Page 8 of The Scot’s Seduction (Heirs & Spares #2)
L ady Drusilla met them at the door again, which he didn’t think a lady usually did. But of course this lady was anything but usual. That thought set off some concerns he’d had since first meeting her—was she truly the best person to handle Emily’s debut?
Since he had no other choice, he supposed it didn’t matter. And, he thought wryly, if it turned out that Lady Drusilla was not entirely acceptable in Society, perhaps that would tarnish Emily a bit, and fortune-hunting bampots would be less likely to chase after her.
It wouldn’t be ideal, of course; now that he’d committed to it, he had no desire to make Emily’s launch anything less than completely successful. And success, to her, meant marriage.
Though the idea that any suitor would be dissuaded by a less than perfect chaperone was ridiculous. Once anyone noticed the combination of Emily’s beauty and her money, they’d ignore anything that might otherwise deter them. Like a scowling Scottish oaf of an uncle. Or a somewhat peculiar lady.
“Good afternoon,” Lady Drusilla said, peering around Murdoch to watch the bags being unloaded from the carriage. “You needn’t have packed your wardrobe, you know, since we will be getting all new.”
“All new?” Murdoch replied, surprised. He instinctively clutched his traveling case tighter. It held his books on agriculture, his toiletries, his handkerchiefs, and his nightshirt, since he’d forgotten to put it in his trunk.
She gave him an exasperated look. “All new. You cannot imagine your clothing—serviceable and clean though it is—is appropriate for Society. We need to have you in garments suitable to your status.”
“And just what is my status?” Murdoch said, too irritated to realize he was actually making conversation in real time, not overthinking his words. He felt almost comfortable speaking with her, something that usually didn’t happen for years—if ever.
“A Scottish earl who is most definitely not an oaf, a lout, or a yahoo,” she replied, offering him a cheeky smile.
He did not appreciate her humor.
“I’ll have you know—” he began, but then Emily danced into the hallway. She’d stopped to admire the flowers outside the town house, and Murdoch had already knocked, so he’d just entered without waiting for her.
“My lady,” Emily said, “you have the most beautiful primroses! My grandmother enjoys gardening, and lately I’ve been helping her plant.”
When she looked and sounded like this, she seemed to be even younger than her seventeen years, which made Murdoch feel absolutely ancient—and as though he wasn’t wrong for wanting her to delay marriage, at least for a while.
In that way, he knew Lady Drusilla was absolutely the perfect choice to assist with Emily’s debut, since he imagined she would be able to dissuade Emily where Murdoch would just stumble and make things even worse.
“Yes, Priscilla—she’s my housekeeper’s daughter, she’s seven years old—she takes special pride in the flowers. I can’t grow anything at all, so I am happy to leave her to it,” Lady Drusilla said, taking Emily’s arm through her own. “Let’s leave your bags to my men, and we’ll go have some tea.”
Murdoch stood in the hallway watching them walk, feeling like a fool. Did he follow them? Did he try to find his room? Should he help sort out the bags?
Just as he felt his mind floundering, she looked back and spoke. “Come along, my lord. Cook made some more sandwiches.” And she gave him a knowing smile, one that made it seem she was completely aware of the chaos raging through his mind and was amused by it.
He thought for a moment of denying her, but that would be peevish of him. He was hungry, they were here now, and her servants could manage well on their own.
“Fine,” he muttered, striding after the two ladies. After all, he was hungry for something.
D rusilla felt an unusual flutter in her chest as she settled her new housemates in their seats.
She had to admit she was pleased to be helping with Miss Emily’s debut after all; what the earl had said struck home.
Yes, women should be given their own choice of future, even though that might mean she disagreed with the choice.
She hoped she could keep the girl from falling head over heels for the first charming, handsome face she saw.
She also could admit that it was intriguing to have the earl here with all his gruff awkwardness.
She knew she could make him more tolerable to Society, but she didn’t know if she would prefer the change.
That is, she rather liked his savage appearance, even though it belied his personality.
He was clearly a kind, gentle man who just didn’t have much experience navigating society in general, not just the Society she would be launching Miss Emily into.
But she was also curious about what would be revealed once he’d shaved that thicket of growth off his face.
“The first thing I’d like to do is review what you’ve mentioned, Miss Emily. Can you stand up and show me your curtsey?”
