A Place Called Freedom - Ken Follett [4]
That was undoubtedly why the Jamisson family were visiting their Scottish property again after all these years, and why their principal houseguests were their neighbors, Lizzie and her mother, who lived only ten miles away. The pretext for the party was the twenty-first birthday of the younger son, Jay; but the real reason was that they wanted Lizzie to marry the older son, Robert.
Mother was in favor, as Robert was the heir to a great fortune. Sir George was in favor because he wanted to add the Hallim estate to the Jamisson family’s land. Robert seemed to be in favor, to judge by the way he had been paying attention to her ever since they arrived; although it was always hard to know what was in Robert’s heart.
She saw him standing in the stable yard, waiting for the horses to be saddled. He resembled the portrait of his mother that hung in the castle hall—a grave, plain woman with fine hair and light eyes and a determined look about the mouth. There was nothing wrong with him: he was not especially ugly, neither thin nor fat, nor did he smell bad or drink too much or dress effeminately. He was a great catch, Lizzie told herself, and if he proposed marriage she would probably accept. She was not in love with him, but she knew her duty.
She decided to banter with him a little. “It really is most inconsiderate of you to live in London,” she said.
“Inconsiderate?” He frowned. “Why?”
“You leave us without neighbors.” Still he looked puzzled. It seemed he did not have much of a sense of humor. She explained: “With you away there isn’t another soul between here and Edinburgh.”
A voice behind her said: “Apart from a hundred families of coal miners and several villages of crofters.”
“You know what I mean,” she said, turning. The man who had spoken was a stranger to her. With her usual directness she said: “Anyway, who are you?”
“Jay Jamisson,” he said with a bow. “Robert’s cleverer brother. How could you forget?”
“Oh!” She had heard he had arrived late last night, but she had not recognized him. Five years ago he had been several inches shorter, with pimples on his forehead and a few soft blond hairs on his chin. He was handsomer now. But he had not been clever then and she doubted if he had changed in that respect. “I remember you,” she said. “I recognize the conceit.”
He grinned. “If only I’d had your example of humility and self-effacement to copy, Miss Hallim.”
Robert said: “Hullo, Jay. Welcome to Castle Jamisson.”
Jay looked suddenly sulky. “Drop the proprietorial air, Robert. You may be the elder son but you haven’t inherited the place yet.”
Lizzie intervened, saying: “Congratulations on your twenty-first birthday.”
“Thank you.”
“Is it today?”
“Yes.”
Robert said impatiently: “Are you going to ride to church with us?”
Lizzie saw hatred in Jay’s eyes, but his voice was neutral. “Yes. I’ve told them to saddle a horse for me.”
“We’d better get going.” Robert turned toward the stable and raised his voice. “Hurry up in there!”
“All set, sir,” a groom called from within, and a moment later three horses were led out: a sturdy black pony, a light bay mare, and a gray gelding.
Jay said: “I suppose these beasts have been hired from some Edinburgh horse-dealer.” His tone was critical, but he went to the gelding and patted its neck, letting it nuzzle his blue riding-coat. Lizzie saw that he was comfortable with horses and fond of them.
She mounted the black pony, riding sidesaddle, and trotted out of the yard. The brothers followed, Jay on the gelding and Robert on the mare. The wind blew sleet into Lizzie’s eyes. Snow underfoot made the road treacherous, for it hid potholes a foot or more deep that