The Way The Wallflower Wed

by Devon, Eva

  He gaped at her, though now he knew that anything she said shouldn’t surprise him. “You know who Epictetus is?”

  “Of course I know who Epictetus is,” she scoffed. “Doesn’t everyone?”

  “No,” he stated.

  “Oh. Well, I like him a great deal.” She smoothed her hands down her simple, gray gown, which hid her figure from the nape of her neck, leaving only her hands and the tips of her slippers exposed.

  “He says very sensible things, you know?” she mused. “And I’ve tried to live my life by many of his teachings.”

  Was he still dreaming? He had yet to have his coffee. Perhaps he was imagining all of this, but he had a strong feeling she was indeed saying what he thought.

  He cleared his throat. “You’ve tried to live your life by Roman Stoics and Greek philosophers?”

  She gazed up at him as though it was the most obvious thing in the world to do. “They were rather magnificent. I don’t think I should be trying to live my life based off of Miss Fannie Smythe’s Advice for Young Ladies. I’m not really interested in finding a man or how to wave a fan.”

  “Most ladies are,” he pointed out, astounded by her energy. Perhaps she too was a believer in cold water in the morning. It would certainly explain her vigor.

  She raked a hand along her red locks, which only tousled the curls out of their coiffure. “I think we’ve established I am not most ladies. Now come along, if you please.”

  He had not heard such a phrase or in such tones since he was a small boy in his rooms and been under the auspices of a nanny.

  It was a most interesting experience.

  “I am not a child, Miss Post. First, I need coffee.”

  “Oh, dear,” she said, frowning. “You’re not a morning person. I see.”

  “Miss Post, I should like to point out that it is not yet dawn, and I’ll have you know that I am one of the most effectual morning people I know.”

  Those captivating pink lips of hers twitched. “After you’ve had a cup of coffee.”

  “Correct,” he admitted, unable to deny it.

  “Then, let us go,” she agreed amiably. “Besides, I have never tried the beverage. I should like to.”

  He gave a nod. “Fine, then. Come along.”

  With that, she led the way down to the kitchens. “I hope you don’t mind, but I’ve already had a small repast and a cup of tea.”

  “You found everything?” he queried, no longer surprised at anything she might declare.

  “Oh, indeed.” She positively beamed as if she had finally found her rightful place in the world. “Your kitchen is set up most beautifully. My hat is off to your cook. She’s a very organized soul.”

  “She is,” he agreed, unable to say more without the aid of coffee or his walk.

  With that, they went down the stairs into the servants’ halls. The first rays of dawn fell in through the windows, leaving the rooms a soft golden hue.

  Once again, they found themselves back in the kitchen, and he watched her move easily as if she’d been in the room countless times.

  “This is the coffee, is it not?” she asking, pulling out a box of aromatic beans.

  “It is,” he agreed.

  “I do not know how you make it from this point,” she said. “The beans are most unusual. It’s just not like making tea at all.”

  “You grind them,” he said, leaning against the table, captivated by her excitement at learning something new.

  “Oh. How fascinating.” She peered at the beans as if they were the strangest thing in the whole world.

  Then she sniffed them. “It is the most intriguing scent.”

  “Intriguing?” he queried, recalling she had used the same word to describe him. “You are easily intrigued.”

  “Only by things strange to me, things such as yourself and the coffee,” she said.

  He could not hide his smile at her honestly. “If I take you to Egypt, I fear you shall be in a state of permanent intrigue.”

  “Oh, yes,” she agreed, holding the box of coffee tightly, “and I shouldn’t mind it in the least bit.”

  He took the beans from her and pulled out the grinder. “You see this?” he said. “You put the beans in, and you. . .”

  “Oh, yes,” she said. “I do see. It’s a remarkable invention. The cog and the. . .”

  “You know about such things?” Most people were not interested in any sort of machinery unless it was for the purpose of making money.

  “Well, I have seen them in drawings,” she admitted. “But I’ve never had the delight or the experience of using such a device. May I try?”

  “Of course,” he said.

  She’d all but clapped her hands together, and he was stunned by her enthusiasm for something others would not even bother to notice.

  Quickly, he showed her how to measure out the beans, place them into the small container, and then how to wind the handle of the coffee grinder.

  She did so with such delight that one would have thought he was giving diamonds to a mistress in London.

  It was the most intriguing experience. Now it seemed he was the one intrigued, and he found himself enjoying it and her.

  As he stood closer to her, he caught her scent. The soap of delicate lilies and just the simple excitement of life floated from her. It was the most captivating thing he’d ever known, and at that moment, he knew he was in very great trouble, indeed.

  Chapter 9

  Pippa ground the coffee, feeling absolutely accomplished.

  It was such a good feeling to learn another new skill and one so outside of her usual experience.

  She began to hum as she made the beverage. She noticed suddenly that Roxley was standing close to her, not too close, but enough that she could feel the power of his presence.

  It was almost as delicious as the scent of the coffee. He was a powerful man. His presence filled up the area of the kitchen, and she found herself wanting to lean into it, but she did not, she focused on her work instead.

