Taming the Scot by Eliza Knight

3

When Euan had sent out the advertisement for a governess in the Lady Edinburgh society paper, he’d not expected the intriguing lass who landed on his doorstep. Indeed, he’d not expected anyone on his doorstep. His sisters had made mention that the governesses would send letters of interest or that their patronesses would.

There’d been no letters yet. Miss Bronwen Holmes was the first to express interest in the position. How very curious that she’d sailed from Edinburgh and arrived here without knowing whether or not she would even be allowed access. Was she that confident in being hired?

Euan studied her as she swept past him. There was a waif-like quality to her as she breezed into his castle. She was a good foot shorter than him.

Once in the center of his grand foyer, she whirled around to face him, pinning him with her gray eyes. There was a sharpness about her face that had softened when she’d smiled at him. Her dress was a dark blue, with lighter blue ribbons beneath pert breasts—which he made a great effort not to study. Beneath her matching bonnet, her hair was dark as night, casting shadows in the deep hollows of her pale cheeks.

“Thank ye, my lord,” she said, her gaze sweeping the grand foyer. The dim light of the castle did not do her justice, seeming to dull the intensity of her.

The lass held herself in a way that made him think she might burst into a run at any minute. Edgy energy pulsed around her.

“Ye can call me Captain Irvine.” He didn’t like the idea of the woman who was going to teach him how to catch a wife calling him “my lord.” It seemed so…medieval. Besides, he wasn’t a lord anyhow.

“All right, Captain.” She looked once more at the empty foyer as if searching for something or someone. Perhaps the energy he felt surrounding her was her nerves.

A glance at the staircase did not show any of the heads he’d expected peeking from around the corner. What a surprise that his six sisters weren’t down here spying on Miss Holmes or bumping into each other to line up and introduce themselves. That was rather unlike them.

Owen, however, did sense a stranger and came trotting from somewhere with a snuffling growl until Euan clicked his tongue. But the lass was kneeling and giving his hound an exuberant welcome that Owen seemed to enjoy. Considering the dog didn’t like most people, this was a good sign.

Miss Holmes stood, one hand resting on Owen’s head and the other clutching her valise. “Well, are ye going to introduce me to my charge?” She glanced about the foyer, her eyes flicking up the stairs, before settling back on him.

So, she had assumed her charge would be a child. Well…that was not a point in his favor.

“We have yet to complete the interview,” Euan said, stalling for time in hopes his sisters would appear and help him out.

“Oh.” Miss Holmes pursed her lips, clutched her valise a little tighter, judging by the white of her knuckles. “That’s right, the interview.”

The lass had spunk; he’d hand her that. She wanted the job without an interview. He supposed he ought to let her know now what was happening, so she knew what she was getting into before he wasted more of her time. There was every chance, given her no-nonsense demeanor, when she learned he was the one in need, she’d stalk right out, asking him for a refund on her ship’s passage.

Here it goes…

“Ah, as to your charge. Alas, I am him.” Euan exacted an exaggerated playful bow intended to break the ice between them and lessen the surprise that he needed her services, not a wee one.

Miss Holmes cocked her head to the side and stared at him with curiosity, not at all moved by his bowing. “Ye?”

Euan straightened. “Aye.”

Owen slumped to the ground, bored with their back and forth, it would seem.

“Ye need a governess?” She frowned, appearing ready to admonish him. And then her gaze took on a pitying look that he disliked immensely. “Are ye addled, then?”

Euan chuckled. That was not at all what he’d expected, and he took a lot of joy in her question. “Perhaps I am.” And he might be, given he needed a governess to begin with. He winked, hoping to soften her, and then was shocked once more when she didn’t even twitch. She seemed to be looking down her nose at him. “In truth, I need a governess to teach me the ways of gentlemen so that I can find a suitable wife for marriage. I’m afraid I’m a bit unrefined.”

Miss Holmes, ostensibly unmoved, studied him from the top of his head down to the tips of his boots. “Ye seem refined enough to me. Albeit, I would have expected ye to dress better.”

