by Eliza Knight
Now oysters, Bronwen had plenty of, as she and her mother had often gone digging in the wee hours, sometimes for the coin, and sometimes to eat. If they were ever caught, they had to run with their bounty tucked in the pulled-up hem of their skirts, praying the shadows didn’t give chase. They’d shucked them in their tiny flat and marveled at the delicacy.
But never before had she had it in a creamy soup. Bronwen watched for which spoon to pick up, then did so, dipping it in the bowl and pausing.
“Miss Holmes,” Maggie said, “Do ye have any siblings?”
Bronwen put her soup spoon down. “Nay, ’tis just me.”
“And your parents?” Maggie tasted her soup delicately from the side of the spoon.
“They are gone now.” Bronwen didn’t want to go into details, and she hoped her short answers would suffice. She lifted her spoon, and this time she did take a taste. Creamy, buttery, salty broth slid over her tongue. It was not as unpleasant as she’d thought it would be.
Maggie gave her a compassionate look. “I’m so sorry to hear that. Ours are gone too.”
“I’m sorry for your loss,” Euan said.
Bronwen glanced at Euan, catching him studying her with eyes full of curiosity. He’d barely touched his soup. She wished she could see what he was thinking.
“Euan has always looked after us,” Maggie said between bites.
“And ye too, Mags, do no’ discount yourself,” Skye said to which Euan agreed.
“Ye’re all verra lucky to have one another.” Bronwen’s chest felt suddenly tight. She put her spoon down and sipped more of the wine.
“We are,” the youngest of the siblings said with a large nod that had one of her brown ringlets nearly dipping into her soup.
“Get your hair out of your soup,” said the one beside her.
“Ye’ve done a good job,” Bronwen said to Euan and then nodded at Mags.
“Everyone appears healthy and well cared for.”
“And she would know,” Esme said with a nod in Bronwen’s direction. “Because she’s a governess.”
Maggie smiled at Bronwen, giving her a knowing smile that made Bronwen only slightly suspicious. “I think that does qualify her as an expert, indeed.”
Was Maggie the one who’d dropped off the book? She hadn’t thought much about who it could be, preferring to believe that no one had found her out yet. But that look…her words…
“I do no’ think I’m an expert, merely observant.” That was perhaps the most truthful thing that Bronwen had said since arriving.
“Tell me, Miss Holmes,” Euan interjected, leaning forward, his fingers twirling the stem of his goblet. “What have ye observed about us thus far?”
Bronwen wondered if this was a trick question. She ate a large spoonful of soup as she mulled it over. It sort of felt like a coaxing inquiry, but there was little she could do about it if it were some sort of trap. She’d best get on with answering the question so she could change the subject.
After she swallowed an oyster, she wiped her mouth and then said, “Ye’re a family that cares for one another and knows each other verra well. Hard to find, I think.”
She thought of her cousins, of her aunt. At least Emilia and Anastasia had been willing to help her, though she wasn’t certain they would have if their mother was in town. Aunt Sarah had made it clear that she did not care at all what happened to Bronwen on more than one occasion. What had happened between her mother and Aunt Sarah that could make her behave in such a way? Looking at these six sisters sitting here, Bronwen couldn’t imagine any of them doing that to their sister’s child.
“And what else?” the youngest of the brood asked.
Bronwen smiled at her eager face. What was her name again? Raine? She couldn’t be more than thirteen or fourteen. From what Bronwen had learned, Maggie had years ago decided to take up the duties of governess for her sisters. Bronwen wondered if that was something that had drawn them closer together.
“I think your brother has been doted on by all of his sisters,” Bronwen said with a teasing smile in the captain’s direction. “Including ye, Raine, I’m guessing.”
Raine’s eyes lit up. “That’s true. I often try to cheer him up.”
Cheer him up… Was the captain not happy? Bronwen shot him a curious glance, finding he was expressionless. So it would seem the wee thing had divulged a bit of information she shouldn’t have. Most people, when they didn’t want others to read their thoughts, couldn’t hide their feelings as well as Captain Euan Irvine could.
