Page 7 of A Rogue to Ensnare

“Very well, Father,” Siobhan said, sitting near him after getting herself a scone, some jam, and a couple of pieces of crispy bacon. She poured tea and peered at the doorway. “I suppose the staff is sleeping in as well.”

Another annoying result of so many gatherings was the fact that their staff was often too tired to see to them the following day. Cook and a pair of her helpers ensured they were fed, but the rest of the staff was given the day off. This, of course, was unfair to Cook, so therefore they were given several days off the following week or whenever it was convenient for the family.

“So have you, then?” Her father chewed his food and peered at her over his spectacles. Owen Blair was a tall, slender man with gentle blue eyes and dark hair that begged to be cut or even combed, for that matter. Although he’d inherited well and managed the Blair fortune for his sister and brother, it was evident he would have preferred the life of a historian, as he spent most of his days in his dusty study poring over historical books and attending such lectures.

Siobhan swallowed and sipped from the teacup. “Have I what, Father?”

“Found someone suitable?”

It was shocking when her mind went directly to Lord Miles. That the man entered her thoughts was natural, she considered, as he was the only person outside of her household with whom she’d had an actual conversation with in the last several days.

From what she’d observed, like her, he was not at all ready to marry. Quite the contrary, he seemed to find ways to hide from overly ardent pursuers and mothers eager to shove their daughters in front of him. Despite the lack of interest in marriage, however, he did pique her curiosity. Especially because he’d asked to call on her.

What exactly was Miles looking for?

The tall, well-built man was quite handsome, Siobhan had to admit, his hazel eyes a stunning contrast to his caramel skin. With stark slashes for brows, a chiseled jaw and sumptuous lips, his looks caused many a young woman to vie for his attention.

“Siobhan?” his father prompted.

“Oh… yes. I danced with Michael MacDonald. He seems… er…” She paused, considering, before coming up with a suitable description. “Adequate.” She shrugged. “I may see him again at the next ball or whatever event Mother has planned for us.”

“A musicale.” Her mother walked into the room, her complexion pale and purpled under her eyes. “I had to come down and see about…” She waved her hand, not finishing the sentence.

“The social papers have not been delivered yet, my dear,” her father said. “It is much too early for there to be any word of last night’s event.”

Her mother didn’t seem convinced. “Rose!” she called out. “Rose!”

Siobhan chuckled. “You gave everyone the day off. I believe no one is up and about as yet, Mother.”

At the reminder, her mother motioned to Siobhan. “Be a dear and pour tea for your mother. I am quite parched.”

As she rose to pour the tea, she said, “I am going with Henriette to the mission today. I can stop at the printing press.” Siobhan spoke quickly in a carefully casual tone. Saturday mornings were her favorite time of the week. With her best and dearest friend, it was the day she went to help at the shelter for the poor and also visited with a widowed, sickly young woman, Susan, who had three young children. Of course, Mother did not approve of the activity, though one would assume having a daughter with a charitable heart was better than one who could dance and flirt and be more of an ornament than a caring human being.

She wasn’t surprised when Mother said, “Honestly Siobhan, you can catch something there. Why do you insist on going instead of sending one of the staff to do…whatever you do there?” Her mother looked at the doorway as if expecting the elusive Rose to appear. “Where is that girl?”

Her husband peered at his wife and smiled. “You should return to bed and rest, dear. There is no need to fret over the social pages. They will not be out for delivery until this afternoon.”

*

When the carriage came to a stop in front of her friend Henriette Perot’s house, her friend appeared and hurried to join her. Once seated next to Siobhan, she let out a breath. “That was quite close. Mother overheard my conversation with Jean-Pierre and called out to ask what we were up to.”

Jean-Pierre was Henriette’s older brother, who joined them on these excursions to ensure they were safe. Often he’d remain until they exited Susan’s home and then he’d ride away. As on most days, the man’s horse came into view and as he mounted, he peered toward the carriage.

“He pines for Amelia. He’s always hopeful she will join us,” Henrietta explained in her thick French accent. “Mon pauvre frère. He should give up.”

Although both of Henriette’s parents were born in France, her mother, Eva, was of Scottish descent. The Perots had moved to Scotland after Eva Perot had inherited a valuable mansion and a sizeable bank account as she was the only heir of a grandfather she’d never met.

From the first time they’d met during pianoforte lessons, Siobhan and Henrietta had become best friends, mostly due to the fact that neither had musical talent and their ever-suffering tutor would walk in circles murmuring to herself how much she missed teaching at a musical arts school with students who could actually play.

Henriette was petite, with bright eyes and curly reddish hair, like her mother’s. The mixture of a French and Scottish accent was delightful to Siobhan, who was one of the few who could understand her when she became overly excited and spoke in a mixture of both languages.

“Cook gave me what we need to make chicken stew today,” Siobhan exclaimed, holding up her filled basket.

“That will be good. I instructed the driver to take us to the nearby market. From there we can bring some food to the mission and buy whatever else Susan and her enfants might use. I also brought some liniment and tincture for her,” Henriette announced.

“That’s perfect.” Siobhan smiled.

As the driver drove to the market by the church, she peered out the window to note that already many people were out and about. Granted, most of them were people of little means who were forced to work every day to provide for their families.