My Sister's Intended

by Rachael Anderson

  “So I’ve heard,” said Brand, somewhat annoyed that she had said much the same thing Miss Prudence had last week. What did they see in Miss Gifford that he did not? Was he so blind? Miss Gifford might be a spirited rider, but in every other context he would only describe her as reserved, proper, and without passion.

  Perhaps his mother had mistaken Miss Gifford for her younger sister.

  Brand removed his hands from the back of the chair and stood upright. “I’m sure that in time I will agree with you, Mother, but between now and then, I plan to make good on my promise to Catherine and subdue her dog.”

  His mother opened her mouth to say something more but seemed to think better of it and offered him a nod instead.

  His father, on the other hand, wasn’t as ready to let the matter drop. He rose from his chair and moved to retrieve his top hat. “I believe I shall join you on your walk, Knave. It is a pleasant day, and I could use the exercise.”

  Brand clenched his jaw to quiet the groan threatening to erupt. If his father accompanied him, Brand would be subjected to yet another lecture on duty and honor and the need to think selflessly about the future. Only consider the positive influence we will have as the largest landowners in the county, the weight we will carry, and the laws we can change. Brand had heard all of it numerous times before, especially when his mother was not around to keep his father in check.

  He could already feel the clap of his father’s hand on his shoulder and hear him say, “The decision is yours to make, son, but choose wisely.” In other words, “Should you choose to wed someone other than Miss Gifford, you will be acting unwisely, and I shall be disappointed in you.”

  Brand loved his father. He admired him a great deal in many ways. He was a good husband, an honest man, and he treated his servants and tenants with fairness and kindness. But when it came to Brand, it often felt as though his father valued power and influence more than the happiness of his son.

  No, that was not being fair. His father did value Brand’s happiness. He’d simply convinced himself that his son would be happy with the heiress of the neighboring estate. Brand would once again be made to hear about all the lovely qualities Miss Gifford possessed and how he would be a fool to let this opportunity pass him by.

  At least his father had never used “spirited” to describe her.

  Brand closed his eyes, wanting to beg his father to leave him be. He needed to clear his head, not give it another reason to ache.

  As though sensing his need, his mother rose and reached for her husband’s hand, halting his progress. “Must you go, my love? I was rather hoping you could help me with the menu for Friday’s dinner.”

  He looked at her in surprise before his eyes narrowed suspiciously. “You have never asked for my help with the menu.”

  “Yes, but as we have no plans for that evening, I thought it would be nice to invite the Giffords to dinner. You know Mr. Gifford much better than I, so I would very much like your input.”

  Judging by his expression, his father obviously thought the request a ridiculous one. But his mother didn’t give up. She laced her fingers through his and smiled imploringly. “Please?”

  Brand nearly grinned. Despite his father’s posturing, he could never say no to his mother. She was well aware of the influence she had on him and had used it to free her son from another lecture. Brand could have hugged her for it.

  His father glanced at his son and sighed. “I suppose our walk will have to wait for another day, Knave. Enjoy your solitude.”

  “Yes, Father.” Brand gave a slight bow to both parents and shot his mother a look of gratitude before escaping the room. He knew it was only a matter of time before his father cornered him again, but for now he was free.

  BRAND WAITED WITH Brute approximately fifteen minutes in the clearing before Miss Prudence arrived, toting her puppy by its restraint. Every time he saw her, he was struck anew by her beauty. She wore a burgundy walking dress, a velvet bonnet with matching ribbons, and black gloves. Her dark curls framed her high cheekbones, rosy cheeks, and pert lips. And her eyes—her dark and captivating eyes—contained an impishness about them that made Brand want to smile just looking at her. He didn’t want to stop looking at her.

  With her sister, he had the opposite problem—not because she appeared ghastly by any means. Looking at her simply felt uncomfortable.

  “Hello.” She smiled cheerfully, revealing her delightful dimple.