Miss Emily rose, keeping her eyes locked on Drusilla’s as she dipped into a perfect curtsey.
“That is excellent,” Drusilla said, smiling at the girl. Miss Emily flushed, then sat back down again.
“And you, my lord, can you show me your bow?”
His eyebrows drew together in a scowl. “I can bow perfectly well, my lady. This whole thing is not for me—there’s no need.”
Drusilla’s smile deepened. She did so like sparring with people. Especially large, muscular people. “I believe we agreed, my lord, that you would do as I say.”
“Uncle,” Miss Emily said, her tone pleading.
He gave his niece an abashed look, then rose, bowing from the waist, his hair flopping over his face. When he rose, strands of it were tangled in his beard, and he looked like a bear rather than a man.
Drusilla smothered a laugh. “We’ll be getting your hair cut when we shave your beard.”
His eyes widened. “ You’re not going to be shaving it, are you?”
She gave him an innocent look. “You don’t trust me, my lord?”
His mouth opened a little as he clearly struggled to reply. She waved her hand. “No, no, of course not. I might be a lot of things, but I am not a barber.”
Though the thought of placing her hands on his face to shave him was appealing. She just didn’t think either one of them would be pleased with the result, even if the process itself was pleasurable.
“Miss Emily,” she continued, turning her gaze toward his niece, “can you tell me what it is that is appealing about getting married?” She wasn’t so obvious as to make her question a challenge.
But, she reasoned, if she knew why the girl was so determined, perhaps she’d be able to figure out how to satisfy that determination without requiring her to be chained to another person for the rest of her life.
Though that could be her own preferences speaking.
“I want to live on my own,” Miss Emily replied promptly, as though she’d been preparing for the question. Interesting.
Other Tina—clearly the most adventurous of the kittens Drusilla had seen thus far—meowed piteously until Miss Emily picked her up.
“But...you’d be living with another person,” the earl said, his tone clearly confused.
Miss Emily rolled her eyes as she stroked the kitten. “I’d be living with another person I’d be married to. That’s very different.” She gazed off into the distance. “I want to have my own household, and I want to make my own decisions.” She shrugged. “The only way I can do that is to marry.”
Drusilla bit her tongue to keep from responding—she knew well enough that if she made Miss Emily feel foolish, the girl might just dig in her heels and insist marriage was the only possible way forward.
But of course there were ways to have one’s own household and make decisions. Drusilla herself was proof of that.
Instead, she probed further. “What was it like living with your grandmother?” Drusilla glanced at the earl. “That is where you’ve been for the past few years?”
Miss Emily nodded. “Yes. Since—” Her face crumpled, and Drusilla wanted to rush over and hug the girl. She was still a girl, after all, and losing one’s parents so suddenly must have been traumatic.
“Four years and five months ago,” the earl said.
His expression was sorrowful, and Drusilla wondered if anyone had helped him deal with the trauma of losing a clearly beloved sister.
Not that that was her job, of course, but she hoped he had someone to share his feelings with.
Though she rather got the sense he did not.
“My grandmother is my father’s mother, and she lives in the country, in a village called East Penstoke,” Miss Emily continued, her voice a bit stronger now. “She loves to entertain, and her house was always filled with her friends, and they were all very kind, and I did have a governess—”
“But nobody your age, I imagine,” Drusilla said.
Miss Emily’s eyes widened in surprise. “No, nobody. How did you know?”
Drusilla shrugged. She couldn’t rush in and explain that what Miss Emily wanted was companionship and autonomy, not a man who might ignore her and spend all her money; it was too soon to be so pointed about it. Not to mention the whole stubborn heel-digging thing.
“I experienced the same thing myself,” she said instead.
“My older sister, Diantha, had to go fall in love—with a very charming gentleman, mind you, whom I like quite a lot—and she left when they got married. I stayed with my parents, and it was then I realized how isolating it can be to be the only one of your age, even if you’re among a crowd of people.
” It was also then that she got ensnared with Mr. Wallins, but she wouldn’t share that. Not now, not ever.
“What did you do?”
Drusilla hesitated a moment before replying. “Well, I started taking an interest in other people. I began the work I do now, helping other women in difficult situations.” It had been a desperate attempt to take her mind off her heartache initially, but it gradually grew into a passion.