Page 18 of Taming the Scot
And the truth was, even though she’d devoured the gentleman’s handbook, she would need to read it five more times before any of the information would stick. There were so many parts in it that made no sense. So many requirements for gentlemen seemed to defeat the purpose. Such as standing every time a lady rose to leave the table. The man might as well remain on his feet if it were a large party.
“Thank ye, Martin.” She turned to face the table. “Good evening, everyone.”
Six beautiful faces smiled back at her, and at the head of the table, the captain stared at her before he finally nodded and sat down. “Good evening, Miss Holmes.”
Oh God, what had he been thinking? She was a mess. An utter mess who shouldn’t be teaching him manners when she could barely comport herself.
Bronwen glanced around, noticing the others had tucked their napkins into their laps, but before she could grab hers, Martin slipped it out from beneath her hand, flapped it in the air and slid it over her lap.
“Would ye care for wine, miss?” he asked.
Bronwen was too embarrassed to say that she’d never had wine. When her parents were alive, watered ale, tea and milk—if she was lucky—were the only beverages on tap. When it was just her, she was lucky to get any of those. More often than not, she found herself boiling water to ease her thirst.
She slowly nodded because she couldn’t seem to make her tongue work, and it wasn’t as if she were going to tell them the truth.
Martin poured the burgundy-colored wine into a crystal goblet, the same as everyone else’s. And when Martin had finished, Euan raised his glass and nodded at her.
“To my new governess,” he said.
Bronwen copied how Maggie held the cup, her pinky out, and brought it to her lips, taking a tiny sip. The wine had a sharp, not altogether unpleasant, tang. She took another small sip and then put it back on the table, watching as two women from the kitchen served what Martin called their first course. One ladled a creamy soup into bowls, and another placed an oyster in the center.
Now oysters, Bronwen had plenty of, as she and her mother had often gone digging in the wee hours, sometimes for the coin, and sometimes to eat. If they were ever caught, they had to run with their bounty tucked in the pulled-up hem of their skirts, praying the shadows didn’t give chase. They’d shucked them in their tiny flat and marveled at the delicacy.
But never before had she had it in a creamy soup. Bronwen watched for which spoon to pick up, then did so, dipping it in the bowl and pausing.
“Miss Holmes,” Maggie said, “Do ye have any siblings?”
Bronwen put her soup spoon down. “Nay, ’tis just me.”
“And your parents?” Maggie tasted her soup delicately from the side of the spoon.
“They are gone now.” Bronwen didn’t want to go into details, and she hoped her short answers would suffice. She lifted her spoon, and this time she did take a taste. Creamy, buttery, salty broth slid over her tongue. It was not as unpleasant as she’d thought it would be.
Maggie gave her a compassionate look. “I’m so sorry to hear that. Ours are gone too.”
“I’m sorry for your loss,” Euan said.
Bronwen glanced at Euan, catching him studying her with eyes full of curiosity. He’d barely touched his soup. She wished she could see what he was thinking.
“Euan has always looked after us,” Maggie said between bites.
“And ye too, Mags, do no’ discount yourself,” Skye said to which Euan agreed.
“Ye’re all verra lucky to have one another.” Bronwen’s chest felt suddenly tight. She put her spoon down and sipped more of the wine.
“We are,” the youngest of the siblings said with a large nod that had one of her brown ringlets nearly dipping into her soup.
“Get your hair out of your soup,” said the one beside her.
“Ye’ve done a good job,” Bronwen said to Euan and then nodded at Mags.
“Everyone appears healthy and well cared for.”
“And she would know,” Esme said with a nod in Bronwen’s direction. “Because she’s a governess.”
Maggie smiled at Bronwen, giving her a knowing smile that made Bronwen only slightly suspicious. “I think that does qualify her as an expert, indeed.”
Was Maggie the one who’d dropped off the book? She hadn’t thought much about who it could be, preferring to believe that no one had found her out yet. But that look…her words…