  Brand nodded and transferred Brute’s leash from one hand to the other. “Your suggestion did not work. Your sister’s horse was rendered unable to run, and she didn’t even fiddle with her bonnet’s strings.” He sounded like a petulant child, but he didn’t care. His father had finally cornered him earlier that morning, and Brand had left the discussion with a renewed determination to put forth his best effort with Miss Gifford.

  Miss Prudence didn’t reply right away. She allowed her puppy to approach the larger dog, but when Scamp yipped and Brute barked, she crouched down to shush them both. Amazingly enough, they quieted.

  She eyed Brute for a long moment before cautiously extending her hand. When he allowed her fingers to graze his head, she smiled. “You are not nearly as frightening as you appear, are you?” She rubbed behind his ears while Scamp sniffed at his feet. Brute directed another bark at the puppy, but Scamp was not so easily cowed. He yipped right back, and the mastiff replied with a snort.

  Miss Prudence grinned. “I think you named Scamp well, my lord. I still can’t thank you enough.”

  Brand crouched down to remove Brute’s leash. If the beast could not scare away a small puppy, he felt it safe to release him. He cocked his head at Miss Prudence before rising to face her.

  “Are you ignoring me on purpose?” In a way, she reminded Brand of her puppy. The top of her head barely reached his shoulders, and her waist couldn’t be much larger than the span of his hands, yet she grinned impishly up at him, not the least bit intimidated. It was a stark contrast to her slightly taller sister.

  “Why would I ignore you?” she asked.

  “Because you are impertinent.”

  She touched her hand to her heart, as though offended, and leaned closer. “You must have me mistaken for someone else, my lord. I am not impertinent. I am prudent—or rather, Prudence.”

  He chuckled. “I seriously doubt that. Something tells me you take great delight in rebelling against that name.”

  She conceded his words with a shrug. “I suppose I do. But I am not wholly imprudent either. I prefer to remain somewhere in the middle. What about you, Lord Knave? Do you rebel against your name as well, or do you embrace it?”

  He caught a whiff of lavender in the air around her. The scent had a wildness and vibrancy to it that suited her. “As with you, I attempt to fall somewhere in the middle. Not a knave but not upstanding either.”

  “What an interesting pair we make,” she said. “Your name is of a wicked nature and mine is decidedly unwicked, yet we both find ourselves straying away from them.”

  “Yes, but I feel the need to point out that I am straying towards a less wicked nature whereas you are doing the opposite.”

  “What are you implying, my lord?” she asked. “That you are inherently good and I am inherently bad?”

  “Only that I am headed in a more virtuous direction.”

  “Careful, sir, or your pride will puff you up, which will make me the better person in the end.”

  He chuckled, more than a little interested in the dimple that appeared and disappeared at the edge of her mouth. It looked rather kissable—or perhaps it was she who looked kissable.

  Brand quickly averted his gaze and retreated a step. “As I was saying,” he said, “your brilliant idea to further my acquaintance with your sister did not work.”

  She tugged on Scamp’s leash, pulling the puppy away from a muddy spot, and chided him gently. When at last she glanced back at him, her tone was all innocence. “Did it not? According to Sophia, she felt more like her
self with you that morning than ever before.”

  Brand found that difficult to believe. Perhaps for a moment or two she had peeked out of her hiding place, but like a tortoise feeling threatened, she had been quick to retreat back inside. Was that how it would be if they married? A perpetual game of peek-a-boo?

  If so, he would be wise to cease his attentions towards Miss Gifford immediately.

  And take them up with whom? Her sister—the one who does not stand to inherit Talford?

  Brand kicked at a rock that had been lodged in the dirt, but it didn’t budge. Like him, it was trapped. The thought urged him to kick it a bit harder, but the action only served to scuff his boot.

  “I can get you a shovel if you’d like,” said Miss Prudence playfully. “Or perhaps Scamp or Brute might be compelled to dig it up for you. It is a most interesting rock, is it not? I can see why you are so intent on freeing it. Do you keep a collection of rocks under the floorboards in your room?”