“’Tis true,” Maggie interrupted, drawing Bronwen’s attention. “He is doted on by us, but also by many other females.” His sisters laughed at that. “Euan is a charmer, to be sure, and that is one reason he needs a governess. Ye recall the incident in the parlor earlier.”
Bronwen was certain her cheeks were filled with flames now, enough to light a candle if the wick were held close enough. Because what she recalled the most was how delicious it had felt for his mouth to be so near her flesh.
“A charmer?” she goaded to draw attention away from herself. She scooped up the last of her soup, not realizing she’d eaten the entire bowl.
“From the time he was fourteen, he acted like the man of the house, which he was, but one would have thought he was much older.” Maggie gave a soft laugh and poked her brother in the shoulder. “I remember a time specifically when he invited several of the tenants over to speak with him about their disputes. When one said he didn’t want to talk to a child, Euan said, ‘What, ye think I’m too young? Let’s go have some whisky.’”
Bronwen laughed at that, imagining a strapping young lad saying such to his crofters. “And what did they say?”
“They poured me a cup and helped me into my first stupor,” Euan said with a hearty sigh. “No’ a pleasant affair, and one I was careful no’ to repeat, but I gained a bit of respect from them that day. They thought they were coming to deal with a welp, and I proved to them that I was more than capable of running things, or at least that I had the energy to learn. And it was no’ only because of the whisky,” he chuckled. “I had some good ideas too. I was observant, like ye, and was able to offer up solutions to problems they were facing.”
“Ye’re a good laird then,” Bronwen said.
Euan shrugged. “I do what I can to see that my people are well cared for, that our lands thrive.”
“So much more than that,” Maggie said. “We have Euan to thank for everything.”
“If only—” Lillie started, but a thud beneath the table stopped the words on her tongue. The lass glanced down at her soup, suddenly finding her hunger, and scooping a spoonful into her mouth.
Had someone kicked her into silence? Bronwen narrowed her gaze, resisting the urge to look under the table to find the offending shoe.
Martin took that moment to order the footmen to begin clearing the soup for the next course.
Next course… Bronwen had gorged herself on the soup. How was she to possibly eat more?
The silence grew a little awkward as they waited, and Bronwen started to squirm in her chair. Fortunately, she was saved when they were served salmon with a side of greens, covered in a lemon cream sauce. The food in her mouth was enough to keep her busy.
Trivial chatter eventually picked back up again, and Bronwen watched and listened between bites, observing how the family melded together. The sisters looked at Euan with such love and admiration, and he returned that affection. Perhaps he wasn’t the grumpy man prone to seduction she’d originally thought him to be. There seemed to be a lot more beneath the surface than what he showed outsiders, of which she’d been the day before and even that morning.
And while she was at the table with all of them, she was still a million miles away. A part of the group, and yet not. Watching them interact, she was certain of one thing—she wanted a family, and she wasn’t likely to ever have it.
By the time the dessert came round, Bronwen was so full that she couldn’t eat another bite
. She felt as if she’d eaten more in the last two days than she’d had in a year. Her stomach pressed painfully outward beneath her evening gown. When one of the sisters insisted on one bite of custard, Bronwen felt obliged to agree.
However, her stomach was not obliged in the least—it rebelled almost instantly. Bronwen rose quickly from the table as her insides clenched in turmoil. She was going to be sick. Right now.
“Pardon me,” she managed to garble out as she fled the dining room into the kitchens in search of a door outside.
With her hand over her mouth and she was certain was panic welling in her eyes, Bronwen shoved through the door a scullion pointed at.
She made it halfway through the garden before it all tossed back up onto a blooming bush of roses.
“Is there something wrong with the custard?” Esme poked at the creamy confection before her.
“I think no’,” Euan said, having enjoyed half of his already.
“Perhaps she was simply sick of our company,” Skye remarked with her typical sarcasm, accompanied by a smirk as she shoved her bowl away.
“Perhaps ye ought to mind your tongue,” Maggie retorted.
