“Ines—Miss Neves makes Catarina lace,” Duncan said.
“I have never heard of that. Is it Portuguese?”
Ines should not have been surprised that word of Catarina lace had not spread as far as Scotland. And she should not have been pleased to know something of fashion that Lady Charlotte did not. “You are obviously familiar with Brussels and Chantilly lace?” she asked.
“Of course.”
“Catarina lace is more coveted.”
Lady Charlotte set her teacup on the saucer. “Doubtful.”
“It is. In another six months, we predict Catarina lace will surpass blonde lace in popularity, and even your English royalty wear blonde lace.”
“Ridiculous prediction.”
“All the ladies in London wear it,” Duncan said.
“Why is it called Catarina lace?” Lady Charlotte asked, seeming genuinely interested. But Ines would not lower her guard.
“Because my sister invented it. As you must know, Barcelona is where all of the best blond lace is made. My sister studied there with a master. She learned enough in six months to create her own lace. It was so in demand that she opened her own shop.”
“What makes the lace so special?” Duncan asked. “It’s verra pretty, but I dinnae see how it differs from other lace.”
Despite her wish to remain cool and remote, Ines could not help but warm to her topic. “Like blonde lace, there is a contrast between the patterns and the ground, sim?” She looked at Lady Charlotte to see if she was understood.
“Of course. But blonde lace is inferior,” Lady Charlotte said, lifting her haughty chin.
“Yes, because the pattern is not as perfect and regular. But Catarina not only created the new patterns, she designed a process to ensure the patterns were more regular than Chantilly or Lille lace.”
“I do not believe it,” Lady Charlotte said. And then to Ines’s surprise she rang a bell. “Show me.”
The woman Ines had seen earlier, and thought must be the housekeeper, entered. She wore a simple dress and a white cap with lace around the edges. She carried a pillow, a set of bobbins, and thread. She cleared the table before Ines and set the materials there. Ines lifted the bobbins. They were made from light wood and each had been painted with a different flower. She could identify lavender and roses and daffodils. Of course, there was the Scottish thistle. The varnish over the wood had preserved the painting and made the bobbins smooth to the touch. “These are lovely,” she said.
“Will those materials do?” Lady Charlotte asked.
Ines studied the cylindrical velvet pillow, suitable for making lace edging for small items like handkerchiefs. Then she lifted the thread. It was good thread, not as fine as she and Catarina liked to use, but it would do. “Sim.”
She lifted the materials and moved them to a card table near the window. The light would be better here, and she would not have to sit at an odd angle to work. Ines was surprised at how eager she was to work. Since she had arrived in London, she had not found as much pleasure as usual in making lace. It had seemed like a daily drudgery when there was a new city to be explored. But perhaps she had explored enough for the time being, because the prospect of sitting in this cozy room near the window with the lovely view and creating something beautiful appealed to her immensely.
She laid out her materials, arranged the pillow, threaded the bobbins, and then looked out the window, hoping for inspiration. She knew a dozen patterns she could easily recreate, but she wanted something uncommon. And what to make? Edging for a handkerchief or a cap? A lace doily?
“Well, she has threaded the bobbins well enough,” Lady Charlotte said to Duncan. “But now she sits and stares.”
Duncan didn’t respond to his mother, and Ines could feel his gaze on her. His amber eyes were very gold in the firelight, and she looked down to avoid meeting his gaze. She knew his mother was watching both of them, but she could not allow the dragon to make her nervous.
Ines studied her hands and her wrists, the plain sleeves of the drab gown. She could make lace to edge those sleeves, not lace that would hang down but lace to sew on the cuff and make them pretty.
Then she noticed the flowers again. She was in Scotland. Why not a pattern where she incorporated the thistle? Perhaps a pattern of lines reminiscent of the weavings of a plaid?
Almost without thinking, the bobbins in her hand began to move. Her progress was slow at first. Beginning was always the most difficult. She had to find a rhythm and that would not come until after she was sure of her design. She tried to ignore Duncan and Lady Charlotte, to concentrate on even movements that would create the fine lace her sister had become known for.
“She does know how to make lace,” Lady Charlotte said, as though the matter were ever in doubt.
“What are ye making, lass?” Duncan asked after a few minutes had passed and she was beginning to feel the rhythm.
“A decoration for the cuffs of this dress,” she said, not looking away from her work.
“Why that dress?” Lady Charlotte asked.
“Because this pattern is Scottish, and because this dress is special to you, não?”
“I would hardly allow you to wear it if it was precious,” she said with a huff. But Ines did not think the woman would have kept the dress all these years if it hadn’t meant something to her. Perhaps it simply reminded her of when her daughter had been young.
Lady Charlotte rose and moved closer, and Ines forced herself not to stiffen. Her hands seemed to move of their own volition now, and she did not want to think too much and make a mistake. Creating lace was simply a matter of the placement of the bobbins. This one crossed that one and then the rose crossed the lilacs and under the heather and all the way to the jasmine. Of course, her hands moved quickly, pulling the threads taut and shuffling the bobbins so quickly it was almost a blur. She felt the familiar ache in her shoulders, but it was only a small nuisance as the pattern beginning to emerge on the pillow pleased her.
Gradually, she became aware of Lady Charlotte standing over her. She had been standing there for some time, but Ines had been wrapped up in her work. She continued moving her hands but glanced up at Lady Charlotte. The woman’s eyes were as sharp as ever, but her mouth was lax and even parted slightly.
“I chose a thistle for the flower,” Ines said.
“I see that,” Lady Charlotte remarked. “It’s very clear. And that is supposed to be a plaid on the border?”
“Yes. Of course, I cannot use the clan colors.”
Lady Charlotte did not speak and another twenty minutes or so passed. Ines did not know how long it had taken, perhaps an hour, before she finished the first cuff, tied it off, moved it from the pillow and stretched her back before readying her materials for the second cuff.
Lady Charlotte’s hand covered Ines’s, and she looked up in surprise.
“Wait,” the lady said. She took the cuff Ines had made and lifted it, studying it in the light from the window. Then she brought it to Duncan and showed him. He had been watching Ines, but his gaze shifted to the lace, and he nodded appreciatively.
Lady Charlotte turned back to Ines. “I would not have believed this if I had not seen you create it with my own eyes. This is the finest lace I have ever seen.”
“I could do better,” Ines said. “The thread we usually work with is finer and thinner.”