Flora giggled and slid out of bed, pulling a dressing gown over her shift. “Would I have time to bathe?”
“Certainly,” Charlie assured her, ringing the servant’s bell. “You go get pretty and I’ll have things sorted for our departure.”
Gwen put down her needlework and followed Flora into the bathroom. “I’ll miss you when you leave.”
“Then come with us,” Flora suggested as she turned on the water, filling the tub. “Since you left finishing school, you’ve hardly been to London at all.”
Gwen shrugged and sat on the edge of the porcelain as Flora undressed and lowered herself into the water. “I don’t much care for London.”
“You can’t just sit in the castle and sew. Come with me.”
“I have my whole life for adventuring, Flora. There’s an entire world I could see anytime I wish. But once I marry and have a family of my own, I will leave this castle and only return as a guest, as our sisters do. I’ll enjoy the quiet of the hills and the routine of the castle for now and go on grand travels one day.”
“Gwendolyn, for someone so young, you are quite wise.”
“I’m not that young.” Gwen pouted dramatically, crossing her arms over her chest. But with her mass of golden curls and dimpled cheeks, she looked very much like a little china doll. While she acted far older than her years, she still appeared much more youthful than most eighteen-year-olds.
“Fine, you win. You’re an elderly spinster.”
Gwen smiled and splashed Flora before leaping from her perch and running from the room before Flora could retaliate. As much as Flora enjoyed Gwen’s light company, she was thankful for her final few moments alone with her thoughts before boisterous Charlie bore her to the MacLeod home in London. She decided her best course of action was to accept every invitation, attend every gathering, and generally fill her day completely until she was too tired to think of anything but sleep.
“Come now, Flora,” Charlie called from the other side of the closed door. “I can’t be seen on the train with a big prune.”
Flora laughed and pulled herself reluctantly from the comforting waters. While the bath did little to wash away all that had happened, it was a start.
***
“Will you be all right on your own for a few days while we settle things here?” Charlotte asked, holding tight to Flora’s arm.
“I’ll have Charlie with me on the way,” Flora assured her. “He won’t let me come to any harm.”
“Aye, he will no’.” Conner eyed up Charlie, who returned his dagger-filled look with a jolly raise of his ginger brows. “Ach, enough o’ that nonsense.”
“I will keep her safe from all harm, my liege.” Charlie bobbed a clumsy bow.
Conner grunted and turned to Flora. “Ye will be well, aye? I can always send Charlotte with ye now. Or at least some servants?”
“Don’t. I’ll be fine. You need all the hands you can spare to clean up after the wedding.” Flora tried to look as if she was sound, but she knew from the mirror on her dressing table that her blotchy face and puffed eyes told the true story.
He passed her a sealed envelope. “Give this to the housekeeper. She’s to know to prepare for my arrival and that ye are the lady o’ the manor until then.”
“And I suppose you’ve told her to keep a tight rein on me as well?” Flora grimaced. The housekeeper, Mrs. Neely, believed the woman’s place was securely in the home at all times.
“I’ve told her no such thing.” Conner pulled her into a tight embrace. “Ye’ve been punished enough these past days. I will no’ cage a wounded bird.”
Flora bit her lip against the tears that threatened to spill. “Oh, Conner I’m—”
“If ye apologize one more time, I’ll send ye to a nunnery,” he promised, kissing her gruffly on the side of the head, then pushing her toward the carriage. “Go, and for the love of all that’s holy, do no’ listen to anythin’ Charlie tells ye.”
***
“I still can’t believe he thinks me a bad influence.” Charlie sniffed as their carriage rolled over the dark, uneven London roads. A late night fog had thickened the air, making their journey more jostling than usual. “Me, of all people! Honestly, I’m shocked and appalled.”
“You stuck your hand up someone’s kilt on the morning of Penelope’s wedding after too many glasses of wine and shrieked that you found the Holy Grail.”
“If you had felt what I had, you’d say the same.”
Flora let out a burst of giggles, both amused and horrified at his words. “You’re terrible.”
