Part 10 (1/2)
”I'm sure her home is even grander. Oxenburg is one of the wealthiest nations in the world. I know, for I read about it.”
Sorcha turned to her mama in surprise. ”Where did you read about Oxenburg? I'd never heard of the country before this week.”
”I found a book in your stepfather's library that contained a remarkable amount of information.” Mama glanced toward the closed door and then said in a low voice, ”The country is known for its wealth, which comes from vast dairy lands, the quality of its lace and fabrics, and-and-” She frowned. ”I can't remember the third thing, but it was something rather boring, like timber or barley.”
”What else was in this book?” Bronwyn asked, curious despite herself.
”The king has a rather large family-four sons, in fact. Which means our prince has three brothers.”
”He's 'our prince' now, is he?” Bronwyn said drily.
Mama didn't hesitate. ”He will be once he spends more time with your sister.”
Sorcha looked miserable. ”Mama, please don't say such things. It's entirely possible he may not like me at all.”
Mama's beaming smile faded. ”Don't be ridiculous. You were raised to be a princess.”
Mairi snorted. ”Do princesses steal pastries from the kitchen when they think no one is looking? Sorcha took the last pastry from the kitchen last night, even though Mrs. Pitcairn had saved it for me.”
”I didn't know that,” Sorcha said hotly just as the door opened and a footman appeared.
He bowed. ”Her Grace will see you now. Tea has been set up on the terrace.”
”Lovely!” Mama leapt to her feet and smoothed her hair. ”Come, girls.”
The footman held the door wide and waited as they left the room. When they were all gathered in the hall, he closed the door and then led them down the wide hall.
They were near the terrace door when Sorcha came to such an abrupt halt that Bronwyn almost ran into her.
”Oh dear! I left my reticule in the sitting room.”
The footman stepped forward. ”I'll fetch the reticule, my lady.”
”And leave Her Grace waiting?” Mama huffed. ”I think not. We'll find the reticule after tea.”
Sorcha said, ”But Mama-”
”I'll fetch it now,” Bronwyn offered, ”and then I'll join you. You can make my excuses to Her Grace, if you need to.” Perhaps she would take her time fetching the reticule, too. She had no wish to watch Mama fawn over the grand d.u.c.h.ess.
”Thank you, Bronwyn.” Mama nodded to the footman to proceed.
Brownyn made her way back down the hall. Going into the sitting room, she found the reticule. She'd just left and was getting ready to walk past the grand staircase in the huge foyer when she heard male voices.
”What a waste of time,” Alexsey said. ”Why do you Scots have tea so often?”
He was coming down the stairway, his footsteps m.u.f.fled by the thick runner that cascaded down the marble steps.
Viscount Strathmoor answered, ”Have you felt our weather? If we didn't warm ourselves each afternoon with a spot of tea, we'd all be frozen stiff by dinner.”
They were almost upon her. Her heart thudding, she looked for a place to hide. She wasn't ready to see him again. Not yet. And not without the protection of one of her sisters.
With a feeling akin to panic, she slipped into the small alcove carved into the sidewall of the staircase and squeezed behind a pillar holding a bronze Cupid statue. One of the bronze arrows captured a lock of her hair, and she hurried to untangle it.
”It is colder in Oxenburg,” the prince continued. ”I do not even like tea.”
Viscount Strathmoor chuckled as they descended the stairs. ”Teatime is socially important. It's where, over delicate cups of bohea, women critique one another via heavily phrased compliments.”
”Tata Natasha is using teatime for another purpose-matchmaking. She has invited someone she wishes me to meet. I can tell.”
”She is single-minded, is she not? Which beauty do you think your grandmother is wis.h.i.+ng you to peruse this afternoon? Miss Carmichael? Lady Muiren?”
”I did not ask and she does not tell. She only sends a note to my room saying it is my responsibility to attend. Pah! A treaty negotiation is a responsibility, but this-Papillon, leave my boot ta.s.sel alone or I'll throw you in the pond.”
”That is the worst-behaved mongrel I've ever seen.”
Their footsteps sounded as the two men stepped off the last covered step onto the marble foyer floor. They took a few desultory steps, the dog prancing along with them, before they stopped.
”Papillon's ill behavior is due to my grandmother spoiling her, but she hunts with the heart of a lion. I can forgive much for that.”
”So could I, if she didn't growl at me every time I reached down to pet her.”
”She doesn't like your cravat. I've been holding back a growl myself all morning.”
Strathmoor made an outraged noise while Bronwyn smothered a laugh.
”There's nothing wrong with this cravat.”
”It's so high you cannot lower your chin.”
”I could if I didn't mind marring the lines. This is all the fas.h.i.+on.”
Bronwyn could imagine Alexsey's unconcerned expression. ”After we join my grandmother on the terrace for tea, we will ride out to Ackinnoull Manor and visit the Murdochs.”
Bronwyn's eyes widened.
Strathmoor murmured, ”Ah, so Miss Sorcha made an impression.”
”Sorcha? Nyet, I go to see Bronwyn.”
Me? Despite herself, Bronwyn couldn't help a flutter of happiness.
”Really? Even after you've met Sorcha?”
Her smile faded. Well. That was certainly harsh.
”Sorcha is too young.” Bronwyn could almost hear the prince shrug. ”And boring. She had nothing to say for herself the entire time we danced.”
Bronwyn's good humor was gone. Sorcha was never boring! Had Alexsey made the slightest effort to speak, Bronwyn was certain Sorcha would have, too.
”Perhaps Miss Sorcha is shy.” The viscount's voice was studiously disinterested. ”She seemed pleasant enough to me when I danced with her.”