Part 14 (1/2)

”He loves you,” Bronwyn said softly. ”There's no other reason he'd have done so.”

Mama's smile quavered a moment, and she quickly bent to stir the coals, her face now hidden from view. ”I do wish the maid would learn to make a proper fire.”

Bronwyn wondered if she should say something else or perhaps even hug her stepmother, but the older woman wasn't comfortable with displays of affection. It was one of the many ways she differed from Bronwyn's mother, and perhaps one reason Papa had chosen her.

Mother had been bubbly light, the house filled with laughter, muddy shoes, and stories by the fireplace. When Mother was alive, the curtains and tabletops had never been free from dust, but the walls had been warmed by laughter. Lady Malvinea, meanwhile, kept Ackinnoull perfectly clean, the draperies ironed, the bed linens always fresh. No hint of dust was ever allowed to gather. The house was perfect, but colder.

Bronwyn thought her father felt that loss keenly. Once Lady Malvinea and her daughters had been installed in their home, he'd seemed to find more and more reasons to stay in his workshop, away from the family, leaving them to their own devices.

It's not fair. No matter Lady Malvinea's faults, she was capable of great love. Though Bronwyn had very little interest in the things that stirred her stepmother, she was deeply grateful for the older woman's efforts to include her.

Mama replaced the poker and came to join them. ”Well, my dears! We must discuss the prince's visit.” She sank into a chair, collecting herself enough to send a teasing look at Bronwyn. ”We sadly missed you at breakfast. Reading another book, were you?”

”Yes, I was rereading some of my favorite scenes.” Plotting the punishment of a certain prince.

”I would like to read The Black Duke when you finish.” Mairi plopped down on the settee, her skirts billowing.

”Mairi, your manners!”

”No one is looking, Mama.”

”As I've told you time and again, a lady never forgets her manners, even in private.”

Mairi sighed. ”I'll try, but I can't imagine everyone actually acts in private the way they do in public, never putting their feet up or talking about anything other than the weather and the latest gossip in London. Well, except old Mr. Grisham from MacCuen Hall.” She grinned. ”I'll wager he does exactly the same in private as he does in public, which is to fondle maids, belch loudly, and drink ale.”

”Mairi, Mairi!” Mama pinched the bridge of her nose between two fingers as if she had a sudden headache.

Sorcha and Bronwyn barely held their laughter.

Schooling her expression, Sorcha patted Mairi's arm. ”Mama is right; please show some comportment.”

”I'm showing comportment. Besides, I'm not the one wearing muddy boots.”

All eyes turned to Bronwyn.

”I'm sorry. I went for a walk early this morning, and completely forgot about my boots.”

Mama glanced at the clock. ”Sadly, there's not enough time for you to change them. You'll just have to wear them as they are. Tuck them back under your skirts, please. That will have to do.”

Mairi turned a pouting face toward Mama. ”How come you never worry about Bronwyn's clothes?”

”Bronwyn is twenty-four, my dear, past the age to be wishful of a suitor.”

Though she'd thought the exact same thing herself many times, the words. .h.i.t Bronwyn with a new force, her stepmother's tone d.a.m.ning in its casual finality. Good G.o.d, was she too old to ever have a suitor? Why did that stark sentence pinch so much?

Mama caught her surprised look and, with a concerned frown, added, ”Not that you couldn't do so if you tried, but you seem content with the way things are.”

”I am-I mean, I have been. I've never met a man I wished to marry.” Just one I enjoy kissing.

That was a beginning, wasn't it?

Mama's expression softened. ”Perhaps one day you'll meet someone who will change your mind.”

And perhaps someone was well on his way to doing so. Or had been, until she'd seen his true colors.

Sorcha smiled at Bronwyn. ”The truth is that you are too in love with the men in your novels to spare your time on mere mortals. How can one compete with Miss Edgeworth's Roland?”

Mairi clasped her hands together beneath her chin and stared dreamily into the air. ”Oh, Roland!”

Bronwyn couldn't keep back a chuckle. ”Fortunately, I am well aware of the vast difference between fact and fiction. And speaking of facts, Sorcha, it dawned on me last night that you've barely mentioned your dance with the prince when we were at the ball.”

Mairi turned her attention to her sister. ”Did the prince dance as well as Lord Strathmoor? It seemed to me the viscount was lighter on his feet.”

”The viscount was the better dancer.” She didn't seem at all happy about it. ”Although his manners left much to be desired. I was glad when our dance was over.”

”Viscount Strathmoor is not a concern,” Mama said. ”I asked about him, thinking he might do well for Mairi, but he has almost no income and, despite his close relations.h.i.+p to Sir Henry, does not stand to inherit in that direction, either.”

”A pity,” Mairi agreed. ”I thought he had kind eyes, but-” She dusted her hands. ”I shall focus my attentions elsewhere, for I'm determined to wed a wealthy man. I've books to buy and gowns to purchase, jewels to wear, and-oh, a thousand very expensive things.”

Bronwyn had to laugh.

Sorcha smiled but said in her soft tone, ”Mairi, a wealthy man will never consider you if you behave like a hoyden in public.”

Mairi sniffed. ”At tea, the prince laughed no fewer than four times when he spoke with me. I didn't see him so much as smile when he was with you. He even yawned. I saw him!”

”Now Mairi, that's not true,” Mama chided. ”The prince smiled quite pleasantly both at tea and the ball when he took Sorcha into the set. They made quite a pretty pair, too, if I say so myself. Several ladies in attendance said something to me about Sorcha's gracefulness later, and they were all very complimentary about her comportment, too, which is very telling. In general, women are much harsher critics than men.”

Bronwyn had never seen her stepmother quite so happy.

Sorcha adjusted her shawl over her shoulders. ”I'm cold.”

”It's always cold in here,” Mairi said. ”The sun never warms this side of the house. We should add some more coal to the fire-”

”Here.” Bronwyn picked up a lap blanket from where it hung over the back of the settee and handed it to Mairi. ”This will keep you warm.”

As she handed the blanket to Mairi, a sudden breeze burst down the chimney, puffing smoke into the room. Sorcha and Mairi cried out, coughing and covering their faces, while Bronwyn hurried to throw open the window.

Her arm pressed over her face, Lady Malvinea waved at the smoky air with her skirt. ”I wish Murdoch would have that flue fixed.”

The smoke slowly seeped out, replaced by colder air.

”Close the window!” Sorcha cried once the smoke had mostly cleared.

”Yes, yes,” Mairi agreed. ”It's even colder now!”

Bronwyn closed and latched the window and returned to their settee.

Sorcha s.h.i.+vered and looked longingly at the coal bin. ”Mama, surely we can add more coal, with guests coming soon. Then the room will be the perfect temperature for a nice visit.”

As if on cue, a horse neighed outside, the noise followed by the unmistakable sounds of male voices.