Page 7 of Taming the Scot
Her dirt-streaked fingers were a stark contrast to the porcelain teacup, but she didn’t have the patience to pity herself. Best she acknowledged she was a dirty mess and then enjoyed the tea filled with cream and sugar. She took a long, slow sip, ignoring the sting of the heat and allowing the flavor of the tea to burst on her tongue. My God, it had been ages since she’d had a decent cup of tea, and even then, it was nothing compared to this one.
“Biscuit?” Emilia held out the plate, and Bronwen reached for one, wishing she had the plate to herself.
If she thought the tea was heaven, the biscuit was even more so, melting in her mouth. She gave a soft groan that she stifled with another sip of tea.
“How did they die?” Emilia asked.
Bronwen blinked up at her cousin, grateful for the momentary respite she’d had away from reality, even if it had only been for a moment. So quickly, they were to the part of her life’s story that she didn’t want to share.
Everyone in Tanner’s Close knew what had happened, and no one asked questions. Until this moment, she’d not realized this would be the first time she uttered the words. “They were murdered.”
Emilia’s face paled. “Murdered?”
“Aye. Gambling debts.” Bronwen had to set down her tea, for her hands had started to shake so badly that she was sloshing liquid over the side.
When she’d discovered her parents’ bodies, she thought for certain that would be the end of retaliation from their enemies. Never had she imagined Prince would send men after her. But they had, extorting all the precious items she could find in her flat and all the products left in her parents’ shop. Once more, she was led to believe that would be the end. But alas, she’d been mistaken.
The lives of her parents had knocked the interest off of the debt, but all the possessions left to Bronwen in the world had barely touched a quarter of what they owed. When she accused the thieves of lying, they’d pulled out a lengthy ledger of accounts and had shown her how many times her parents had drawn money from the seedy lender, never to return a dime.
And then Prince had changed the stakes. Bronwen herself was worth far more than what she could provide—and he intended to use her cruelly to that advantage.
Emilia looked horrified. “Did my…mother know?”
Bronwen shrugged and snatched another biscuit, needing to do something with her hands before she peeled every nail down to the bed. “I’m no’ entirely certain. I wrote her a letter, but I never heard a word back.” She didn’t mention being turned away from the house. Bronwen wasn’t here to push Emilia from Aunt Sarah—she was here for help, and mentioning it wouldn’t do that.
Emilia frowned. “I’m sorry. I had no idea.”
“I do no’ hold it against ye. But—” Bronwen wiped her mouth on her sleeve. “I need your help.”
Emilia looked skeptical, but she nodded slowly. “What can I do?”
“I need a place to sleep for the night. Maybe a change of clothes.” She observed that her cousin was dressed quite well, even if she wore men’s trousers.
Emilia nodded as if her request was nothing major. “What is your plan after tonight?”
Bronwen sipped the last dregs of her tea, only to find it refilled a moment later. “I’m no’ certain. But I’ll be leaving Edinburgh. The men who killed my parents will no’ stop until they find me. I’ve been able to keep them at bay until now, but they’ve made it clear my time is near.”
Emilia’s eyes lit up in a way they should not have, given Bronwen’s current situation and the conversation they were having. “I think I know where ye can go.”
A chill swept through Bronwen. “If ye say the workhouse, I’ll take my leave now.”
Emilia snorted. “As if I’d send anyone there.” She stood and rifled through a stack on her desk, pulling out what was very distinctly a copy of Lady Edinburgh, the very edition she’d found on her shoe an hour before.
Whatever Emilia was going to read from within that mess would not interest Bronwen, she was certain. She guzzled her tea and placed it a little too exuberantly back into the saucer, causing Emilia to wince at the clang.
“This may be a long shot, but going north for an interview will at least buy ye a few days out of town, and I can send ye there on a ship we have headed to Aberdeen. A short carriage ride away is Drum Castle.”
“What is at Drum Castle, and why would I go there?” Bronwen stuffed two biscuits into her pocket, which Emilia saw but said nothing about.
“This.” She shoved the society paper toward Bronwen, who was reluctant to take it.
Lord, but she couldn’t get rid of the frivolities and trivialities of the upper class. She took the paper, scanning the little square adverts in search of various people to do various tasks, none of which she was up for or skilled enough to do even if she wanted to. Until the word Drum stuck out at her.
“Right there.” Emilia tapped the square Bronwen’s gaze had landed upon.
Captain E. I. of Drum Castle seeks a governess. Must be well-versed in manners and decorum. Must possess skills in etiquette, dancing and courtly manner.
“Are ye jesting me?” Bronwen asked, her frown so fierce it nearly gave her a headache.
