Page 17 of Taming the Scot
Then the maid took tongs to her hair, twisting it up in a way that made Bronwen feel like even more of an imposter than she already was.
“Have ye any pearls or other baubles, miss?” the maid asked.
Bronwen shook her head.
“Ah, then we’ll do this.” The maid plucked a ribbon from the dressing table and tied it around Bronwen’s throat with a tiny, neat bow. “How’s that?”
Bronwen stared at the looking glass, hardly recognizing herself with the way her black hair shone in ringlets piled on the crown of her head, and falling to frame her face. She touched the blue ribbon at her neck, amazed that the smallest thing made her feel so…elegant.
“’Tis perfect,” she said softly.
The maid bobbed a curtsey and tucked away the mess of getting her ready, leaving Bronwen feeling as though she should help.
“Ye’ll be late for dinner, miss,” the maid reminded her.
Bronwen scooted out of the bedroom, glad she’d thought about popping the Lady Edinburgh’s Guide for Gentleman underneath the cushion of the window seat. She made her way toward the stairs, her feet still feeling strange and uncertain in slippers versus sturdier working shoes.
She stood outside the dining room, listening to the laughter and murmurs from within. A tiny, foreign twinge inside her belly startled her. A yearning almost for whatever camaraderie was happening on the other side of the door. She’d never had a big family. It had always been only her and her parents when they were around. Before she was born, there’d been a brother, she’d been told, but he died from a fever of some sort. Such was the plight of many babies where she came from. The very idea of seven healthy bairns growing into the Irvine family was astounding to her. But she supposed they’d suffered their own kind of loss, given there was no mother or father here.
The Irvine family seemed close-knit, and that too was an unfamiliar thing for her, as strange as the slippers on her feet. She and her parents had looked out for one another because it always felt as if they were fighting against something or someone. Not because they enjoyed each other’s company. The idea of friendships within a household was peculiar and something she’d never known she wanted until right now, with that tiny feeling poking at her ribs.
Standing there on the outside, she realized she didn’t belong. Not here, not anywhere.
Bronwen started to turn away, overcome with emotion, when the butler appeared from out of nowhere.
“Miss Holmes,” he said, gazing down at her with something akin to concern.
“I’m afraid I never learned your name,” she said, trying to smile and wipe away the terror she was certain shone on her face.
“I’m Martin. Can I help ye with something, miss?”
Bronwen smoothed her skirt, folding her hands in front of her. How long had the butler been watching her, and just what did he think of her standing there forever?
“Nay, thank ye, Martin. Just working up the nerve to go inside.” She wasn’t sure what possessed her to confess that fact, but the soft chuckle from the butler eased her worry.
“They are harmless, miss. A verra good family.” His tone was sincere, his features softening from the stoicism he wore like a mask.
The latter was what she worried about most. Not only had she come into their castle lying about who she was, but the idea of a family was…she didn’t know what to do with one. Not to mention she’d never had dinner like this. She was certain to make a mistake. And being new, they were all going to be watching her.
“If ye would no’ mind going in, miss, I can no’ instruct dinner to be served until ye’re seated.”
“Oh. I’m sorry.” Heat flushed up her neck to her cheeks, and she was quick to open the door and make her entrance.
The long dining table was filled with the six Irvine sisters and Captain Irvine at the helm. As soon as she entered, he stood, impeccably dressed in a crisp shirt, cravat, and a formal kilt. My, but what a handsome specimen he was. Tall and broad, the shape of his calves muscular. Again, she wondered how it was that he’d not yet found a wife. If Bronwen were one of the society lasses, she wouldn’t care if he had the worst manners because he was mighty fine to look at, and his winks were not unwelcome in the least.
“Miss Holmes, we welcome ye,” he said, and there were six echoes of his sentiments. He beckoned her to the spot opposite him. “A place for our honored guests.”
Honored guest… She was nothing of the sort. And if he had any idea who she was, he’d send her to eat with the cows in the pasture. Actually, she wasn’t certain that was true. He seemed to have gained a lot of respect from his people, and she’d heard whispers he was often seen working the earth with them from the servants.
Bronwen smiled and hurried to the open spot that had been left for her.
Martin followed and pulled her chair out, indicating she should sit, which she did, nearly putting her face into the table when he scooted her in unexpectedly. Bronwen’s hands flattened to the table, upsetting her cutlery as she steadied herself. Alas, another society rule she wasn’t aware of. Apparently, females didn’t tuck themselves into a table. That hadn’t been in the book she’d read.
“My apologies,” she murmured, heat flushing her face. She avoided eye contact as she and Martin fixed her silverware.
“Miss,” he murmured, nodding for her to move her hand so he could replace a fork.
A glance up showed his apologetic face, and she hoped that her smile wasn’t as pained as she felt.
