Island of the Swans by Ciji Ware Page B

upcoming sixteenth birthday.
    “That woman must be demented!” his father had exploded, pounding the table in the unkempt drawing room at Monreith House while reading Lady Maxwell’s missive sent by horse-back messenger from Edinburgh. “I’ve all I can do keeping two households going as it is, and now she wants to waste good silver on a grand party for a lass who’s been naught but trouble since the day she first came squallin’ into this woeful world!”
    He had shaken his head morosely before gulping down yet another glass of whiskey.
    Hamilton had come to realize that Sir William had no fondness for daughters. It was obvious that the disgruntled baronet had never really forgiven his wife for the accident to Jane’s right hand five years earlier. He’d become positively apoplectic at news of her misadventures on North Loch.
    “Odds fish, Ham! What decent gentleman will want to marry a strumpet like your sister Jane with a hand missin’ a forefinger and her meddlin’ ways?” he had complained peevishly as they approached the city gates of Edinburgh. “I’ll be blessed indeed if me prettiest daughter don’t end up spinsterish, mark me words,” he groused, slouched in his saddle. “I’ll not keep the baggage in silks and lace, I’ll tell you that, Ham! ’Tis her mother’s concern.”
    Hamilton Maxwell had long since stopped trying to understand the ongoing warfare between his mother and father—a couple who, despite their clear incompatibility, had managed to produce six healthy offspring. For as long as Hamilton could recall, his father had always preferred the clean air and country ways of the Scottish Lowlands—and the right to drink in peace; his mother preferred the excitement and activity of the city—free of her bibulous spouse.
    Hamilton glanced around the shabby Edinburgh sitting room at his three sisters, who had each matured noticeably since last he’d seen them. One thing was certain, running two households full tilt all year round put a crimp in the family’s meager finances. Presumably, this was the subject of the rantings and ravings now going on behind closed doors.
    “Oh, I wish they’d stop !” cried Jane, running to the leaded glass windows overlooking the city streets below. “I don’t care a rip about the stupid ball, and I hate all this skirling.”
    Hamilton observed Jane closely as she rested her chin against the frosted window pane. Her skin was flawless and her profile patrician. Hamilton Maxwell was unable to make out how his scrawny little sister had turned into a deuced swan !
    “Well, I hope they have it,” announced Eglantine suddenly, interrupting Hamilton’s train of thought.
    “Have what?” Jane asked vaguely.
    “Your birthday ball !” her younger sister cried in an exasperated tone. “I can’t think why Da should object, since Sir Algernon has offered to sponsor you, and ’tis he who’ll be paying for the ceilidh he gives every year anyway. I’ve never been to a ball!” she complained, plaintively voicing her desire to attend Sir Algernon Dick’s Hogmanay Ball that the physician had hosted each New Year’s Eve for as long as any Maxwell could remember.
    “And you probably won’t go to this one either,” Catherine said primly. “I had to wait till I turned sixteen.”
    “Da’s thinkin’ of the fine new clothes you’ll need, don’t you imagine?” Hamilton pronounced. “He despises spending coin on you three, and that’s a fact. But he hates charity more, and doesn’t think too much of Sir Algernon Dick. After all, they were rivals for mama’s hand, once upon a time.”
    “Pooh!” scoffed Eglantine. “ That’s no reason to refuse the doctor’s offer. Da doesn’t give a fig what Mama does anymore.”
    “ Eglantine !” Catherine said sternly. “Not another word from you, you naughty lass!”
    The eldest Maxwell daughter walked over to Jane, who continued to stare moodily out the window into the foggy November