Page 26 of Taming the Scot
“A little flattery could no’ hurt.” She’d been admired once, at barely thirteen. The son of the man who delivered their milk liked to knock on the door and hand her the bottle. One time, their fingers touched, and Bronwen thought it the most romantic thing that had ever happened—until Euan had given her his cravat in the garden.
She couldn’t help wondering what it would be like to be courted by a man like Euan.
She flicked her gaze toward the captain. Was that why she’d reacted so hotly to his touch? Because to her, that slight graze meant so much more than words?
“How’s this? ‘Dear Miss Holmes, I could no’ help but admire your gumption upon our first meeting, and I am driven to distraction wanting to know what ye think when ye look out the window. There’s such a whimsical note about ye that I can’t help but to find fascinating. Might I have permission to call on ye Saturday next?’”
Bronwen was stunned into silence. They were pretending, only pretending. This wasn’t real. Except he’d used real things in his letter, and the whole time he’d read the words, he’d locked his eyes on hers. This was incredibly unfair, and she should be put out that he wasn’t taking the lesson seriously. Why was her heart beating so fast? Her throat so dry? She took up a frantic patting of Owen’s head, and the dog slinked away, irritated with her.
“I should think no’.” She lifted her chin and stared down at him. It wouldn’t do for anything to develop between the two of them. It was impossible. And went against the reason he’d put an advert in the paper. He wanted someone refined, not a pauper. “I do no’ know a single lass that would read your letter and invite ye over. Ye sound overeager and…obsessive.”
“Obsessive?”
“Watching her like a hunter stalking his prey. Driven to distraction by your thoughts. These are no’ flattering.” She crossed her arms over her chest.
“Ah, perhaps I am a bit too fanatical in waxing about my passions.” He leaned back in his chair, forearms casually resting on the armrests of his chair.
“Passion?” she practically spat the word. “We hardly know one another.”
A twinkle was in his eye, the corner of his lip twitching as if he’d caught her at something, but other than those tells, he looked perfectly serious. “This is pretend, is it no’? I was merely pretending about a different Miss Holmes.”
Aye, pretend. She had to remember that and remind her heart, which pounded so hard against her ribs she was certain they would crack.
This wasn’t going well at all, and at this rate, she’d be tossed out by noon. She had to pull it together. To somehow untangle the mess she’d made here. “Well, before ye try to figure out the right way to write a lady ye’ve known for months, ye’d best do well with writing a lady ye’ve just met. Tell her of your day, and then give her one compliment.”
“What sort of compliment should I give? That her gown did wonders for her figure?”
Bronwen couldn’t help but look down at the simple ivory frock she had on today. She had no figure to speak of. Months without proper nutrition had left her thin and waifish. Not that she’d had any sort of hips or bosom before. She took after her mother in that respect.
She plucked at nothing on her skirt to pretend she wasn’t affected by his words or that she hadn’t been looking at her own body, but merely whatever it was marring the white muslin.
“How about ye admired the ribbons of her bonnet and that they brought out the color of her eyes, Captain? Let’s keep it decent.”
“All right. ‘Dear Miss Holmes, I had the pleasure of riding in Charlotte’s Square today, but I must say the hour was quite dull without your presence. None of the other lasses had a bonnet as bonnie as yours. And I admired the way the ribbons brought out the blue in your gray eyes. Might I have the pleasure of calling on ye, Saturday next?’”
Bronwen swallowed around the lump in her throat. That letter was perfect, except for he’d noticed her eyes were gray. She had to remember he was writing about a different Miss Holmes—one that sounded so very much like her. It was making her feel and think things that would never be?
She cleared her throat. “That will do quite nicely. I think any lass to receive it would be well pleased.”
“And how do I close?” He dipped the quill in the inkwell with precision, then paused to await her instruction.
“With your name.” Simple and evasive. “Now, if ye’ll excuse me, I need some air.” Bronwen rushed from the study out to the garden, which was quickly becoming a place of refuge for her.
7
Bronwen was lucky to avoid Euan that evening at dinner as he was called away to help several of the crofters with some escaped sheep. She couldn’t help but admire how when his people called, he’d leap from wherever he was to help.
That was the true sign of a leader. And a compassionate man.
When she’d first seen the advert in the paper—indeed when he’d first opened the door and invited her into Drum Castle and told her he needed governess to snare a better bride—she’d not expected him to be a man of conscience. A man who cared for anything other than bloodlines. That was so far from the truth. And considering how he wasn’t taking his lessons all that seriously, she doubted whether he wanted a wife to begin with.
But his sisters seemed extremely anxious about it. Asking for progress reports. Even young Raine had stopped by Bronwen’s bedroom the evening before to ask if she thought Euan would be ready by the season’s opening and would the ladies of society find him a worthy husband? Bronwen had, of course, reassured the sweet lass that her brother was doing very well. Though the visit had made her wonder, why was it so important for him to find a bride? At first, she’d thought they needed the coin, but after living with them for a few days, she was fairly certain that wasn’t it. The Irvine clan appeared to be doing quite well—a point of pride between the siblings.
In Euan’s absence from the parlor, his sisters prattled on about this and that over a game of cards. Bronwen tried to keep up, but she couldn’t stop yawning. Despite having a soft bed with plenty of blankets, she was not sleeping as well as she would have imagined. This was after all only a temporary respite from Prince and his henchmen, and the bullies haunted her dreams.
Excusing herself, she went up to her room to study the section on tea in Lady Edinburgh’s Guide for Gentleman. But she didn’t last long, quickly falling asleep with the book still in her hands. The following morning, she awoke to scratching at her door and opened it to find the old hound waiting to come inside. He curled up at her feet as she finished reading the chapter on tea.
That was going to be today’s lesson. And she was terrified. So much so, she’d taken breakfast in her room—while Owen benefitted from her leftovers—and then nearly fretted a hole in the carpet from her pacing. Tea in high society was so divergent to tea amongst her set that the only similarity was that one swallowed.
