by Eliza Knight
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.
The maid barely flinched at all. She simply nodded. “Aye, miss.”
Well, that was indeed much easier than she’d imagined it would be. Bronwen had managed to pass the first day without anyone the wiser to her true self. She prayed tomorrow would be the same.
4
Euan expected the first of his lessons to begin well past dawn, closer to noon. His sisters slept late into the morning, and it was typically the time when the castle was the quietest, and he could get some work done. Or just reflect.
But after his morning walk outside with Owen and completing his breakfast at seven o’clock, he was informed that Miss Holmes awaited him in the parlor. That meant she’d woken before him and had already eaten breakfast. That only added to the mystery of his new governess, and he found himself quickening his step to get to her.
“Good morning,” he said as he entered the parlor.
Miss Holmes was staring out the window. With her back to him, he could see how very slim and fragile she appeared. As if before coming here, she’d been half-starved. The energy he felt from her, which he’d chalked up to nerves, perhaps it was also hunger and determination. There were so many pieces of her he didn’t quite understand, and his curiosity seemed to grow each day.
There’d been a whimsical look on her face when she turned toward him, the last vestiges of her morning ruminating, which she quickly arranged into something more severe upon meeting his gaze. What was Miss Holmes hiding?
“Good morning, Captain,” she said, her tone clipped. She marched away from the window in a way that made him think she had to concentrate on each step.
Today her day gown was a light gray, with the slightest shimmer that made it almost silver and made her eyes appear bluer than the gray they had the day before. She was beautiful but in a way that was different than most of the aristocratic women he met.
“Are ye ready to begin your lessons?” No small talk. The lass wanted to get right into it.
He straightened, offering her a smile, hoping to soften her brittle edges a little. “I am, Miss Holmes.”
She didn’t crack a hint of a grin in return. She was so very uptight. “All right. I have entreated the help of your sister, Maggie.”
Euan glanced about the room for his sister, surprised that he’d missed her, but Maggie was not present.
Miss Holmes waved her hand toward the door. “She’ll be there when we arrive.”
<
br /> Arrive? “Are we no’ already here?”
Her eyes were pinched as if she had to explain this to wee bairn. “Nay, we are no’.”
How odd. “And where are we going?” Euan crossed his arms over his chest. If the lass was going to be so evasive, then he was going to demand answers.
“Outside,” she said matter-of-factly. “Have ye any visiting cards?”
“They are at my house in Edinburgh. I do no’ do much visiting here in the Highlands.” That wasn’t exactly true. He visited his crofters often, but they did not require that he arrive with a calling card.
She frowned, the plushness of her pink lips turning down. How had he not noticed how full they were before? A stark contrast to the sharpness of her cheeks. “But how are we to pay a call without one, Captain? Ye are quite remiss in leaving them behind.”
Euan was thoroughly confused. But he walked over to the writing desk, opened the letterbox on top and rifled through the contents. “Aha,” he said, plucking out the invitation he’d saved to Alec and Giselle’s wedding. “Will this suffice as a stand-in?”
Bronwen stared at the invitation, her frown still in place. She reached for it, grasping the corner with her thumb on top and the fingers underneath brushing against his own. He was surprised at the naked touch—ladies always wore gloves. More so, he was stunned to find her fingers rougher than those of most ladies. Her nails looked to be bitten down to the quick. She had hands that worked. Fingers that showed signs of fretting. Each added to the puzzle that made up his governess.
When Miss Holmes saw him gaping at her hand, their gazes connected, and her eyes widened as if she’d only now noticed they were bare. A myriad of thoughts passed over her face, and he wanted to soothe whatever worry she seemed to harbor.
She yanked away, turning toward the settee. She lifted her gloves from where she’d deposited them and tugged them on in a jerky, unpracticed fashion.
“Aye, this will work, for now. Apologies for no’ having my gloves on. I was…hot. Let’s go.” She snatched the invitation and stomped toward the door and then yanked it open, heading for the front door, opening that one too.
She was so fast that he had to rush to keep up.
They stepped out into the sun, and Miss Holmes shut the door behind them. Dew made the grass surrounding the castle glisten in the sunlight. She gazed up at the sky, closing her eyes briefly as the sunshine touched her smooth skin. Euan watched her, slightly fascinated by this acerbic creature who seemed to have a dreamy side that she attempted to keep hidden. Except it was the second time this morning he’d caught her in a moment like this. When she opened her eyes, seeing him staring, she immediately frowned—and he tried hard not to laugh.
Miss Holmes cleared her throat, her hands folded in front of her. “Now, we must face the door,” she said. “Like this.”
She stood stoically, chin lifted, spine straight. Euan had the insane urge to tickle her to see if he could get that veneer to crack.
“Are we arriving together?” he asked.
“Aye.” She peeked at him from the side.
“Then I shall offer ye my arm.” Euan bent his elbow, and she stared at his offered appendage as if he’d swung a snake in her direction. But she took it all the same, and he smiled.
“Right ye are, Captain. Oh, I almost forgot.” She pushed the invitation back into his hand then slid her arm around his, her palm resting on his forearm.
Her touch was delicate yet firm. Euan had to ignore the sizzle of heat at her touch. He chalked up that reaction to the fact that it had been a few months since he’d had a woman touch him—by choice. And none were so interesting as the unusual lass at his side. Perhaps it was the thrill of a challenge with Miss Holmes. Most decidedly, this was madness.
The seconds ticked by as he waited for her instruction. But she seemed to be waiting for him to act.
