’s it then.  Let’s eat.  Not sure how I’m going to manage it in this thing though.”

Chapter 8

 

It seemed that dinner in turn of the century Scotland was not just a sit down and eat affair, nor was it formal extended restaurant affair.  Dinner was indeed like the prom.  First everyone was supposed to get together and socialize before actually moving on to the dining room and eating.  Ian and Dorcas met her at the top of the stairs and guided her to the large drawing room Emmy had toured with Margo earlier.  Emmy was introduced around by ‘her twin’ to the few people already gathered as “Heather MacLean” as in “You remember Heather MacLean, don’t you?  Yes, the laird’s wife.”  She was referred to as “countess” and “Lady MacLean.”  She kept forgetting who she was supposed to be and tried instead to concentrate on the other people present.

There was Ian, who she discovered was Dorcas’s husband and Connor’s younger brother. If she had paid more attention the previous night she would have noticed the resemblance though Ian was slighter in build than Connor. There were a few of aunts and uncles, cousins whose names all blended together.  It took several moments for it to sink in that all of these people lived in the castle but not much longer for her to realize that they all lived off laird’s good graces.  Tidbits of conversation she overheard included comments about a person’s allowance, how another was trying to move into a larger apartment in the south wing.  Not once did she hear anyone mention a job of their own.  In the end, it appeared there were seventeen people beyond the paid servants in the castle all supported by the laird.

Emmy wondered why it was that no one was being required to supply anything, be it money or service, into the deal.  If she had to provide for so many people, she might get a little cranky, too, and wondered if that was Connor’s problem.

When Connor finally entered the room, Emmy was awed by the impossibly handsome picture he made framed in the doorway.  He was stunning in his formal evening clothes.  His suit black and his shirt and vest snowy white with a white bow tie as well.