And just like that, the peaceful dinner erupted into an argument that left Euan with a headache rivaling the worst hangover. This was, of course, not uncommon in his house. With six sisters, all of whom were very different people, arguments erupted often.
As he did on most of those occasions, he escaped the dining room for a walkabout the grounds with Owen. After they’d all had a chance to shout off whatever was in their chests, he’d come back in to smooth things over. He’d learned over the years that to try to intervene when he was so heavily outnumbered usually ended up with someone throwing a shoe at his head.
The sun was beginning to set, sending a purple haze to cast over the grounds. He couldn’t believe that one day he might lose this. At the rate he was going thinking about Miss Holmes, he would not make it far in finding a decent bride, let alone luring one fall in love with him. She’d rejected every single hint of flirtation or charm he’d presented her with.
In fact, she’d accused him of trying to seduce her. For certes, that was not the message he wanted to send a potential bride. But he couldn’t figure out what it was that he’d done wrong. Perhaps he could ask her during tomorrow’s lessons.
He shooed away a bee flying past his head and bent to pluck a leaf of mint from a plant, biting off the tip to refresh his mouth. Owen approached him with a stick, and he tossed it. Euan’s older hound loped slowly to fetch it, then caught sight of something else that interested him, and trotted off to explore.
Clearly, something had upset Mis Holmes at dinner. The food perhaps, or the company, he couldn’t be sure. And he wasn’t certain that it mattered. The bottom line was she’d run from the table looking as though she was going to be ill, and by all accounts, he was responsible for it.
Euan’s thoughts were interrupted by the sound of labored breathing ahead. He picked up his pace, winding his way through the maze of garden offerings until he came upon the gazebo. Though dusk was upon them, he could see Bronwen bent over with her elbows on her knees and her head resting in her hands.
“Are ye unwell, Miss Holmes?” he asked.
Slowly, she tilted her head to glance at him. In the fading light, her eyes were red and puffy, her cheeks wet. Had she been crying?
“I’d do well with some privacy, Captain.” Though her words were meant to turn him away, her tone was not convincing.
“Would no’ we all?” He glanced back toward the castle. “I’ve been saying that since Maggie was born.”
She narrowed her eyes at him. “It was no’ a question for ye to ponder.”
“I apologize for intruding. I’m concerned. Ye fled the table, and here I find ye.” He came closer as he would with a wild horse.
“I would no’ go near that rose bush if I were ye.”
He took her word for it, understanding now that he’d not found her sobbing but rather on the tail end of being ill.
“Was it the custard?” he asked.
She laughed, the sound raw. “It was all of it. I’m afraid my stomach is no’ used to the…richness of the food.”
“Ah, that makes sense.” He approached cautiously, leaning an elbow against the arched entrance of the gazebo. “When I came back from the Peninsular War, it took me some time to adjust as well.”
“I’ve no’ been at war,” she said, smoothing her hands over her hair and then wiping at her eyes.
She might say she’d not been at war, but Euan hadn’t been lying when he said he was observant. The lass had been through hell recently, he could tell. There was something she’d been hiding since she’d arrived, and he was determined to find out what it was.
“A gentleman would offer me his handkerchief,” she mumbled.
“A gentleman would have one.”
She glanced at him sharply, and he shrugged in sheepish apology. Then he did the next best thing. He unwound his cravat and handed it to her.
“I can no’ sully this.” She rubbed her thumb over the fabric, staring down in horror at what he’d offered. Then she thrust it back at him.
“I assure ye, my handkerchief is nicer. Besides, I would no’ be a gentleman if I took it back and left ye to wipe your face on that pretty gown.”
She squinted at him, her thoughts unreadable. “Thank ye.” Her voice was so soft, almost lost, and gone from it was all the fight she’d been giving him since she’d first arrived on his doorstep.
Bronwen cleaned her face, then stood, the cravat clutched in her hands. She was so tiny compared to him. He wanted to scoop her up and hold her against him. To soothe her and tell her all would be well. If only he knew what he was soothing her about.