She glanced at him with a little huff. “Now ye may knock.”
This was all so very strange. He knew how to knock on doors and make calls. Anytime he sent a card to a lady for a visit, she agreed. That wasn’t a problem he had. It was the ladies he was sending them to, he supposed. Typically widowed or unhappily married, looking for an assignation. His confidence about a virginal bride accepting his invitation was another issue altogether. He supposed he ought to let Miss Holmes run through her lessons the way she saw fit. There was always something he could learn. After all, she was supposed to be the expert.
Euan knocked on the door, which his butler opened. Owen stood at his side, looking at the lot of them.
Euan glanced down at Miss Holmes, who gestured at him to proceed, so he handed his butler the invitation. Martin, discreet as ever, inclined his head as if all of this were perfectly normal.
Miss Holmes elbowed him in the ribs and said from the side of her mouth under her breath, “Announce us.”
Euan cleared his throat. “Captain Euan Irvine and Miss Holmes to see Miss Irvine.” Euan raised a brow at his governess to see what she thought of his request.
She nodded with a slight twitch to her lips. The very first evidence of a smile. Goodness, but his heart nearly punched through his chest.
“A moment,” his butler said, playing along as he went into the parlor, returning nearly immediately to say, “This way, please.”
Inside the drawing room, Maggie awaited them, perched on a chair. As soon as she spotted them, she stood, trying to temper her grin.
Euan waited for instructions, but Bronwen simply looked at him and waited. When he didn’t move right away, she said, “Well, greet her. She’s your host. Bow.”
Euan bowed to his sister, who appeared ready to burst into laughter at any second, and he felt his mirth bubbling up into his throat.
“My dear Captain, an honor it is to have ye call on me today,” Maggie said, overly exaggerated.
“The honor is all mine, given it is my residence.”
Bronwen made a tsking noise and raised her brows at him as if he were a wayward lad about to get into trouble.
“Please excuse him,” Bronwen said to Maggie as if he were three years old. “He is only now learning his manners. Will ye no’ share with the captain exactly what he should be saying in response, as I’m certain ye know?”
“Of course, Miss Holmes.” Maggie turned her gleeful gaze on his and straightened her shoulders as if she’d been practicing this all morning. “Captain, ye should simply say, ‘The honor is all mine.’”
“Correct,” Miss Holmes said with a perfunctory nod. “Now, introduce me to Miss Irvine, Captain, as part of our lesson today is greetings and introductions.”
He expected her to tell him the right way to go about it, but she didn’t. Instead, she waved him along. Perhaps her style of teaching was to see what the student knew and then correct them.
“Miss Irvine,” he drawled, eyes on Miss Holmes. “Might I have the pleasure of introducing ye to my companion, Miss Holmes?”
His governess’s eyes widened at his use of the word “companion,” and he waited for her to correct him, but she didn’t. For some reason, he rather liked the idea of calling her that. Made their connection more than a man who’d hired a governess to teach him some manners. Implied some intimacy. And…then his gaze slipped lower until he was staring at her mouth.
“A pleasure,” Maggie interrupted with an incline of her head.
“Indeed it is,” Miss Holmes said with the same incline of her head and a slight clap. “Good, good. Shall we do it again? Only this time ye can play the host, Captain.”
Maggie faltered. “But Euan will no’ be receiving female guests.”
“Of course no’,” Miss Holmes said with a flutter of her hand, then flashed them both a placating smile. “But in every situation, it is best to know both sides.”
She had a good point there.
“Verra true,” Maggie said. “I’d no’ thought about it that way.”
“Always best to be prepared for every situation,” Miss Holmes said with authori
ty. “And knowing how others will likely react gives ye a leg up in said circumstances.”
There was something about her choice of words, that made him wonder how many situations she’d had to look at the other side and be prepared for. But she clapped her hands to gain his attention, and he nodded.
“Right ye are. Verra well.” And so, Euan stood in the parlor, waiting for the lasses to be brought in after they’d departed.
“Miss Holmes and Miss Irvine to see ye, Captain,” the butler said, with not even a twitch to indicate he thought them all ridiculous.
The two women entered the parlor. His sister was a good six inches taller than his governess. Maggie dipped into a slight curtsy with Miss Holmes half a beat behind her and a little off-balance. Miss Holmes recovered quickly and looked down at her heel as if something on her shoe had unbalanced her. With a shrug, she glanced back to him as if nothing were amiss, though a tinge of pink covered her cheeks.
He approached the two women, kissing first his sister’s hand and then his governess’s. Her fingers were long and slender, and there was a slight tremble to them as he took them in his grasp. Despite being gloved, he felt the chill from the tips of her fingers. As cold as they’d been the day before when she’d snatched her valise. The lass seemed to be in a perpetual state of chill. He brushed the air above her knuckles with his lips and, for a split second, thought about removing her gloves and kissing her skin in earnest, perhaps rubbing her frigid fingers between his own to warm them up.
But she yanked away as if she could read his thoughts. “That was entirely too long, Captain. If I were a mother and had witnessed that unhurried display, I might hit ye with my fan.”
Euan pulled away with a wicked grin and a need to tease. “I assure ye, if ye were a mother, ye’d be wishing I’d repeat the move on ye.”
Miss Holmes’s eyes widened, and the little shocked O of her lips turned into the frown he’d become accustomed to, only he was fairly certain he saw the tiniest hint of laughter in her gaze. “I beg your pardon, Captain. Ye will receive failing marks for this. I suggest ye rein in your innate need to…seduce.”
