Part 16 (2/2)
”Most likely.”
”Find one, then. One who will offer you a challenge. Someone with enough fire in her soul to provoke, and enough brain in her head to win an argument. Beauty is easy to find. But interesting . . . ah, that is something to be treasured.”
Strath shook his head. ”You know, for all you like to pretend that you're a frivolous sort, you're a deep one.”
Alexsey raised his brows. ”Let's see how 'deep' you think me once I beat your sorry nag back to Tulloch.”
Strath opened his mouth to protest, but the prince was already galloping away. ”b.l.o.o.d.y h.e.l.l!” He kicked his heels and was off, chasing Alexsey's dust.
Lucinda pulled her shawl tighter as the winds frenziedly whipped the moors. Swirling gray clouds filled the sky; there was power in the coming storm. She could feel it p.r.i.c.kling along her skin, making her hair rise. Lightning snaked across the sky; thunder rumbled so loudly that it sucked all other sounds from the air. And with a great whoos.h.i.+ng sigh, the skies opened and the rain poured down. . . .
-The Black Duke by Miss Mary Edgeworth The next evening, Mairi turned away from the sitting room window, letting the heavy curtain cover the gla.s.s. ”I hate rain. It's so gloomy.”
Bronwyn, curled up on the settee with a blanket over her lap, looked up from her book. The steady thrum of the rain against the side of the house made her smile. ”I rather like it.”
Sorcha held her st.i.tching closer to the lamp. ”It's so cozy, being indoors while the weather rages outside.”
Mama, who'd been darning Papa's socks, tied off the last st.i.tch. ”We're lucky to have three candles this evening. We're running short and will need to fetch some from Dingwall soon.” The clock chimed a soft melody, and she sighed and closed her sewing basket. ”It's late and we should go to bed.” Seeing Bronwyn rubbing her eyes, she asked, ”Bronwyn, are you well?”
”I've just a headache. I'm sure it will be gone in the morning.”
Sorcha's delicate brows knit. ”Oh dear! I hope so. You won't want to miss the turtle dinner at the castle.”
Mama came to touch Bronwyn's forehead, her hand cool against Bronwyn's skin. ”You don't feel as if you've a fever.”
”Of course I don't; I'm not sick.”
”Don't challenge fate, Bronwyn,” Sorcha warned with a smile.
”Indeed,” Mama agreed. ”I'm quite excited about tomorrow's dinner, though we've much to do to get ready for it. Sorcha, how's that hem?”
”Almost finished.” Sorcha shook out the gown, showing her mother the neat st.i.tches.
At her mother's approving nod, Sorcha put her needle and thread back into her sewing box. ”I will finish the hem in the morning, which will give us plenty of time to prepare for dinner at the castle.”
Lightning flashed through the window, and made a portrait of their lawn for a startling second before dropping a curtain of darkness. A loud crack of thunder rolled across the sky, sending vibrations through the floor.
Mairi rubbed her arms. ”I hate thunder.”
”You can sleep with me tonight, if you'd like,” Sorcha offered.
”Yes, please!” She cast a cautious glance out the window.
”I rather like storms,” Bronwyn said. ”It's a good night to read in bed.”
Sorcha sent her an amused look as she closed her sewing box. ”What night isn't a good one to read in bed?”
Bronwyn smiled. ”Very true.”
Sorcha carefully laid her new gown over a chair, then turned to collect one of the precious candles. ”Coming, Mairi?”
”Good night, dears,” Mama called.
”Good night!”
Once they were gone, Mama picked up one of the two remaining candles. ”Be sure you go to bed soon; you don't wish to have circles under your eyes at the dinner party.”
”Yes, Mama.” Bronwyn turned the page, the history of Oxenburg dancing through her imagination. Though small, the country had a colorful history. And the fact that she knew one of its princes made the read all the more engrossing. She could almost hear his rich honey-silk voice reading the words to her, telling her about his land and ancestors, sharing the vast- ”Bronwyn?”
She looked up.
Mama stood in the doorway. Her gaze flickered to the small tome in Bronwyn's hands. ”Still reading about Oxenburg, I see. Are you finished with Miss Edgeworth's book, then?”
”Not yet. I am reading it slowly so it will last.”
Mama smiled. ”I sometimes wonder . . .” She paused. ”Bronwyn, you're not interested in the prince, are you?”
Bronwyn's face heated. ”No! He's far too frivolous for me.”
”So I would think, too. I've never seen you display the least interest in a gentleman before, but there are times I've seen you look at him. . . . And when he visited yesterday, you began to spout facts about Oxenburg, so I wondered if you were attempting to gain his interest.”
Should she mention the conversation she'd overheard between the prince and Strathmoor? No. It would anger Mama, and the rest of the visit would be socially awkward. Mama was horrible at hiding things. ”It didn't mean anything; I was just trying to make conversation. Besides, he's not for me.”
The words sounded hollow to her ears, but Mama seemed rea.s.sured.
She nodded, the candlelight softening the lines on her face. ”He would make Sorcha happy, I think. We are very fortunate to have this opportunity for her.”
Bronwyn bit her lip. ”Perhaps, although . . . the prince doesn't seem to have the slightest interest in finding a wife.”
”No man thinks he wants a wife, but they all do.”
”I'm not sure that's true about this man. And . . . he and Sorcha are so very different.”
Mama looked surprised. ”Do you think so? I thought they made a stunning couple. He so dark and broad shouldered, and she so fair and delicate-”
”They would make a beautiful couple, but they have very little in common. She is somewhat shy, while he always ends up being the center of attention. She takes no pleasure in arguing, yet he thrives on it. She cares for fas.h.i.+on and politeness, and he has the barest amount of both. His morals are questionable, hers are not.”
”How do you know so much about him?”
She knew because he'd told her, and she'd seen it for herself, but she only said, ”I've heard things.”
”Idle gossip, then. I'm a good judge of character, and I think he's sincere. The prince may have lived wildy, but now he has settled down.”
”You know best, of course, but . . . I would want Sorcha to be part of a happy couple, not just a handsome one.”
”So would I.” Mama was silent, her face inscrutable in the flickering candlelight. ”Let's watch them and we'll discuss this again later. Meanwhile, if you don't mind, pray don't mention your thoughts to Sorcha. Whether she responds to the prince or not, it needs to be her decision and not ours.”
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