He raised a brow when she returned her gaze to his face. A flicker of something flashed on her countenance, and then she bit her lip, turning away from him, hiding whatever her stormy gray eyes might have revealed. What she didn’t know was that prior to her arrival, he’d been practicing his punches in his gymnasium.

Euan straightened, feeling uneasy and as underdressed as she’d pointed out. Usually, women were much easier to disarm than Miss Holmes—usually, they wanted him to be even more disheveled. He clasped his hands behind his back. “Alas, I assure ye, my sisters have informed me I need help, which is why I put the advert in the paper.”

From the way her breasts pushed against the blue bodice of her gown, he surmised she was taking a very deep breath. “And here I am. Have ye interviewed anyone else?”

His gaze snapped back up. “I’m afraid no’.”

She frowned, and he guessed she’d seen where his gaze had fallen a moment ago.

“I see,” she said. “Why do ye suppose that is?”

Euan was stunned for a moment into silence. The lass was quite straightforward, and he didn’t know how to respond. He felt as he had as a lad when his mother had been lecturing him on something stupid he’d done.

“My guess is no’ enough time has lapsed,” he said.

“Hmm. Perhaps. Or it’s because they know ye’re a grown man.” She set her valise at her feet.

“Well, I said as much in the advert.” He tried to remember the exact wording, fairly certain he’d said it was for himself, but now he was having doubts. There had been so many versions…

“Nay, I think no’. I was under the impression it was someone from your household.”

Well, there he had it. She wasn’t interested. “So ye do no’ wish to proceed then.”

“On the contrary.” Miss Holmes flashed him a winning, bright smile that revealed the tiniest chip in her front tooth. “I’d be delighted, Captain. And I accept. I think this interview went quite well. Now, if ye would show me to my room, we can discuss my salary after I’ve had a chance to freshen up.” She wagged her finger at him. “Lesson one—a gentleman always allows a lass to freshen up.”

That was indeed a lesson he knew well, given his six sisters had drilled it into his head many a time. Still, Euan was once again struck speechless. Had the lass just hired herself for the position? Because he did not recall…

Her foot started to tap against the tapestried rug, and Owen snuffled her toe.

Euan straightened. “Aye, Miss Holmes, this way.”

She pointed to her valise on the floor. “A gentleman carries a lass’s bags.”

Euan smiled at her—a smile he intended to melt some of the ice—but she sniffed and turned her face away. “Right ye are, Miss Holmes.” This lesson he also knew. But where was his butler? Martin should be taking care of her baggage.

The lass marched up the stairs as if she’d been to Drum a thousand times, and he was made to lift the valise and follow after her. Owen came as a distant third, his old bones less excited than his wagging tail at the uphill journey.

Where did one put a governess? His sisters’ governesses had remained in a room beside the nursery, even after they’d grown out of needing the nursery. But it didn’t seem right to put his governess there.

“From where do ye hail, Miss Holmes?” he asked as they walked down the corridor.

“My family is from Scotland, Captain.”

Euan chuckled at her jest. “As is mine. We also hail from Drum.”

“I figured as much, seeing as how we’re in Drum Castle.” She sounded completely serious, and his smile faltered.

Euan couldn’t figure out if she were deflecting on purpose or if she might be a little addled herself.

“And what port did ye travel from?”

She studied the paintings that lined the wall, some ancient, a few newer. “A rather busy one.”

For the love of… Euan drew in a breath. She was definitely being evasive, and he decided he’d need to get to the bottom of it. But thus far, she seemed to be taking the position sincerely and had tossed in a couple of minor lessons to boot.

She stopped abruptly and turned to face him. “A gentleman does not pry, Captain. Keep it up, and ye’ll have to be punished like the lads in the schoolroom.”

“And how is that?” He raised a brow.

“A rap on the knuckles. Or perhaps, I’ll box your ears.” Her eyes twinkled in the sunlight filtering in through the window at the end of the corridor, but she whisked herself around fast enough he thought he might have misinterpreted.

