Part 15 (2/2)
Encouraged, she added, ”Though the temperatures in the mountain ranges can be extreme, those on the plains are pleasant most of the year.”
Mama blinked. ”I-I had no idea, Bronwyn.”
”Yes. Part of Oxenburg has heavy snows in the winter, and the mountain roads are often impa.s.sable except by horse and sled.”
Sorcha looked from her to Alexsey and then back again. ”Really?”
Bronwyn nodded. ”There are two major mountain ranges in Oxenburg, with four major peaks.”
She slipped a glance at Alexsey and caught him watching her with an odd smile.
What else? Ah yes. ”There are seventeen rivers, and a number of flood plains, as well as”-she frowned, trying to remember-”was it seven major cities?”
”Six,” Alexsey offered.
”Six.” She gave him a grateful smile. ”Oxenburg has no coastline, as it is entirely surrounded by other countries, but lakes are plentiful. There are more than a hundred and”-she squinted and bit her lip-”fourteen lakes, all of them surrounded by lush farmlands and-”
The prince stood, startling everyone. ”Lady Malvinea, Strathmoor and I must take your daughters for a walk in your gardens.”
Bronwyn blinked at the urgent note in the prince's voice.
Mama nodded. ”Of course! Sorcha and Mairi would be glad to-”
”And Miss Murdoch,” Alexsey said.
Her gaze flew to his. He inclined his head, a faint smile curving his hard mouth. ”Such a recitation. I am impressed.”
Her face flushed at the warmth in his voice, her entire body softening. And I only read the first chapter. How will he react when I read more? Will he- A noise sounded in the foyer and Mama, who was looking none too pleased, brightened. ”Ah! There's tea now. The walk can wait.”
A scrambling sound came in the hallway, followed by a m.u.f.fled thump.
Bronwyn frowned at the door. ”What on earth is that?”
The door burst open and Scott galloped in, a red kerchief in his mouth. Hot on his trail was Mrs. Pitcairn, her mobcap askew, a broom in one hand as she swung unsuccessfully at the dog's rump. ”Bring tha' back, ye b.l.o.o.d.y h.e.l.lhound!” she snapped, her face as red as the kerchief.
Lady Malvinea rose, grasping one arm of her chair. ”Bronwyn, get your animals under control!”
Bronwyn was already on her feet, stepping into Scott's path.
Walter appeared in the doorway, his tail wagging as he watched the fray. With a loud bark, he ran in to join the fun.
”Scott, stop!” She grabbed at him as he raced by, but, spurred forward by the housekeeper's chase, he was out of reach before she could grab his collar.
”Bring back them tarts, ye h.e.l.lhound!” Mrs. Pitcairn screeched, swinging the broom.
Scott leapt over a small table with ease and Mrs. Pitcairn, perhaps thinking she could swat his rump while he was in the air, accidentally brought her broom down on a large vase of fall flowers, which flipped spectacularly in the air, scattering water and flowers all over poor Sorcha.
Wet stems clung to her head and face as she gasped in shock. Water dampened her gown and plastered one of her curls to her forehead.
Mairi and Lord Strathmoor both let out a whoop of laughter while, red-faced and furious, Lady Malvinea dug a kerchief from her pocket and rushed to Sorcha's aid.
Bronwyn ran after Scott, who was trying to scramble under a chair to evade the whapping broom. But the chair was too small for such a large dog, and he only succeeded in moving it forward, his rump still in plain view and an easy target for Mrs. Pitcairn.
Bronwyn caught the broom just before it landed and tugged it away from the angry housekeeper. ”Mrs. Pitcairn, please!”
Mrs. Pitcairn shoved her askew mobcap back onto her head. ”Tha' dog stole our tarts!”
”He shouldn't have done that, but chasing him about the house isn't going to help.” Bronwyn moved in front of Scott, who was now trying to wiggle free of the chair.
The cook's hands curled into fists. ”Miss, I jus' want to gi' him one good smack fer stealin' my tarts! One smack, an' no more.”
”No smacks, and no-” Bronwyn caught sight of Walter where he was licking spilled water from the floor. ”Walter, out!”
The dog wagged his tail and gave the floor one last lick.
She scowled at him.
Seeing the steel in her eye, he lowered his head and trotted out the door.
Scott, finally free, scrambled to join him, and soon Bronwyn saw the two dogs racing past one of the windows. ”You left the door open!”
”I was tryin' to herd them oot the door when they stole me tarts.” Mrs. Pitcairn plopped a fist on her hip and leaned against her broom. ”And now we dinna ha' naught fer his lords.h.i.+p and the prince fer tea.”
Bronwyn glanced at their guests. Alexsey now sat in his chair, rubbing his chin as if to wipe his grin from his face, looking for all the world as if he were at a show of some sort. Lord Strathmoor was offering his handkerchief to a sputtering Sorcha, his eyes alight with laughter.
Bronwyn's heart ached as she caught Sorcha's mortified look as she wiped water from her face, one flower sticking out from her hair like a broken antler.
Mama pinned Bronwyn with a furious look. ”Those animals are your responsibility!”
”I'm sorry they ate the tarts.”
”They're h.e.l.lhounds,” Mrs. Pitcairn cried, stomping out the door. ”h.e.l.lhounds, I tell ye!”
Lord Strathmoor cleared his throat. ”I, ah, think the prince and I should be going. We'll return for that walk some other time.”
Alexsey stood, towering over everyone in the room. He bowed, his gaze locked upon hers. ”I've enjoyed my visit very, very much.”
I'll wager you did, Bronwyn thought with irritation. She'd worked so hard to make an impression, and for a wild moment, she'd thought she'd succeeded. He'd had eyes for no one but her. But now the moment was lost.
”Thank you, Your Highness,” Mama said. ”I'm so sorry for the mess and-and everything. I a.s.sure you we are usually far more boring than this!”
Strathmoor laughed. ”If anyone understands the demands of a dog, it is the prince. His dog is a monster.”
”Papillon is the worst dog in all of Oxenburg,” the prince agreed without malice. ”Everyone says so.”
”Especially your grandmother.”
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