Charlie leaned forward, eager to tell her more. “Really, Flora, it was massive. It was as if it belonged to a—”
“Horse!” their driver yelled and the sound of sharp whinny cut through the air.
The carriage screeched to a halt and Flora fell from her seat and into Charlie’s arms. “What on earth was that racket?”
Charlie helped her up before hopping to the street. “Is everything all right?”
Flora popped her head out the door and could see a lone horse with a man atop. “What’s happened?”
“Sorry, miss,” the driver said from behind one of their horses. “That rotten rider galloped before the carriage and I think this old gal threw a shoe.”
“What does that mean?” Charlie asked, checking his pocket watch in the dim light.
“It means that it’s unsafe for the horse to go any farther without being seen to,” Flora explained.
“So that man is keeping us out until morning?” Charlie pointed to the rider, who leaped from his perch and awkwardly walked over to them, stumbling over the cobblestones.
“I’m so sorry, the horse just…got away from me,” the figure said.
When he stepped closer to a streetlight and removed his hat, Flora could see clearly who it was. “Andrew Philips?”
He squinted in response. “Flora MacLeod?”
“Charles, Duke of Fenton,” Charlie quipped, tucking his timepiece back into his breast pocket. “Now that we’ve gotten that nonsense out of the way, what will we do now? It’s not as if we can just abandon our luggage. I have a cape in there I need for the opera, Flora. The opera!”
“Take my horse,” Andrew blurted out.
Flora shook her head. “We couldn’t do that and leave you stranded.”
“I wouldn’t be,” Andrew assured her. “That’s my townhome, just there. I’ll take your injured horse to be looked at by my man and you can finish your travels.”
“Are you certain it wouldn’t put you out?” Flora glanced at the building he had gestured to, and it was only a very short stroll down the road. But she still hated to inconvenience anyone.
“Flora, the man said we could borrow his horse, and borrow it we shall.” Charlie thumped Andrew upon the back. “Jolly good, Andrew. Or Andy! Might I call you Andy?”
“I-I suppose so…” Andrew replied, giving the reins to the carriage driver to make the exchange.
Charlie clapped his hands together. “Splendid. Well, Andy, where were you off to in such a bluster?”
“I had word that a certain novel I’ve had my eye on at the national library had just been made available for service.” He buried about in his satchel to product a brown leather bound book with worn edges. “It spans the laws of the early Ottoman empire. You know, they had—”
“Magnificent,” Charlie declared, cutting off Andrew. “Now that we have everything sorted, do come for tea tomorrow. Flora and I should be quite recovered by then, and I could return your horse.”
“Oh, yes, certainly,” Flora agreed. “We must repay your kindness somehow.”
Andrew shuffled his feet a bit. “Hardly a kindness, as my flighty horse is what caused this entire ordeal.”
“Still, you didn’t have to lend us your horse.” Flora thought his shyness was rather amusing, especially as it was no longer accompanied with the initial stuttering he had when they first met.
“I couldn’t leave you out in the nigh
t,” Andrew said softly, tucking his book back into his bag. “I would never forgive myself if any harm came to your person because of something I did.”
“I’ll be quite all right,” she promised. “But it’s sweet of you to worry so.”
“Yes, it’s all rather adorable.” Charlie yawned. “But now might we go? The horses are settled and it’s high time I get into bed with a bottle of brandy.”
“We’ll see you tomorrow for tea?” Flora asked finally as she began her assent into the carriage.
“I wouldn’t miss it,” Andrew replied, taking the lead of the injured horse.
“I wouldn’t miss it,” Charlie crooned in a dramatic falsetto as they began their drive toward the MacLeod home.
“Do shut up!” spat Flora, turning to look out the window. Muggy yellow clouds of fog hung beneath each light post.
“Isn’t he the fellow who dragged your inebriated self up to your chambers the night of Penelope’s wedding?”
Flora’s glare shot toward Charlie. “I told you we were never to speak of that night again.”