  She was not here to bask in his presence but to assist him, and she could not forget it.

  Then, suddenly, she felt the tips of his fingers brush her neck.

  She did not tense, but she stilled, holding the coffee grinder tight. At that touch upon the sensitive skin at her nape, she could not draw breath. The entire world seemed to stand still.

  “I beg your pardon,” he said gruffly, “but a lock of hair had fallen errant from your coiffure.”

  “Thank you,” she breathed, barely able to speak at all but relieved she had managed two words.

  Her entire body felt drawn towards him as if it was asking to be pressed against his hard frame. Ever so slowly, she turned her gaze up to his, and their eyes met.

  There were no words for the sensation that charged through her then, but it was as if she had been touched by fire, except it did not hurt; it simply burned with a delicious warmth and filled her with a heat so intense she could barely countenance it.

  His gaze darkened, and for one moment, he leaned ever so slightly forward, his obsidian hair dancing against his strong jaw.

  His hand slid to her shoulder, lingering there before he abruptly pulled back.

  “Coffee now,” he said tersely. “I’m absolutely impossible, as you say, until I’ve had it.”

  She nodded wordlessly and quickly allowed him to teach her the next steps of putting the coffee into a strange container and then into another pot-like device.

  She waited patiently while he boiled water and steeped the ground coffee just as one might a tea. They remained in that strange silence where she felt as if the room had somehow shrunk about them and they were the only things in the whole world.

  Neither of them spoke as he gathered two blue-painted cups. Words were not exchanged as he poured out the steaming coffee and handed one cup to her.

  Again, he said nothing as he whipped around and headed back towards his foyer.

  She followed obediently but curious. She held her
cup in her hand, savoring the warmth seeping into her palm.

  For, it was rather chilly in Cornwall, and she enjoyed the feel of the porcelain against her skin. She savored the scent of the coffee wafting towards her, but she soon realized it was nowhere near as invigorating as the earl’s own scent of spices she couldn’t identify.

  There was something absolutely marvelous about those spices, as if he had come from a market in a foreign land where secrets were whispered and long journeys ended and began. She couldn’t deny the heady feeling that came over her when near him.

  No, she realized, she wasn’t going to deny anything anymore.

  She had so boldly gone after her assistant position that she now felt pretending about anything else she might dream of or desire would not do.

  She was going to acknowledge what she wanted. She might not go after it, but she’d at least not lie to herself any longer about what she truly wished.

  Life was full of too many disappointments to disappoint oneself in such a way.

  She did not feel fear as they approached her work in his study, but she did feel nervous.

  What if he found some strange fault?

  What if he was so particular that he would dislike her penmanship? Her pen was perfect as far as she knew, but one could never be certain.

  Wordlessly, he began paging through the work.

  Page after page, his silence stretched on and on until she began to become tense. Which irritated her, for she generally had great confidence in her own abilities. After all, she’d worked hard to obtain them.

  She took a swallow of the coffee and was stunned by its bitterness, yet there was a smooth strength to it. Immediately, she understood the appeal of it.

  She drank again.

  He had still said nothing, and the only sound to fill the silence was that of papers being turned.

  “Well,” she finally said. “Have I passed muster?”

  His gaze snapped up to hers, positively glowing with approval. “I cannot imagine a better result.”

  He drew in a long breath, gazing at her with what seemed to be true praise. “Now, I’m going for my walk. You shall stay here.”

  “Yes, Roxley,” she replied, longing to bounce on her toes with glee. Instead, she took a dignified drink of coffee before saying in as sanguine a manner as possible, “Enjoy your ramble.”

  “Do whatever you please today,” he rumbled. “Read any of the books you wish. I don’t wish to be disturbed for the rest of the day. I have a great deal to do, but we do not need to bother with a two-week trial. Make yourself at home.”

  With that, he strode out of the room as if he had been hoping to find something amiss, or was it perhaps that he was as stunned at that moment between them in the kitchen as she?

  She did not wish to lose this position, it was far too important to her.

  Slowly, she lifted her hand and gently touched the place he had laid his fingers. She wondered why he had allowed his fingers to rest so long upon her neck and why the look between them had caused such a powerful effect upon her.

  She shook her head.

  She wouldn’t think about that. She had too many other things to think about.

  A wave of excited triumph burst through her, and she nearly crowed. Pippa clapped a hand over her mouth, lest he hear from the garden. She did not wish him to think she’d gone mad.

  The entire house was hers, and she was going to explore every inch. It was the most freedom she had had in her entire life, and not only was she free, she was employed.

  Chapter 10

  “It’s time, then.”

  Pippa looked up from her work, barely hearing Roxley, she was so engrossed in the work that had taken all of her time for over a week.

  “Time for what?” she asked, stretching her shoulders. “Do you have another translation for me?”

  “No, Miss Post,” he said. “It’s time for you to see the collection.”

  Her fingers stilled on her quill.

  And, oh, so slowly, she lowered it to the page, careful not to smudge the recently scribed text.