  “No, but perhaps I should start. Does Miss Gifford enjoy hunting for rocks? Do you mean to suggest that I invite her on an expedition in the future? I could intentionally forget to bring a pail for the collected pebbles with the hope that she will feel obligated to offer up her bonnet as a replacement. That, of course, will allow me to see the true Miss Gifford at last. Is that your plan?”

  Miss Prudence giggled. “You sound addled, my lord. Did you happen to take a fall on your way here this morning?”

  He tucked his hands behind his back and squinted up into the trees. “You seem to bring out the ridiculous in me, Miss Prudence. Why else would I agree to answer your many questions? Please tell me you have forgotten about that aspect of our bargain.”

  “Certainly not.” She proceeded to bend down and lift the hem of her dress just enough to remove a pencil and a slip of paper from beneath its folds.

  Brand probably should have averted his gaze, but he was far too amused—and curious—to look away. “What have you done, sewn a pocket into your skirt?”

  Her eyes twinkled in a way that dared him not to be shocked. “My shift, if you must know. How else could I take my pencil and paper to and from the house without detection?”

  Brand chuckled at the thought of Miss Prudence sewing a pocket into such a strange location. “Has your laundry maid noticed your handiwork?”

  “Yes. She thought it odd until I explained that it would save me from having to carry my reticule when I walk to town. After that, she declared my addition brilliant and even sewed one into her shift as well.”

  The muscles around Brand’s mouth were not used to smiling so much. They started to cramp and protest.

  Miss Prudence searched the clearing until her eyes landed on a fallen log. She walked over to it and looped Scamp’s restraint around one of the branches before tugging off her gloves and tossing them aside. Her pencil tapped slowly against her lower lip as she skimmed through her notes.

  Brand didn’t know whether he should feel nervous or intrigued. What had she written on that paper? What questions would come spilling from her mouth? How many of them would he be willing to answer?

  After several moments, she lowered the pencil and looked at him. “I should probably begin by telling you that I was moved by Mrs. Harper’s tender feelings towards her late husband. She has been my inspiration for this new story, which is why I would like to be introduced to her at some point. You see, I want to write about a love that is fierce and passionate and then… lost.”

  The words “fierce” and “passionate” reverberated through Brand’s mind—words an innocent young lady like Miss Prudence probably knew very little about, especially when it came to love. Did she even understand their full meaning? If not, he had no intention of being the one to further her education on the matter.

  He cleared his throat. “What became of the story you were writing when I discovered you in the tree?”

  She dismissed his question with a wave of her hand. “As I told you before, I have decided to write a more cheerful tale about a love gone right rather than a love gone wrong.”

  “You consider the loss of a loved one a cheerful tale? Most would call it a tragedy.”

  She laughed. “It will begin as a tragedy and end on a joyful note. It’ll be a tale about healing, overcoming hardship, and discovering it’s possible to love again.”

  In other words, Miss Prudence intended to write not one, but two fierce and passionate love stories. Brand slid his fingers beneath the knot of his cravat, loosening it slightly.

  “It sounds as though you already have everything worked out,” he attempted.

  “I do, for the most part,” she agreed. “But there are details that I cannot write about because I lack experience and because I am not a man. For example, what does a man notice when he looks upon a woman for the first time? Does he see the intelligence in her eyes? Does he try to get a sense of her character? Does he notice her quiet fortitude or innate stubbornness?”

  Brand shuffled his feet and swallowed. He used to believe that he had moved beyond the days when a woman could make him squirm, but apparently not. What would Miss Prudence say if he told her that first thing he noticed about a woman was her beauty—her eyes, her hair, the curves of her body and quality of her skin? Perhaps he’d judge her level of confidence based on her stature, but that would be the extent of his initial observations. Anything beyond that came only after a better acquaintance.

