“How dare you foist some ill-fated lord upon me!”
Timothy glanced at Eleanor from the corner of his eye, the maid shrinking under his weathered gaze. “I guess I should define the term discreet.”
I stood up, regaining my brother’s attention. “Father wouldn’t have done this.”
Uncrossing his legs, he scooted closer to the dining table. “No, but Mother would. In fact, she sent the inquiry to Sir and Lady Velaneer before they departed.”
The room quieted, the glow of morning light no longer warm. News still hadn’t come, but as the months passed, everyone assumed the worst.
I retook my seat, glaring at my empty plate.
“Wilhemina,” Timothy said, “Lady Velaneer arranged a meeting, not a union. Nothing is set in stone.”
“I would’ve rather you told me.”
“If I had, you wouldn’t have left your room.”
Despite the temptation, I kept quiet. It wasn’t proper to lie.
Carson emerged with the bellman. Steam billowed off the unfamiliar meal, my nose tickled by crisp and pungent smells. Chopped raw tomatoes garnished the plate, egg, sausage, and some form of green pepper piled atop a flatbread.
I glanced at Carson, his expression measured as always.
He foresaw the question before it was asked. “The cook’s been exploring delicacies across the ocean. Apparently the Americans are dabbling with breakfast burritos.”
Timothy grabbed his knife and fork, folding the bread over the mixture before piercing it. “An odd smell.”
“The green chilis, sir. Americans like their food spicy according to the cook.”
I shoveled the mixture onto my spoon. “Hopefully I’ll fall ill before this afternoon.”
Glaring in the way Father used to, Timothy asserted his position as the head of the house. And none were allowed to be ill unless he deemed it so.
We consumed the strange breakfast, the bellman filling our waters more frequently than not. My tongue ached from the unanticipated heat, but I didn’t keel over as I had hoped. Condemned to meet a stranger, I donned a lavender gown with a large sash and simple necklace.
Anything to make me meek and insignificant to this suitor.
Propped on my window seat with a book, I ignored the passing hours. Ear to the glass, I listened more than read. Waiting for the clopping of hooves. Dread blurred the words, the pages unusually fragile under my touch.
Horses. The clatter and the whinnying drew my eye. Two stallions, one a glistening red and the other cream. Butterflies filled my chest when I recognized the tufts of black hair over curious blue eyes.
Launching off the seat, I ran down the hall.
Timothy stopped me before I reached the foyer. “No need to run.”
“Apologies. I just saw Perseus at the door.”
His brow clenched with a thoughtful hum. “Lady Velaneer must’ve sent him to escort our guest.”
Hope died, the air stale. What a wonderful surprise it would’ve been if it was Timothy who’d been foisted, Perseus offered as the ideal suitor. But Lady Velaneer had the same sense as Mother, perusing the social ladders for eligible matches that had the best connections and status. I offered nothing for Perseus, and vice versa.
Unaware of my sudden turn, Timothy took my arm and walked me to the door. Every step multiplied my worry. Why did this have to be?
The doors opened. The gurgling water of the fountain glittered in the afternoon light, splashing the pale cobblestones. Greenery surrounded the manor and road, lush branches dropping leaves with every breeze.
Perseus stopped stroking his horse. His cuffed sleeves hung loosely around his muscled arms, leather vest laced tightly around his broad chest. He rarely greased his hair these days, letting the long locks fall around his neck and over his brow. I held his crystal gaze, reading the still waters of his thoughts.
“Always good to see you, Perseus.”
He nodded to Timothy. “The pleasure is mine.” Handing his horse to one of the stable boys, he continued, “May I present Lord Barret of Queenstown, cousin to the duke.”
I followed his gesture to his companion, a stout man with thick gold locks and a cunning stare. His eyes swiveled effortlessly over me, angular chin jutted toward the clouds.
Clenching my teeth, I gave a slight curtsy and offered my hand. “Lady Wilhemina, your grace.”
Lord Barret took my hand with calculated precision. My skin crawled at his tense expression.
“Thank you for coming to meet with us, Lord Barret,” Timothy said while I retrieved my hand. He continued, “Shall we walk the grounds?”
Barret gave a dissatisfied hum.
Perseus seemed annoyed, his gaze finding mine as the time passed awkwardly. Yet it felt livelier with every silent meeting, his annoyance fading to pleasure at the sight of me. Or perhaps I was projecting, heart fluttering whenever the breeze ruffled his hair.
I grabbed Barret’s arm. “Walk me through the garden, your grace. I’ve been trapped inside all morning.” I marched along the cobblestone.
Barret took control of the pace but not his bewildered gaze. “What in my actions suggested you could be so forward?”
“Your lack of action suggested.”
His eyebrow rose comically, but he refrained from speaking. We walked the stone path in silence, passing rosebushes and overhanging trees. The valley sat below us, teeming with life.
I looked over my shoulder. Timothy spoke with Perseus some distance behind us. I couldn’t hear their words, but I knew it was certainly something dull.
Barret scoffed. “I envy his way with words.”
“Who?”
He nodded behind us. “Perseus has the silver tongue of a fox. He can tame unruly wenches and charm idiotic bureaucrats.”
My nose wrinkled. “You must not know him well; he’s a genuine and honest man.”
“I’ve known him nearly a decade,” he replied. “I know quite well of his respectability. I meant that he has a way with words.”
“Then a silver-tongued fox is not the proper analogy.”
Another generous eyebrow raise. “Enough of Perseus. What should I think of you?”
“Not a wench.”
His lips curled. “Certainly not, my darling. You’re too beautiful for such a foul term.”
My skin burned under his gaze, every nerve begging to escape. He certainly didn’t think before he spoke.
“I’m told you are seeking a husband of great standing,” he continued. “My previous engagement ended unexpectedly, what with my bride falling prey to some plague.”
“My apologies.”
He waved off my condolences. “My mother selected her. But now I may choose my wife, and the Lady Velaneer speaks highly of your brother’s connections.”
I grew rigid, forcing every step. “My brother has done well in our Father’s absence.”
“I’m more intrigued by what Perseus said of you.”
I froze under the shade of a tree. “He told you of me?”
Barret tried to keep moving forward, but I held fast. Stopping in front of me, he pocketed his hands. “Very highly, yes. The loveliest lady in the countryside, sweeter than fresh honey and bolder than a bear. Whatever such metaphors mean; I don’t care for the country.”
I stared forward, fearing that if I turned back, I’d reveal myself to him. Perseus was so kind and naïve. His verbal tapestries comforted me in my sleep, his visits highly anticipated. Yet he never showed affection or admiration.
Yet here were the words I’ve wanted to hear for years. That he thought of me as much as I thought of him.
“I’d quite like to arrange a union.”
I blinked, Lord Barret grinning before me. “Pardon?”
“Perseus was quite right, perhaps understating your gloriousness. I think we’d be a good match.” He walked back with certainty, interrupting Timothy and Perseus.
Perseus seemed to fade into the background, Barret taking all of my brother’s attention. His ocean eyes caught my unmet gaze, a grin marking his features.
I sought mourning in his features. Some semblance of regret for this lord stealing me away. But I never could read his mind. I only imagined what I wanted to see, what made sense in one of my stories.
And what I desired was for him to shove Lord Barret over the balcony and whisk me away. But he only stood, calm as still waters.