Euan chuckled. “Well, Miss Holmes, I shall do my utmost no’ to irritate ye then.”

“All ye have to do is follow the lessons. Ye want a rich wife, aye?” She glanced over at him.

He’d not said as much before. Money to him truly wasn’t the object of this farce, but to end this ridiculous competition with his cousin, because if he didn’t there was no telling what Hector would do with the inheritance, and there was no way he was going to let his sisters end up in the crooked bastard’s hands. “A wife, aye.”

“Then trust in me, Captain, and ye’ll soon find yourself happily wedded.”

Euan didn’t miss the flicker of doubt on her face, which conflicted with her confident tone, before she turned away from him. That didn’t bode well. Did she think he was not fit material to be a husband? Or did she find him far rougher than he imagined, and he’d have more work to do?

Tossing the thoughts aside, Euan nodded and strode to the end of the corridor where there was a corner bedroom, which had windows on two walls overlooking the grounds. It was a lovely room that his mother had often used for special guests. He supposed if he was asking a governess to do her normal job for a grown man, she counted as special, didn’t it?

He pushed the door open and waited for her to step through before he’d follow her inside with the valise. Owen nudged him out of the way, going in first.

“Stop right there, Captain.” Miss Holmes whirled around, her hand held palm out toward him, and her lips pursed into a frown. “A gentleman never enters a lass’s bedroom without permission, and even if permission is given, he should think twice before doing so.” She gave him a stern look that had him rethinking the purpose for his entry, which was to put down her valise. My God, the way she’d acted was as if he’d crossed the threshold for a nefarious act.

“May I come in to set down the valise?” he asked tentatively.

Owen walked over to the hearth and settled on the rug.

“Nay, ye may no’.” Miss Holmes snatched the valise from his hand, her cold, slim fingers brushing his. “Good day, Captain.”

“Good day.” He bowed, even though he wasn’t supposed to, suddenly confused by who was who and what was what.

Euan backed from the room, unable to hide his puzzlement.

Miss Holmes stomped forward and shut the door in his face, leaving Euan to stare at the wide expanse of wood dumbfounded. Owen was still inside, the traitor.

“I like her,” Maggie said from behind, her tone too filled with mirth for his liking.

Euan spun around to face his sister, who grinned at him gleefully. “She’s a termagant.” He turned back to the door, considering opening it up to tell the woman how he felt. “And rude. I’m no’ certain I’ll learn from her.”

“I think ye’ve learned quite a bit already.” Maggie had the nerve to laugh.

“And what’s that?”

“That ye’re no’ as important as ye think,” Maggie said through fits of giggling.

Euan shook his head, annoyed at his sister and the woman who’d stormed into his castle. Saints, but he felt as if he’d been invaded. All around him, females, and not one of them appeared to be on his side.

“Give her some time to settle in, then invite her down to the parlor for tea to meet the rest of ye,” Euan instructed with a frown.

With one last confused look at the door, Euan meandered back to his study, wondering what the hell had happened. Normally, he charmed everyone to his will, but this lass was apparently immune. He’d never met anyone who didn’t cave when he smiled, cajoled, winked.

Who exactly was Miss Bronwen Holmes?

As soon as the door was shut, Bronwen dropped the borrowed valise and stumbled to the closest chair, sinking into its depths. She lay her head back, knowing full well she was messing her hair, the gown, all of it, and not caring. With her eyes closed, she rubbed her aching temples.

The hound made an agreeable sound, and she looked over at him, surprised to see him there. “Well, hello to ye too, old boy.”

The dog rolled over onto his back, tongue hanging out of the side of his mouth, and then he proceeded to snore.

It had taken such an effort, and so much concentration, to play the part she was consigned to. Of course, she had very little experience with governesses, and she’d listened to Emilia’s advice the entire voyage here. Practiced everything over and over. The one thing she’d learned which she must fall back on was being the absolute authority. It seemed to have worked. But she wasn’t sure how long she’d be able to keep it up.