  With Miss Gifford, he’d noticed her almost orange hair, her freckles, and the beautiful hue of her wide-set eyes. He’d also noticed her well-defined curves. For all her flaws, Miss Gifford had a very pleasing figure.

  But he couldn’t very well admit as much to Miss Prudence. Brand wasn’t a man who cared much for the opinions of others, with the exception of his parents, Catherine, and a few close friends. But he was coming to care about what Miss Prudence thought of him, and he didn’t want her thinking him superficial.

  “Perhaps we should begin with a different question,” Brand suggested.

  The upward curve of her lips indicated that she found his request amusing, although she did not say as much. She merely nodded, attempted to straighten her lips, and perused her list once more. When she lifted her eyes to him again, they sparkled with a challenge.

  “I was going to save this question until later so as not to shock you from the get-go, but I really do need to know… What does it feel like to kiss a woman?”

  A large lump formed in Brand’s throat, and his mouth went dry. What the deuce? She had promised not to ask questions that would make him uncomfortable, but already he wanted to flee like a frightened kitten. How could he possibly explain how it felt to kiss a woman?

  Brand searched his mind for a way to avoid answering until he heard a snicker escape her lips. She was laughing at him. Him! Hildebrand Ethan Cannon, Viscount Knave—a man at least eight years her senior and a great deal higher in social standing.

  Unbelievable.

  “You are teasing me,” he said, hoping it was true. If she’d posed the question to make him squirm—and perhaps make him more inclined to answer her other questions—then she wouldn’t be expecting an answer.

  She shook her head, still smiling. “I’m afraid not, my lord, although I did find the look of terror on your face vastly amusing.”

  “I’m glad I could entertain you.”

  “I hope you will be equally glad to instruct me on a few things as well. The first scene in my book will include a kiss, and I have no idea how to describe the experience. Do a woman’s lips feel warm or soft or even moist? Would your pulse quicken? Aside from touch, what other senses are engaged? How would it make you feel and what would you notice when you held a woman in your arms?”

  If she thought he’d appeared terror-stricken before, there would be no word for how he looked now. Did she earnestly expect him to answer such questions? Surely even she knew how inappropriate it would be to discuss such things, her being an innocent.

  “I cannot say,” he fin
ally muttered.

  Her brow puckered in confusion. “Have you never kissed a woman, my lord?”

  Brand was sorely tempted to lie and say he had not, but he couldn’t bring himself to do so. Any man of six-and-twenty who had never experienced a kiss would be laughed out of his manhood. Women were expected to remain innocent until married. Men were not.

  “Yes, I have kissed a woman,” he finally admitted, “but I have no intention of discussing any of the details with you.”

  “Why not?” she asked, her large brown eyes blinking at him curiously. “Would you rather I invent the information?”

  “Yes.”

  She obviously didn’t appreciate his retort because she scowled. “Can you not tell me at least a little?”

  “No.”

  “Why?”

  “Because a kiss could never be described with any sort of accuracy, at least not by me. It involves too many feelings and sensations and complexities of thought. If you wish to know what a kiss feels like, you’ll have to experience it for yourself.”

  Too late, Brand realized his mistake. Her expression became contemplative, as though she was actually considering doing just that. Good gads, had he really just encouraged an innocent young woman to go hunting for a kiss? Who would she ask? A groom? Stablehand? The next peddler that came to town?

  “I think you are right,” she said at last. “I really must experience a kiss for myself if I am to describe it with any sort of accuracy.” She blinked up at him with that innocent expression again. “Will you kiss me Lord Knave? No, how silly of me. You are to marry my sister, so that would never do.” She pursed her lips for a moment before musing, “Perhaps one of the footmen would be kind enough to show me how it’s done.”

  Kind enough? Brand could think of a great many reasons a footman would comply with such a request, and kindness did not factor in to any of them. Brand would kiss her himself before he allowed a footman near her.

  He rubbed the bridge of his nose, feeling a headache coming on. “Perhaps I can try to explain what it feels like after all.” Better that than having her chase after a footman.