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“No. I’m fine. I didn’t sleep well after a late night.”
“Are you not pleased that Lord Stewart is interested? He said the two of you had a delightful conversation and that he finds your charm and wit refreshing and irresistible.”
“He said that, did he? I cannot say the same about him,” I mumble as I get up to walk off the pounding in my chest that is making it hard to breathe. I cannot believe the terrible turn my life has taken in such a short period of time. Whatever am I going to do?
“Ella! What is the meaning of this letter…of…of this poem? And what on earth is this book? LordStewartgave you this?” My mother’s voice is somewhat shrill as she yanks me out of my cloudy despair. She has the letter in her hand. I didn’t even think to hide it somehow when she walked in. Now, she’s standing before me with a look on her face that is a cross between suspicion and fear and perhaps a conclusion that reeks of disappointment.
“Mother, please calm down. The look on your face says you have come up with conclusions that are completely insulting. I had no idea this man was going to write me poetry and send me gifts!” My hand waves in the direction of the settee where Alasdair’s beautiful gilded book glows in the bright rays of the sun. My eyes will not look away from the magnificent tome that seems to speak to me with its own voice.
“From the sounds of his letter and descriptive prose of you as a person, he hasveryintimate knowledge of you,” she snaps, pulling me out of my fantasy. When I look over at Beatrice, I can see that she is reciting prayers under her breath.
“It is not my fault the man apparently has a vivid imagination. I met him briefly last night at the ball. He asked my name, and then he went on to ask me nonsense like where were my wings? To be honest, I was a bit disappointed by his foolishness because he is quite handsome.” I finish my rant with a barb that will hopefully distract the rest of the questions I see sitting just under the surface. “And besides, I ended up cutting the conversation short because I simply could not tolerate his insufferable Scottish brogue any longer.”
“Oh!” Mother stops and redirects her questioning. “Was it really that bad? With his standing in society, you would think his accent would be more refined.”
“Bad doesn’t begin to describe it. Every R rolled like a boulder off his tongue, and half his words blended to the point I could hardly understand what he was saying.” That’s a bit of an exaggeration. If I am being honest with myself, there was something rather appealing about his accent that sent gooseflesh across my body.
“Well, dear, that is a bit surprising. However, his family is quite well off and one of the most well-respected in Scotland. I suppose it could be worse. Though, more than his unrefined speech, my concern lies with how forward this letter is, not to mention how inappropriate it is that he even sent it to you with a gift!”
I almost laugh at the apparent conundrum my mother is in as she mentally thumbs through the pages ofThe Book of Proper Etiquette and Maintaining the Highest Standing in Society. She is weighing the value of a wealthy future earl against the fact that he is clearly no English gentleman. She must have found the page she was looking for, because her eyes widen and her face lights up as she states, “We will put him to the test ourselves. Let us invite him for tea or perhaps even dinner one day this week.”
How did we manage to end up here?
“Mother!” My tone is impatient. “Do I not have any say so in this?” The thought of having the man from the conservatory in my home, conversing with my mother and father, is a thought that is so far outside anything my mind can fathom as reasonable or even proper, I think it is making me slightly ill to my stomach. My parents will not know the scandalous, blatantly carnal knowledge we have of one another, but he and I certainly will. I might as well sit down to have tea with them in nothing more than my shift for how uncomfortable I will be.
“I didn’t say you had to marry him, Ella. But when someone of his standing shows an interest as keen as his apparently is, you don’t snub it, regardless of how forward he might be. It is only proper to at least invite him over for tea. If we are not impressed, we don’t invite him back. It’s quite simple, dear.” Evidently the future Earl of Galloway stands to inherit a large estate with exceptionally deep coffers filled to the rim, otherwise we would not be having this conversation.
“Don’t you mean ifIam not impressed? You and Father are not the ones who would marry him.”
“As your parents, it is only fair to assume we are part of the approval process.” But her idea of a suitable husband isn’t the same as mine. At least not any of the suitors she has pushed me toward so far.
“I am not a ninny, Mother. I feel certain that the man I choose will be met with approval from both you and Father.” I’m trying to keep my tone neutral, but this conversation is wearing on my patience.
“Yes, of course you will make a good choice, my love. However, it is my duty to make sure you have plenty of options.” With that, she kisses my forehead and turns to make as dramatic an exit as she did her entrance. Before closing the door, she turns and gives me a radiant smile. “I will let you know when Lord Stewart has accepted our invitation and what day we will be expecting him for tea.” And with that, she is gone.
I turn to Beatrice, the silent observer. “Please give me one reason I should not leave immediately with a sudden urge to visit family on the other side of the continent? Or perhaps even further. There is an entire ocean between here and America.”
“Yes, that is true. But Lord Stewart is also known asCaptainStewart, and you know what that means,” Beatrice says, pointing out the fact that he probably sails across that same ocean three times a year. “May I see the letter he wrote you, dear?”
Just the mention of it makes my heart beat harder in my chest. Taking it over to her, I say, “I cannot justify this letter and poem with the man I met last night. Surely he is continuing to entertain himself by playing me like a game of chess.” I glance down at the beautiful script and even more beautiful words. “I believe I could read this a hundred times and never tire of it.”
Beatrice begins to read as I walk back over to retrieve the book of fairy tale creatures. If he is entertaining himself, he’s going to a lot of expense to do so. I still can’t believe he gave me this magnificent book from his family’s collection. It is page after page of original artwork, and I can only imagine how his family came to own it.
“My goodness, Ella. This is one of the most beautiful things I’ve ever read,” she gushes. “I don’t think he is toying with you, dear. It is quite obvious you have captured his attention and whether you travel across the country or across the sea, Alasdair Stewart will not be far behind.” Her bold statement makes the hair on my neck stand up as a frisson of fear and excitement runs through me.
“As unfortunate as it may be, I fear you are right. However, Lord Stewart will soon know that Ella Seymour is no starry-eyedlassthat will titter and blush as he lays on his charm. I know the real man under the facade, and I will not be played by him again.”
