The Last Heiress by Bertrice Small Read Free Book Online Page B

into his mouth.
    “I can! But if you know you can satisfy my curiosity before I read it in detail,” Elizabeth almost shouted. “I cannot believe you are that much of a dunce, sir.”
    He burst out laughing, and his laugher echoed through the hall, startling the servants who were busily cleaning. “My father wants to buy some of your Shropshires, if you are of a mind to sell any,” he said.
    “They are not for eating,” Elizabeth replied stiffly. “You Scots are much for eating sheep, I am told. I raise Shropshires for their wool.”
    He chuckled. “My father sells his wool.”
    “We weave ours into cloth here at Friarsgate,” Elizabeth told him.
    “You do not send the wool to the Netherlands?” He was surprised.
    “We send cloth to the Netherlands,” she told him. “Our Friarsgate blue cloth is much sought after. We regulate how much we will sell each year in order to keep the price high. The Hollanders have tried to copy it, but they have not succeeded. It is shipped in our own vessel, so we are able to control the export completely.”
    “This is very interesting,” he said seriously. “Who does the weaving?”
    “My cotters, during the winter months when there is no other work for them,” Elizabeth explained. “By keeping them busy they earn a bit of coin, and do not grow lazy. Come the spring they are ready to go into the fields again. In the old days there was nothing for the cotters to do in the dark days and long nights. They drank too much, grew irritable, and beat their wives or children. They often fought with other men, causing serious injuries to the otherwise able-bodied. Now everyone is busy the winter through.”
    “Whose idea was this?” he asked her.
    “My mother’s, and then my uncle decided that we should have our own vessel, so he had one built,” Elizabeth said.
    “How long have the duties of Friarsgate been yours?” he wondered.
    “Since I was fourteen. I will be twenty-two at the end of May,” Elizabeth said.
    “My dearest girl, a lady never reveals her age,” Thomas Bolton said, coming into the hall. “I was told the Scot was back.” His amber eyes swept over Baen MacColl, and he sighed most audibly.
    “You have broken your fast, of course,” Elizabeth said. “If you have not there is no jam left, I fear. It has all been eaten up.”
    “Will and I have been up for at least two hours, dear girl,” he told her. “We have been discussing your hair and the state of your hands, Elizabeth.”
    “What is wrong with my hair?” she wanted to know.
    “It hangs,” he told her. “We need to decide upon an elegant style for you, and then Nancy must learn how to do it. And from now on  you must sleep every night with your hands wrapped in cotton cloth after they have been properly creamed.”
    “Why?” Elizabeth demanded of him.
    “Dear girl, only yesterday Will noted that you have hands like a milkmaid. A lady should have smooth and soft hands. The cream and the wrapping will accomplish just that effect. And you must cease all manner of manual labor, my pet,” he told her.
    “Uncle, I am what I am,” Elizabeth said, exasperated.
    “She can be so difficult,” Thomas Bolton said, turning to Baen MacColl. “She is going to court in a few weeks. Her sisters were delighted at the prospect and looked forward to it, but alas, my darling Elizabeth does not.” He turned back to Elizabeth. “And you must practice walking, dear girl.”
    “I have been walking since I was a year old, Uncle,” she said.
    “What is wrong with the way I walk?”
    “You clump, dear girl. Ladies do not clump; they glide like swans on the surface of the water,” Lord Cambridge said.
    “Uncle!” Elizabeth’s tone was exasperated.
    “Well, we must at least rid you of the clump,” Tom Bolton said, undeterred.
    Baen MacColl snickered, and Elizabeth shot him a black look.
    “Those gowns of yours will not take to clumping, dear girl,” Lord Cambridge said. “And you look so beautiful