  He’d said she might see it, but she’d barely dared to let herself hope. So, instead, she had immersed herself in work every day, trusting that it would happen sooner rather than later.

  And here he was, bidding her to come and see.

  She was so excited she could barely believe it. She felt herself almost vibrating.

  She lifted her gaze to his and saw he was smiling ever so slightly.

  “I have not had anyone who could do as much as you have in the time that you have,” he declared. “Your fingers are far more nimble than mine. I do not think I need worry about you dropping anything.”

  She cleared her throat, smoothed her hands over her skirt, and stood.

  Without another word, he turned and headed down the corridor.

  She followed him eagerly.

  Barely able to contain her joy, she almost skipped along.

  They headed outside, into the cool, crisp Cornwall air, and she was desperately glad it wasn’t raining at this particular moment.

  She was, however, astonished when he did not take her to a coach. She had assumed they would be traveling to their destination, but instead, he led her through the wild garden, over the hill towards the coast, and to a path that seemed to sweep down towards the sea.

  She knew he walked to the sea almost every day. No doubt it invigorated him.

  It was a beautiful place, after all, and Cornwall was surrounded by the ocean’s beauty. She had been astonished by the power of the waves crashing upon the jagged rocks, not even two miles from the house.

  Every day, after she completed several tasks, she would go for a wander to clear her head. Inevitably, she found herself looking out to the horizon whilst the birds cried overhead. The salt air had filled her with purpose and passion anew.

  As they wandered along the narrow path, it looked as if it was more for goats than men.

  She lifted her skirts and was glad she had always had a practical choice in footwear. They wound their way down the cliffside, and when it appeared the path might be growing to rough, he turned, concerned, and offered her his hand.

  She gave him a polite shake of her head, and he nodded, acknowledging she was just as able as he to negotiate the terrain.

  When at last, they reached what appeared to be a dead end, she wondered what the devil they were up to.

  And then, much to her amazement, she realized there was a hidden door on the side of the cliff. He pulled it open and gestured her in.

  She followed him, and he quickly slammed it shut, bolting it.

  Before she knew what was happening, a light burst to life, and he was holding a lantern in one hand.

  She had to blink several times before her eyes adjusted to the flame lighting the darkness.

  “My goodness, wherever are we?” she asked.

  “It is a smugglers’ cave, Miss Post.”

  She gasped, and the sound echoed ever so slightly off the rock walls. “A smugglers’ cave?”

  “Indeed, it is something that has been on this estate for hundreds of years.” He held the lantern higher, spilling light around them in a pool. “You know the people of this land have been negotiating goods with France for hundreds of years, and they’re not about to let a few excisemen stop them from their trade.”

  “But it is on your land?” she said, astonished at what she was hearing.

  “Yes,” he chortled. “The men of my family have been known, occasionally, to deal in such things as French brandy and silk, or at least, to let it go unnoticed when the local people have made such dealings part of their income.”

  She nodded, determined not to be a ninny. “I had read of such things.”

  “It is an excellent place to keep the collection because no one would be able to find this particular place. The few villagers who do know of it would never dare tell an outsider, lest they risked their own hanging.”

  “You keep your collection
here?” she breathed. “I don’t know why I assumed it was in a house of some sort, miles from here.”

  “Oh, no, I would never allow it to be too far. And there would be no house that would keep it safe. This,” he said, gesturing to the fortress-like surrounds. “This, however, would keep it secret for generations if I so wished.”

  And with that, he began to wind his way down through a narrow but dry corridor.

  The stone that had been cut from a slightly wider path was dry as well. She would have thought it would be dripping wet, but it was not. The light of the lantern cast shadows all about her, and she happily went along, drinking in the scent of the earth and stone.

  At last, they came into a cavern, and she spotted table after table after table covered in objects. They were positioned carefully, as if to make certain nothing could bother them.

  And she gasped as she saw the light reflect on gold and painted surfaces. Her eyes could barely take in the mesmerizing objects, for she had only ever seen black-and-white or slightly colored paintings of the edifices of Egypt.

  But here was everything in full color.

  She saw black obsidian cats, with their golden collars. She saw stones covered in the writings of ancient times, small statues with paint so bright that her eyes nearly watered, and jewelry of various kinds, small ivory statues, and alabaster gods.

  Sight after sight after sight unfurled before her, and she knew she could easily spend hours upon hours upon hours in that room and never grow tired and never grow bored in her consumption of it.

  “This is what you wish to have cataloged?” she asked.

  “Yes,” he said. “I carefully recorded a good deal of it. Your job will be to ensure I have made no errors.”

  “I cannot wait to begin,” she rushed, her heart aching to explore.

  “Good, I’m glad. Go ahead,” he said. “Look about. I can see you are longing to.”

  And so, she did.

  She began to wind her way through the aisles between the tables ever so slowly, stopping and staring and spending as much time as she could upon each object.

  She marveled over the intricate work, over scarabs, the carvings into the precious stones, wondering how artisans so many thousands of years ago had spent their time bent over benches, making artifacts just as beautiful as any jewelry that existed today.