“I’ll see that this is washed before it’s returned to ye, Captain. I do appreciate your kindness. Truly.”
“It was my pleasure, Miss Holmes. And I’ll see about making sure I’ve a handkerchief. Our lessons seem to be endless.”
“I’d give ye a passing grade on this one.” She smiled. “For even though ye failed to have a handkerchief to offer, ye did a verra gentlemanly act in sacrificing your cravat.”
“Alas, if we were at a ball, I’d have to excuse myself and go home, as I would now be seen as improperly dressed.”
The pinched look she wore so well faltered, and he caught a glimpse of humor in her that he wanted to hold onto for a while.
“Why do I get the feeling ye’ve been in that situation before? And that ye would no’ mind having to leave?” she said.
Euan laughed. “Ye would no’ be wrong in either case.”
She shook her head. “Best be careful, Captain. I think that instead of manners and etiquette, ye solely need lessons in decorum and propriety.”
He shrugged. “I said as much in the advert. But alas, I’ve made it this far in life, have I no’?”
“And at aged…” she drawled out in question.
“Twenty-eight.”
Miss Holmes blew a low whistle, and he got the feeling she was once more goading him, and he rather enjoyed it.
“At the grand old age of twenty-eight, ye’ve hired yourself a governess.”
Euan grinned. “Ah, touché.”
“I hope to see ye tomorrow morning at breakfast,” she said, the humor disappearing as she tugged on that stiff mask. “Bright and early. We’ll get a head start on our lessons.”
Euan chose to ignore her dismissal. “How do ye like your eggs?” he asked.
There was an annoying, dizzy feeling in his stomach at the prospect of dining with her so early, before his sisters had awakened and he could have her all to himself. Och, but he disgusted himself. Bronwen—nay, Miss Holmes—was here for one reason only, to teach him to be a better man. So he could get a wife. And she was not the conquest he sought.
“My eggs?” She cocked her head and wiped her mouth again with the cravat. “How do ye mean? From a chicken or a quail?”
Eua
n bit the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing because she seemed serious. “Well, that is one way to put it. But I meant for breakfast. I’ll have Cook prepare them any way ye like.”
“I like them the usual way.” She looked at him as if he were mad, then made a move toward him.
He suspected she expected him to move out of the way. But he didn’t want to be done with her so quickly. Here she was once more giving him answers that weren’t answers at all. “Is there an unusual way?” he asked.
“I suppose there is if ye’re asking me how I like them.” But before he could clarify, she succeeded in pushing past him and out into the garden, her slippers crunching on the gravel. “Good night, Captain.”
Euan refrained from following, even though every cell in his body yearned to do so. Instead, he watched her hurry toward the castle and disappear inside. She was a peculiar creature. And he was drawn to her in a way he shouldn’t be.
He wondered if perhaps his cook would know what “the usual way” meant when it came to breakfast eggs.
6
When Bronwen arrived at the breakfast room just past dawn, it was to find the sideboard filled with eggs prepared a half a dozen ways, and only one she recognized—hardboiled. Her mind was immediately swung back to the gazebo the night before when the captain had asked how she liked her eggs…
What in blazes?
“I told Cook to prepare them the usual way, and this is what she came up with.” Euan strolled up beside her, dressed in a pressed shirt, kilt and frockcoat. He stared down at the very unusual display. “We’ve got scrambled.” He pointed to a plate full of mashed up eggs that literally did look as though they’d been scrambled, then the hard-boiled eggs, which was how she had them at home all her life. “Quiche,” he said of eggs baked in a crust with other bits of things. “Fried eggs, omelets, poached, and the favorite of mine when I was a child—egg in a hole.” The latter was an egg cooked in the center of a piece of toast.
Bronwen’s mouth watered at the lavish display. But even though her body demanded that she gorge, her brain remembered all too well what had happened yesterday when she did. She wasn’t used to eating so much and had to remember to take it slow. “They all look delicious. Your cook has outdone herself. Please extend my thanks for all her efforts.”
