The Virtuous Ward - By Karla Darcy Page 0,25

ruffle had been torn from the bottom of the overskirt and the muslin remaining was frayed like the tatters on a pauper. Now that all of the bright pink bows were gone, the pink underskirt seemed softer, closer to peach in tone. The plaid material had been cut and resewn as a long sash, falling from one shoulder to cross her bosom where it was attached at the waist with a round, filigreed silver ornament. Without all the ruffles and bows, the simple style of the gown was well suited to the tall, red-haired girl.

Raising his eyes to her face, Max felt a tightening in his chest at the look of pride on his ward's face. Her clear blue eyes shimmered like the water in a Scottish loch. Her hair had been combed out and was brushed to a burnished ripple of curls that hung down her back to her waist. She wore no jewelry, only a circle of small, white flowers crowned her head.

"Oh my word, child," cousin Hester cried, so unsettled that her voice rose to a shrill screech. "What sort of May game are you playing at?"

"Fustian, cousin," Max said, stepping forward to take Amity's hand and draw her further into the room. "Surely you have seen the traditional regalia for a Scottish maiden."

"Scottish?" Hester's eyes goggled as they swung between her cousin and his ward.

"It was demmed clever of Amity to remind us of her illustrious heritage on such an occasion."

Amity's mouth trembled with the effort it took not to laugh at Max's drawled tone. Entering into the affair, she pursed her mouth and commented in injured tones. "Everything is near perfect, Lady Grassmere, except that Max would not permit me to wear the knife at my belt."

"Knife?" Hester squeaked, groping in her reticule for her ever-present bottle of salts.

"Naughty, puss," Max hissed, then raised his voice to a bright, chivvying tone. "Never say, Cousin Hester, that you have forgotten the traditions of the Frasers of Scotland. Amity does well to bring honor to her ancestors." Knowing he was striking at one of his cousin's pet animadversions, he added, "Young girls nowadays ignore the past and are more interested in the fashions and etiquette of a more modern world."

Like a fish, Hester leaped at the bait. "Our Amity is not light-minded like most young girls," she whispered.

Amity bit the inside of her cheek so as not to go off in whoops since Lady Grassmere had been chiding her continually for her impetuous behavior which she considered quite shatterbrained. She lowered her eyes, knowing that if her gaze crossed Max's she would ruin herself in the eyes of her chaperone.

"How perceptive you are, cousin," Max said. His voice had a choked quality but after clearing his throat he was able to continue. "Perhaps I might remind you of the significance of Amity's costume in the event some of our guests should not be epris of Scottish traditions. The sash is the tartan of her family's clan. As my ward mentioned, owing to the sensibilities of some of our gently reared ladies, the ancestral dagger has been replaced by a broach of heraldic design."

"Very tasteful, Maxwell," Hester simpered.

"Why thank you, cousin." He spoke louder than usual to cover the chortle of laughter which slipped from his ward's smiling lips.

"And the torn skirts?" Hester asked, leaning forward in her interest.

Max looked blank and there was an uneasy silence for several moments before Amity stepped into the breach.

"How clever of you to notice, Lady Grassmere," she said, trying to remember Max's original plan. "The ragged edges are symbolic."

"Symbolic of what, dear child?" Hester said. "This is all so exciting you see. I must admit I know very little of Scottish customs but I should imagine some of the more unenlightened will ask."

"One might have assumed as much," Amity said, casting her eyes to the ceiling for inspiration. "Well it indicates, that is, it is symbolic of, eh, poverty. Ah yes, poverty."

"Yes?" the old lady asked.

"Do go on, Amity. No need to be missish in the face of Cousin Hester's curiosity," Max said, leaning against the side of a glass-fronted bookcase, arms folded across his chest and his head cocked to the side in great interest. His ward narrowed her eyes and he suspected for his own peace of mind that in future he would be wiser not to goad her.

Amity chuckled at the wary expression that crossed Max's face and she determined to give a good accounting of herself. She