Page 14 of The Scot’s Seduction (Heirs & Spares #2)

“She seems very kind,” Murdoch replied. He felt his lips curl into a wry smile. “After all, she’s helping us.”

“I have to say, that surprised me,” Miss Joey admitted, crossing a leg at her ankle.

Something that no proper lady would ever do, but it seemed entirely in keeping with Miss Joey’s general demeanor.

“I would have thought your niece’s determination to marry would have meant Dru would keep far away.

” She gave him a piercing look. “You must have said something to persuade her. Dru doesn’t do anything if she doesn’t believe in it. ”

“Uh—well, I just pointed out that if she wanted a woman to make her own choices, she should be free to make her own choices, not just the one Lady Drusilla approved of.”

Miss Joey’s expression shifted into one of admiration. “I thought I was the only one who could argue with her. Good on you, my lord. And she’ll get that building you promised as well, so she can continue her work.”

Murdoch shifted awkwardly in his chair, not accustomed to hearing praise about his conversational skills, of all things.

People had complimented him in the past, generally approving things about the health of his sheep or the health of his barley crops, but seldom had anyone had anything to say about him directly.

But somehow Lady Drusilla had unlocked a linguistic ability he hadn’t known he had. Another reason to want to spend more time with her.

“And tonight is the young miss’s first party,” Miss Joey said, finishing her glass again.

She would get along well in Scotland for sure, Murdoch thought.

“And yours, I imagine,” she continued, with a wink.

“Yes.”

She gave him an assessing look. “You should be quite popular, my lord, quite popular indeed, what with all of that”—and she made a gesture indicating his beard—“removed.”

“I don’t want to be popular,” he replied stiffly. “I just want Miss Emily—”

“But wouldn’t it be nice if you was to find someone also?” she said, mischief lighting her eyes. “You and your niece could have a double wedding, and then you could—”

“Absolutely not,” Murdoch interrupted. He could feel his face heating.

“I could not, in good conscience, ask a lady I met in London to move to remote Scotland with me. I like it, of course, but a person who’s accustomed to parties and the latest fashions and such would hardly be pleased with such a dramatic change of life. ”

Joey wasn’t abashed at all; she just smiled more broadly. “But you would be there with her. That’d be good for something.” She leaned back in her chair and crossed her arms over her chest, giving him a knowing look.

The woman had more varieties of smug expressions than he had sheep. And he had a lot of sheep.

While he was woolgathering, so to speak, she placed her glass on the table beside her chair and rose, making him snap up to standing as well.

“I’d best be off. I’ve got to go wrangle the house accounts, since Dru won’t have time, what with getting ready for your party and all.”

She nodded at him, then left, shutting the door behind her with a decisive click.

He sat back down, drinking the rest of his whisky in a haze. Not only had he not learned anything about Lady Drusilla, but he’d been forced to imagine the possibility of finding a bride here in London, which he knew he would absolutely abhor.

At least he had gotten the good whisky, he thought, as he poured another draft.

“I s the queen going to be there? Or maybe one of the princes? I’m not particular as to which one,” Miss Emily said as Drusilla led the way to her bedroom.

At least the girl’s chatter was one way to keep her mind off what had happened in the carriage. The way he’d understood what she wanted, the way he’d taken command and been so pleased with himself when she’d liked what he was doing. The way he’d growled when she’d said they should do more of it.

We’ll discuss this later.

She certainly hoped so. She’d like to talk, in excruciating detail, about everything she’d liked about their kiss.

How she felt boneless and out of control, how she’d relished letting him decide what would happen next but also appreciated that he did what she’d asked him to do.

Touch me. How she’d imagined what he looked like naked, and how she couldn’t wait to see if her imagination lived up to the reality.

She doubted it.

He was large everywhere, and she had to imagine he—

“Lady Dru?”

Miss Emily’s voice was behind her, and Drusilla realized she’d been standing at her bedroom door for a few moments as the thoughts capered through her head.

“Yes, of course,” she said, swinging open the door.

They entered, and Drusilla stepped aside so that Miss Emily had enough room.

“Oh,” Miss Emily gasped, and too late, Drusilla realized perhaps bringing the young woman into her bedroom was not the smartest idea.

Because this was where she’d moved her collection.

It was too large to be completely displayed, so there were a few wooden boxes on the floor in front of the bookshelves.

But on the bookshelves—one tableau had a pair of squirrels holding wineglasses in front of a fire made of colored paper.

Another was of mice dancing, the lady mouse’s gown a bright pink that made Drusilla smile every time she saw it.

And then there were the more risqué tableaux; the mice, again (so many mice), in a bedroom, the female mouse lying on the bed while the male mouse straddled her, both unclothed except for the female mouse’s necklace.

“Are those animals?” Miss Emily breathed, and Drusilla winced, closing her eyes.

“Yes,” she said, moving quickly to disengage the pair of cats that were committing salacious acts on each other.

“Yes, my older sister got a stuffed cat, and she gave it to me about twelve years ago. That’s Lady Meow Meow over there,” she said, pointing to her bedside table, where the lady in question was positioned.

“And I just kept getting more,” she said, quickly standing in front of a cat colony that was imitating the Roman empire’s more scandalous activities, putting her hands behind her back to disarrange them.

“They are wonderful!” Miss Emily said, tilting her head to try to look over Drusilla’s shoulder.

“Yes, well, thank you,” Drusilla said, annoyed to find herself blushing.

“My wardrobe is over here. You said you would help me pick out what to wear tonight?” Hopefully that would take the girl’s attention away from Drusilla’s Cabinet of Carnal Curiosities.

“What are you wearing, by the by?” she said, certain asking that would change the topic.