“Yes, you told me, but I rarely listen. Honestly, Flora, you should know this by now.” Charlie shifted in his seat a bit. “I’m rather shocked he could carry you, as small as he is. Are you sure it wasn’t the other way around?”
“Stop it, Charlie. You’re acting like he’s a frail child. I can tell you that he delivered me safely up an entire flight of stairs.”
“I think he’s quite…what’s the word?” He tapped his chin thoughtfully. “I wouldn’t call him dashing, nor fierce. Perhaps…endearing? Yes, that’s the world. Endearing.”
“Endearing is such a pitiful term.”
“Fitting for a pitiful man.”
Flora jarred. It seemed a rather harsh statement. “You think him pitiful?”
Charlie rolled his eyes. “He dashed out in the middle of the night for a book on Mongols.”
“The Ottoman empire.”
“Pish-posh. Either way, he’s just a soft little chap who reminds me of a lost puppy. The way he gushes over you is shameful.”
“He doesn’t gush over me, that’s ridiculous.”
“Ridiculously true.”
Flora turned away from him again and her thoughts drifted toward gentle Andrew Philips, who was never anything but perfectly polite, no matter the circumstances. And the circumstances they often met in were anything but orthodox. Once they were thrust together when Flora was lying on the floor unable to move and now they practically ran him over in the middle of the night. At least tea would be nothing more than a completely appropriate meeting.
***
“Flora, should we spike the tea?” Charlie asked, a flask poised over the blue china teapot. He wriggled his ginger brows.
She snatched it from his grasp and scowled. “Certainly not. We’re having a perfectly respectable tea, not a grand bash.”
“Might as well.” He flopped onto the couch and dropped a small teacake into his mouth. “Talking with that Philips fellow bores me to tears.”
“Be nice. You’re the one who invited him to tea, so the least you could do is be polite.”
“Mister Andrew Philips,” a butler announced, shepherding a timid looking Andrew through the doors.
“Andy, old boy!” Charlie sat up and strode over to Andrew, taking him by the hand and showing him to an armchair. “Glad you could come.”
“Good afternoon, Andrew,” Flora greeted as she poured him a cup of tea.
“Thank you both for inviting me. I still feel terribly about last night,” Andrew admitted, adjusting his jacket. “I didn’t know you would both be back in London so soon after the wedding.”
Charlie plopped back down on the couch beside Flora, making her cushion bounce. “Well, we thought we’d catch the last of the fall shows and make all of our Christmas purchases early.”
“So you won’t be staying long?” Andrew asked, drinking his tea black.
Flora picked up her own cup and took a sip before puckering. The leaves must have been bitter, or had steeped too long. She dropped two more sugar cubes into the brew, which made it much more bearable. Charlie, she could see, had no issues with his beverage, as he rapidly drained two cups.
“Might I ask where these leaves hail from?” Andrew peered at the dregs at the bottom of the china. “I don’t believe I’ve ever had this before. It’s an…unusual blend.”
Charlie’s eyes bulged as he clamped his lips shut.
Flora knitted her brow, instantly suspicious. “What is it?”
“It’s a special blend,” Charlie croaked between strangled chuckles. “One of my own making.”
She opened up the pot and looked inside, seeing nothing out of the ordinary. Nonetheless, Flora put down her cup and turned on Charlie. “What did you do?”
“I thought I’d just spice things up a bit.” Charlie pulled a small flask from his pocket and gave it a good-natured peck.
Flora glanced at the container she had taken earlier, which still sat on the side table. “Where did that come from?”
“A gentleman always keeps an emergency flask,” he declared, taking a little nip. “Isn’t that right, Andy?”
“Quite,” Andrew responded evenly, pushing away his cup.
“Pardon me,” the butler interrupted. “A Matthew Elmsly has come to call. Are you at home?”
“Hark!” Charlie sprang from his seat and straightened his jacket. “My Romeo doth approach.”
