Micara DeMonae sat watching the dismal weather through the panes of glass in the parlour window. Outside, in the streets of Dryden, water was running in rivulets through the cracks in the cobblestones and gutters. Raindrops splattered the windows and continued filling the dips in the road to form puddles. It was typical March weather. Around the corner, through the downpour, came a brown horse pulling a black covered carriage.
Poor animal, Cara thought as she watched it come to a stop in front of her house. The horse shook itself and flung water from its mane.
Cara heard a knock on the front door and sighed. Just as she'd suspected, not even the threat of flood from the sky had stopped her caller. She heard footsteps and then the door opening. She took a deep breath and pulled her blue eyes and cold fingertips from the window. The parlor door opened and the maid, Bernetta, entered, a note in her hand.
"Lord Reginald sends his apologies," she said, "but he is ill and cannot venture out in this weather. Davie brought this note and is waiting should there be a reply."
Cara crossed the room and accepted the slip of paper Bernetta offered. After scanning the short missive, she glided through through the open doorway, across the hall, and to the desk in the library. Taking a sheet of stationary from the top drawer, she penned her condolences and wishes of recovery. After blotting a small ink spill on the page, she folded the letter and exited the library, heading for the front door. Reaching Davie, she handed him the note saying, "Please tell Lord Reginald that I appreciate his sending word and that I am sorry for his unfortunate illness."
The boy nodded, and after receiving a small payment for his service, raced through the rain and bounded into the carriage.
Cara's mood lifted a little. She needed a break from Phineas. Though she had told him otherwise, the thought of his boring presence had put a damper on her spirits. She had been dreading another one of his political conversations. Not that Phineas was dull, with the right audience, he was engaging and interesting, and to be completely honest, was considered a fine catch. He was intelligent, handsome, wealthy, and a complete gentleman. But to Cara he was excruciatingly tiresome.
Without his impending arrival to dread, Cara went to the library and selected an interesting volume from her father's vast collection of books. After selecting a novel, she re-entered the parlour and perched lady-like on the divan. Seeing no observers, she kicked off her shoes and curled up into the corner of the low sofa, propping her book up on her knees. The first page captured her emotions and her mind began to devour the words. Unfortunately, before she could immerse herself completely in the story, she heard the front door bang shut. Her father burst through the parlour doorway.
"Cara!" he cried excitedly, "Cara, my daughter, you'll never guess. I have received wonderful news."
He pulled a wrinkled envelope from his vest pocket. "Read this."
He handed the envelope to Cara who examined the flowery script on the corner. It was the writing of Aunt Gladys. After reading the letter, she looked up at her father solemnly. "You're sending me away?"
He sighed. This was obviously not the reaction he had expected. He sat down on the sofa beside her. "Don't you wish to go?"
Cara toyed with the closed book in her lap.
"Micara, child, you know that I sail for France at spring's end."
She nodded.
"Then you have changed your mind about joining me?"
"No," Cara said quickly. If there was one thing she absolutely didn't want, it was to return to France, even if it was just for the summer. "Papa, I simply wish to remain here. I thought we talked about all of this."
"Has lord Reginald proposed?" he asked.
Cara sighed. "No Papa, this has nothing to do with Phineas. I just don't wants to spend months on a boat to somewhere that I despise. I have never liked France, I have told you that. In fact, I don't know why you have gone back so many times. This is our home Papa, not that place, both times we've gone all we do is spend our time bowing to a bunch of stuffy aristocrats."
He frowned angrily. "Micara DeMonae!" he exploded, "You are making this decision! Either you come with me when I sail, or you trek across Canada to your Aunt Gladys!"
Cara bounded from her seat, more surprised than angry. Jaques DeMonae rarely lost his temper. Nevertheless, Cara had some fire of her own.
"I'll go to Aunt Gladys! At least she has tried to support and love me since Mama passed away! Maybe there I'll have a say in my own life!"
With these final words, she turned and flounced out of the room, her black curls bouncing and her hoop skirts hitting the floor with every step. Her book still in hand, she marched up the stairs and through the hallway. When she reached her room, she heard the front door slam shut.
He won't be back for some time, she thought as she entered her bed chamber. She crossed the room and sat on her quilt covered bed. Though Papa was a slight man, he could cover a fair distance in a bad mood. Cara knew she should not have said those things and insulted his homeland, but what she said was true. The thought of sailing to France couldn't have appealed to her less. But, Papa was patriotic, even if he hadn't married a French woman and lived in Canada, he held tightly to his heritage.
Cara pulled herself from her thoughts and looked around at her room. Pink and cream wallpaper, lace curtains at the windows, expensive hand-carved imported furniture, thick woven rugs on the floor, and a wardrobe full of gowns imported from Paris. She lived in the lap of luxury; her father may be a missionary, but he had friends in high places and a substantial estate given to him by the king of France when he had volunteered to help with the colonization and development of New France.
Cara had been indulged by her father ever since her mother had died almost eight years ago when Cara had been but a child ten. After her mother's passing, Jaques had doted on her like a princess, but had lost his spark for life while living with the memories contained in their home. He finally sold the house, moved to a smaller dwelling, and sent Micara to a finishing school in Quebec for three years after she had turned thirteen. While she was away, he had immersed himself in missionary work. Though Cara had left as an adolescent, she had returned a young lady. Suitors of every age had begun showing up on her doorstep. The next year had been spent in the centre of society, young men at her beck and call. Cara had met Phineas Reginald on her seventeenth birthday. Her father had approved of the match and the new couple's courtship had begun. It was thrilling at first, parties and carefree fun-filled outings, but then, after almost a whole year, Phineas began being serious. A proposal was inevitable. Though he hadn't said so yet, Cara knew he was thinking of marriage.
Pushing off the bed, Cara sighed. Now she must retrieve her shoes from the parlour and apologize to Papa. She exited the room quietly and tip toed down the polished wooden staircase, her hand trailing down the mahogany railing. Her father was nowhere in sight as she wandered into the parlour and slid her feet into her green satin slippers that matched her dress. After smoothing her ruffled skirt and straightening a piece of lace on the end of her elbow length sleeves, she headed towards the closed library doors.
Bernetta came through the dining room door as Cara lifted her hand to knock.
"The Master hasn't returned yet," Bernetta said. Cara put her hand down and looked to the front door.
"Dinner is ready when ever you are, Miss," stated the quiet young maid before she headed back to the kitchen.
Cara walked to the dining room and seated herself at the foot of the table. Bernetta set a tureen full of creamy potato soup down on the table along with powdery biscuits. Cara served herself and began eating as she waited for her father.
A half hour later, after Cara had retired to the parlour window seat to once again watch the rain, Jaques returned home.
Cara looked up as Bernetta scurried past the door. A few second later, Jaques appeared. "Micara," he said impassively, "I've secured a courier to take you to your aunt Gladys in Trenton. You leave on the first of May."
He turned slowly and walked towards his chambers, leaving Cara staring after him.
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A/N
This story is dear to me, I started it a long time ago, inspired by my all time favourite book "The King's Daughter" by Suzanne Martel. If you're looking for a book set in the colonization years of Canada wraught with peril, savages, and a love story in the Canadian wilderness, it is the book for you.
For all of you who are giving "A Scotsman's Promise" a chance, thank you so much, please read, vote, comment and enjoy. I'll do my best to upload swiftly, despite my other books on here that also require my time.
Thanks again