Page 12 of Taming the Scot
Nay. “Of course.” Bronwen slipped on her boot, not bothering to tie it and stood, smoothing her hand down the wrinkles in her frock. Somehow, she managed a smile despite the raging blush that no doubt showed on her face.
“Euan told us to wait, but we just could no’. I’m Maggie.” The lass was tall, her blonde hair done just right, and a twinkle in her blue eyes that made Bronwen like her instantly. She held a plate of biscuits in her hand that made Bronwen like her even more.
The others gave their names in such a rush that Bronwen could only determine that she’d never remember them all. Besides, she wouldn’t be here long enough for it to matter.
“I’m Bronwen, or rather Miss Holmes,” she said, raising her chin a notch to play the part of a governess.
“’Tis lovely to meet ye, Miss Holmes,” Maggie said. Her hands were folded neatly in front of her. Very proper-like, so Bronwen did the same. “We’d like to invite ye down to the parlor for tea and a chat once ye’ve had a chance to rest.”
Rest? From what? Bronwen had not done anything today but lounge on a boat and then in a carriage, and she’d not even carried her valise up the stairs. Then she’d proceeded to roll around on a carpet, so clearly, she did not need rest. Her stomach growled. “Oh, dear,” she said. “I do apologize for that. I seem to have missed my breakfast.”
“Shall we have a plate sent up?” Maggie asked, then frowned. “Euan really should have asked.”
“Well, I suppose that is why I’m here, is it no’? I shall help him understand it all.” Bronwen felt rather stupid for the way she was speaking and wished she could relax. But her throat was tight, and her spine was so rigid, she thought it might snap.
“Indeed. He is going to need a lot of help. He much prefers the company of his friends over the society misses, and yet he needs a wife.” Maggie shrugged. “But to be perfectly honest, I find most of the society misses to be boorish and annoying. He’s going to have a verra hard time with it.”
Maggie’s sisters giggled—all save one who simply watched Bronwen. Her stare was a bit unnerving. Bronwen met it, holding steady until the other lass glanced away.
“Aye,” said a younger sister with brown hair. “Euan is going to need every minute of every lesson if he’s to succeed.”
“I was at a house party last year with those society misses that made me want to scream. Alas, that is a story for another time,” Maggie added.
Bronwen nodded, not exactly sure how she should respond. Though Bronwen had never been to a house party and likely never would, she imagined it was its own hellish place. The pressure on the man to find a bride was so intense that Bronwen almost felt sorry for him. Of course, she remembered that she also had a lot of pressure—to live.
But then she had an idea. Perhaps if she could convince Maggie to tell her some of the tidbits about the party, she’d glean some facts about manners she could use in her lessons with the captain.
“I should like to hear it now,” Bronwen said, reaching for a biscuit. “I’m no’ too tired.”
Maggie beamed. “All right.” She walked over to a rope hanging from the corner and tugged.
Bronwen looked up, half expecting the ceiling to collapse and for them all to shout that they knew what she was up to. But nothing happened. The sisters settled on the chaise, the chairs, the window seat and one on the floor, taking up so much space in the room that Bronwen was amazed at how they made it feel small. If they’d been in her flat in Tanner’s Close, they’d have had to pile on top of each other.
With a little shake of her head and a silent reminder to remain on alert, Bronwen sat back in the chair she’d collapsed in earlier, watching Maggie arrange her skirts so they wouldn’t wrinkle and copying the movement.
“Well, I’m no’ even certain it can be called a house party, more like a backward cattle auction, where the groom—who did no’ want a wife—was being forced to pick from a horde of nasty cows.” Maggie leaned forward, then dropped her half-eaten biscuit for the hound. “Please do no’ repeat that I said that. It is most unladylike.”
Bronwen nodded and proceeded to listen to all the details of the house party, growing more and more perplexed and deciding this was not teaching her society manners. However, it was very entertaining. The story was interrupted by a servant bringing tea and sandwiches, which Bronwen watched Maggie serve. Even sipping her tea the exact way as Maggie, pinky raised. And nibbling on the sandwich one minuscule bite at a time, in a ring-like pattern. So strange. A glance at the sisters showed they all did so in the same manner, so it had to be correct.
“And that is how Alec—Lord Errol—and his wife Giselle ended up together,” Maggie finished a story that Bronwen had hardly heard, so intent was she on studying the mannerisms of the six sisters.
“Fascinating,” Bronwen said, hoping her smile did not belie her true feelings or lack thereof.
“It was all verra romantic,” one of the younger sisters, perhaps twenty or so in years, said with a massive sigh and a tilt of her coquettish blond head.
“Oh, Lillie, ye think everything is romantic,” another piped in with a roll of her eyes.
“Well.” Maggie popped up from her perch. “We’ll be out of your hair now. I’ll send for a maid to clean up our mess. I do apologize again for having invaded your space, but we could no’ wait to meet ye. And I suppose we’ll have to deal with Euan’s wrath, as he had wanted us to partake of tea in the parlor with him.” Maggie shrugged as if she didn’t care. “I’ll send him your regards and let him know we’ll all be at dinner.”
“Aye, dinner.” Bronwen nodded, standing in hopes that would help usher them more quickly from the room because if they stayed, they’d see her panic about the idea of eating with them all in a dining room. She’d never partaken a meal in a dining room and had no idea what she was supposed to be doing there.
The lasses left, and Maggie snapped her fingers for the hound to follow, which he did dutifully. When he was gone, Bronwen found she missed his company.
She fretted for hours, pacing, chewing her nails, plaiting and unplaiting her hair a thousand times.
When the dinner hour came around, and a maid arrived to help her dress—even though she was already dressed, making her wonder how many outfits a lady wore in a day—Bronwen declined.
“I’ve a…headache.” She paused. Did ladies say headache? “Aye, a megrim,” she added for good measure. “Please tell the captain I shall see him in the parlor after breakfast for his first lesson. And do please have my dinner sent up.” There, that sounded very ladylike and bossy enough.