Flora hung her head, only looking back up when she heard the sitting room doors slam shut. “Andrew, I’m terrible sorry for Charlie’s behavior. I promise we’re not all total loons. I’m ever so embarrassed.”
“Please, don’t think of it. He’s much more lively than anyone at university. It’s rather a nice diversion.”
“He’s lively to a fault,” she muttered. “I am terribly sorry for the tea. I would have never served it to you, had I known.”
“It’s quite all right. I don’t usually take tea anyway outside of the morning.”
“No tea?” Flora thought that particularly odd, as she’d never met an Englishman who didn’t down the stuff by the pot.
He shook his head, glancing about the room. Flora then became acutely aware that he hadn’t made eye contact with her once since entering the sitting room. She shifted uncomfortably in her seat, mindful of the silence that surrounded them and the way Andrew’s foot tapped upon the floor, as if he was counting the passing seconds.
The awkward stillness made Flora wonder why Andrew was suddenly acting so strange with her. The night of Penelope’s wedding, when he helped her up to her chambers, she vaguely remembered his openness and the way he assisted her without judgment and perhaps even shared a laugh with her. Even the morning after, he had said goodbye pleasantly, without the stuttering or the bleak silence that now assaulted them. She had to do something to break the quiet.
“Andrew—”
“Flora—”
“Oh, I’m sorry, you first,” she said.
He held up his hands. “No, please, as you were saying?”
“I-I was just going to inquire as to how your studies are progressing,” she replied lamely. She could kick herself for her inability to spark a true conversation and regressing to such idle chat.
“Very well, thank you,” he answered, his gaze still traveling from his shoes, to the fireplace, and to the window beyond Flora’s head. “I have my final exams just before the Christmas holidays.”
She very much wished he would just look at her instead of everything else possible. “And then what are your plans?”
“I can practice law anywhere, really, but I believe I will be staying in London to take over my uncle’s practice.”
“You must be pleased. Higher education is a very time consuming but worthwhile pursuit.”
“Exceedingly.” Andrew pursed his lips and Flora saw him redden about the ears. Then be opened his mouth. “Flora…would you care to attend the opera with me?”
She p
aused, almost stunned at his request. “I-I—”
“About damned time,” Charlie declared, striding into the room followed by a disheveled looking Matthew.
“Pardon?” Andrew questioned, his voice no longer timid but full of that masculine body Flora found oddly appealing.
“I said that it’s about time you got around to asking Flora on an evening about the town.” Charlie plucked his first flack off the side table and tossed it to Matthew. “And what opera shall you be attending?”
Andrew cleared his throat, obviously uncomfortable being stared at by three people. “I recently acquired tickets for tomorrow night to see La Fanciulla di Vanezia.”
“Is that the new Italian one about the prostitutes?” Matthew piped in, twirling his mustache as always.
“Well…I wouldn’t say that exactly…” Andrew mumbled, his cheeks radiating red. Flora pitied him.
“I’ve read that it’s a marvelous show,” she injected smoothly, smiling warmly at Andrew. In truth, she knew nothing of the opera, or any other for that matter.
“And will you be joining Andy at the opera, my darling Flora?” Charlie questioned, patting an uncomfortable-looking Andrew upon the shoulder.
“Yes, I will.”
Andrew’s face split into a straight-toothed grin, which she thought made him look boyishly handsome in a way she found charming. The lock of auburn hair that fell loosely over his forehead only highlighted it. His brown eyes flitted to her appreciatively and Flora had to look away, lest she adopt her own blush at his enthusiasm.
Andrew stood then, keeping the deep voice he seemed to only use with other men. “Charles, thank you for the invitation to tea. Flora, where should I collect you tomorrow evening?”
“Right to it, this one,” Charlie whispered loudly to Matthew.
“The MacLeod townhome is quite close to the Elmsly one.” She pointed to a small silver tray where her calling cards sat. “Charlie, please pass Andrew my card.”
Charlie picked two, handing both over. “Just in case you lose one, old chap.”
His Tarnished Ruby Page 7
