Border Storm by Amanda Scott Page A

least, was nothing of the sort. May was flighty and headstrong. She was perhaps not as likely as Laurie was to slip out unattended, but she frequently managed to do as she pleased and count the cost later.
    To her credit, Blanche did punish May for her misdeeds, albeit not so harshly as she demanded that Sir William punish Laurie. May’s punishments were light, so light, in fact, that they rarely deterred her impulses. She knew that she enjoyed her mother’s favor. That it had taken Blanche as long as it had to notice the flirting was rather remarkable, however. Laurie wondered if Blanche had said anything to May about it, and she decided to ask May as soon as a good opportunity arose.
    As she and Sir William left the hall and crossed the gallery to the ladies’ parlor, she gave his arm a squeeze, welcoming his escort. Blanche would be less likely to aim acid remarks at her in his presence.
    She was not yet out of the briars, however.
    “You must mend your ways, lass,” Sir William said quietly.
    “I will try, sir.”
    “You will do as I bid you,” he said more sternly. “You set a poor example for your sisters when you disobey me. I won’t allow anarchy in my household.”
    “But it is not fair to forbid me to visit my friends in the dale,” she protested. “I do not have many friends elsewhere, after all.”
    “Your mother prefers that you behave in a more proper manner, Laura, and after seeing the state you were in this morning, I cannot disagree with her.”
    “But I had to hide in the tree!”
    “Aye, perhaps, but you did not have to leave Aylewood—and certainly not without so much as putting shoes on your feet, lass. She did not like your coming home without your cloak, either.”
    “Well, she will not want me to return to Davy’s to collect it,” Laurie said. “She does not approve of anything I do, sir. You know that she does not.”
    He looked at her, and his grim expression told her that she had crossed the line of what he would accept.
    Hastily, she said, “Pray, sir, forgive me. I should not have said that.”
    “No, you should not,” he said. “You must learn to curb your tongue, daughter. I am in no mood to play the harsh parent, for I believe that you had some cause to act as you did this morning. But you must not count on my continued leniency. Should your mother have further cause for complaint, you will suffer whatever consequence she deems appropriate. Do you understand me?”
    “Yes, sir,” Laurie said dismally.
    He said no more, and they entered the parlor to find the rest of the family ahead of them, gathered near the fireplace, talking quietly.
    Blanche wore a gown of her customary, elegant, dove-gray silk. Decked as usual with an abundant array of expensive jewelry, she sat in a straight-backed chair with her feet on a blue velvet footstool. Even the French hood covering all but the smoothly combed forepart of her hair boasted fine pearled embroidery.
    Ten-year-old Isabel stood beside her with one hand on the back of her chair. Isabel wore a modest milk-and-water gown similar in style to her mother’s, with a stiff, smooth bodice and flaring skirts. Her light brown hair fell in a shiny curtain to her waist, held away from her face by a plain white coif, the strings of which tied neatly under her softly rounded chin.
    Since May was talking and stood with her back to the doorway, when Laurie and Sir William entered, the other two saw them first.
    Blanche nodded regally, and Isabel curtsied, whereupon May stopped talking and turned to face them, quickly making her curtsy to Sir William.
    Her dress was the bluish-green color known as popinjay and was much less modest than those of her sister or mother. May’s tightly laced corset pushed her plump bosom so high that when she curtsied, her breasts threatened to spill over the low-cut bodice. The narrow lace edging of her chemise peeped over the bodice edge but barely covered her nipples. A ruff around her neck matched the chemise