“You should remember—you were there when I got it,” Miss Emily said, fairly dancing to the wardrobe. “It’s white, with a yellow satin ribbon and a few yellow roses on the skirt.”

“Oh, yes,” Drusilla said. “How silly of me to forget.”

She went to join Miss Emily at her wardrobe, both women gazing at the array of gowns. There were many there; Drusilla had need for all sorts of items, not just the usual things a lady might require in the course of her day, though those were there too.

There were gowns for going unnoticed at the docks for rescue purposes, drab gowns that a scullery maid might be ashamed to be seen in.

There were gowns for visiting certain establishments that catered to certain needs, since many of the people who needed help, starting with Joey, worked in such places.

Those gowns were not suitable for polite society, but they helped her blend in with the general clientele.

Then there was what she thought of as her proper wardrobe, the customary day gowns, tea gowns, and evening gowns any young lady would be expected to have.

Miss Emily, however, was in the scandalous section, which would not do.

“Here,” Drusilla said, pulling out a few of the skirts. “These are my evening gowns.”

“But what about...?” Miss Emily asked, drawing out a gown in a particularly vibrant shade of red. “This one is spectacular.”

And displays parts of me no one in Society would be brave enough to see , Drusilla mused.

“I agree, but I think something more discreet would be more appropriate for tonight.” She grabbed hold of one skirt, then removed the whole gown from the wardrobe, laying it on the bed. “What do you think of this one?”

It was a demure green, the shade of late summer grass, made of satin and ornamented with just a few ribbons on the sleeves and at the waist.

“That is very nice,” Miss Emily said, but she sounded less than enthusiastic.

“Or this one?” Drusilla said, taking another gown and laying it on the bed next to the first. This one was a shimmering gold, more audacious than the first but nothing compared to the red gown.

“That’s very pretty,” Miss Emily said, sounding enthused.

Drusilla sighed in relief. “That one it is then.”

“But,” Miss Emily asked, looking around, “don’t you have a lady’s maid?”

Drusilla nodded as she picked up the first gown to return it to the wardrobe.

“I do. Bertha helps when needed, but I don’t see the point of having someone sitting around all day on the slight chance I might need to darn my stockings or iron a wrinkle.

” She shrugged. “I’d rather Bertha spend time learning a trade that will give her regular hours so she can raise her daughter properly. ”

“What trade is she learning?” Miss Emily asked.

“Housekeeping,” Drusilla answered. Not that a housekeeper didn’t have to work long hours like a lady’s maid did, but at least a housekeeper was not expected to stay awake until the mistress of the house returned home.

“Doesn’t her husband work?”

Drusilla opened her mouth to reply, then snapped it shut again. “Well, you see,” she began carefully, not wanting to lie, but not wanting to say the truth of what she knew, “Bertha’s husband is not currently here.”

“Away on business? Or at sea?”

If Drusilla had known quite how curious this girl was, she might not have been so quick to invite her into her home.

Though that wasn’t fair. Normally, Drusilla would applaud such curiosity, since she thought a complacent intellect was indicative of a dull mind.

If one didn’t challenge oneself about all sorts of things, one couldn’t grow and learn.

At least that was what she had found in her twenty-eight years of existence.

“I believe the man is busy, and not able to assist at this time.” That was the truth, though it left out certain unsavory bits. Bertha hadn’t talked much about Priscilla’s father, just that she’d believed him when he’d promised them a future together. But men lie, as Drusilla well knew.

“That is unfortunate,” Miss Emily said, finally sounding as though she was done asking questions. “Will you need help getting dressed, then?”

“No, thank you,” Drusilla replied, touched that this seemingly frivolous girl would make such an offer. There is always more to people than meets the eye, she reminded herself. “I’ll ask Bertha to come up. Priscilla likes to help me choose my jewelry.”

“I hope I have a Priscilla one day,” Miss Emily said in a dreamy voice. “That is, not that I want a daughter named Priscilla, but I hope to be a mother someday. I wonder if it’s possible I will meet the man who will be the father tonight.”

This was the moment Drusilla had been waiting for—a natural introduction to the prickly topic of Miss Emily’s future.

“About that,” Drusilla said in a light tone, as she smoothed the skirts of her gold gown. “You might find you have so much fun being in Society that you want to have another Season next year.”

“But then I’d be a spinster!” Miss Emily made it sound as though that was tantamount to being a scoundrel who swindled small children out of pocket change, or the kind of person who would knowingly sell rotting meat.

“I’m a spinster,” Drusilla pointed out, wanting to laugh at the girl’s obvious dismay. That would be unkind, so she wouldn’t, but she wished she could make Miss Emily realize that determining your own future wasn’t so bad after all.

“Not like you, though,” Miss Emily retorted. “You have your own household, your own staff, your own interests. Unless you wish to be married?”

“Good heavens, no,” Drusilla said with a shudder.

“Exactly. You are doing what you wish, and I am about to do what I wish. It is what we both want.”

How had the conversation been derailed so rapidly? Drusilla felt increasingly out of control of the situation.

“This was fun—thank you for letting me help you choose,” Miss Emily said brightly. “I am going to prepare for dinner, if you will excuse me?”

“Of course,” Drusilla replied faintly.

Was it possible she would fail at making Miss Emily see the truth of what she wanted?

If she did, would he still gift her the building?

How could she continue with her purpose, what she knew to be her mission, if she failed at persuading one young woman that dooming yourself to marriage at seventeen years old was not the only choice?

For the first time in her life, Drusilla felt...insecure.

Not a good feeling when one was about to venture out into Society. The Society that constantly judged Drusilla for making her own choices, subtly reminding her she was an anomaly of her class.