How easy it had been to march her way into a castle bedroom for the night. And a very nice one at that. She’d not had time to admire it too much other than to see it was massive, with plenty of windows. Her entire flat in Tanner’s Close could fit inside this single bedchamber.

Come morning, Captain Irvine would probably figure out she wasn’t who she said she was, but until then, she was glad for the warm room and the safety of being so far from Edinburgh, Prince and the terrifying brutes from The Trojan gambling hell. That reassurance made some of the pain in her go away.

Bronwen opened her eyes and stared up at the ceiling. Euan Irvine was handsome; she’d give him that. Blond hair, blue eyes, a devilish smile…When he’d winked at her, all of her insides winked back. Good lord, it was a miracle she’d been able to stand, and frown for that matter.

Why on earth did he need help to find a wife? Well, if he wanted to learn to be proper, it probably was because he needed to marry one of those uppity, snobby rich ladies, and they frowned at men like him, didn’t they? They all wanted prissy peacocks, not a real male specimen, which Captain Irvine certainly was.

Bronwen sighed, swiping at the sweat that had gathered on her upper lip.

She’d wanted to smile, to bat her lashes, and she was not a bat-her-lashes type of lass. She never flirted at all. She’d been too busy looking over her shoulder the last year, and even before that now that she thought about it. There hadn’t been a moment in her life she’d been able to let her guard down. Perhaps the first time she’d ever set foot in The Trojan she’d been barely six years old, and her father had been gripped around the neck by a man who seemed to tower higher than the building itself. She’d almost gotten used to seeing men who spoke mostly in threats coming around, and her father shoving coins or the rare artifact into their hands if only to stave off the beating they’d come to deliver. But at least in the past, she’d known her environment. Knew what to expect and who her enemies might be.

Here in this castle, she was at a decided disadvantage.

Onboard the ship, Emilia had told her all she knew of Captain Euan Irvine, which wasn’t much. But hopefully, it would help Bronwen get through a few days of this farce.

If she could figure out how to last a little while here, she could walk away with some coin and a reference letter. After all, she did know how to read and write and do maths. Was it too far a stretch outside the realm of possibility that she could get another position as a governess?

Bronwen let out a deep sigh and sat up, looking about the room that would be hers for at least one night. Beneath her newly booted feet was a lush blue carpet the color of the sky, with gold woven in a fleur-de-lis pattern. She reached down, pushing her fingers into its depths.

“So soft,” she murmured.

Rich people had no idea how good something like a plush carpet felt beneath work-worn feet. She took off her traveling boots, rolled down her new pair of hose, and pressed her toes into the carpet with an audible sigh.

Then she slipped from the chair and knelt on the floor, running her palms along the rug. If anyone saw her, they might think she was mad. But she didn’t care. She lay down on her back, rubbing her feet and hands back and forth. This carpet was more comfortable than the straw-stuffed cot she’d had back at the flat.

The hound had the right idea.

A knock had her bolting upright as the door opened, and six beautiful female heads peeped around the corner to find her on the floor, with her shoes off and her hair now a thorough mess.

“Oh, apologies, we did no’ realize ye were changing,” said a lass about her age. “Are ye all right? Did ye fall?”

“I’m no’ changing,” Bronwen said, grabbing hold of her hose and tugging them on. My God, had she really been found rolling about her chamber floor like an imbecile? No wonder they’d thought she’d fallen.

“May we come in?” the oldest of the horde asked.

Nay. “Of course.” Bronwen slipped on her boot, not bothering to tie it and stood, smoothing her hand down the wrinkles in her frock. Somehow, she managed a smile despite the raging blush that no doubt showed on her face.

“Euan told us to wait, but we just could no’. I’m Maggie.” The lass was tall, her blonde hair done just right, and a twinkle in her blue eyes that made Bronwen like her instantly. She held a plate of biscuits in her hand that made Bronwen like her even more.

The others gave their names in such a rush that Bronwen could only determine that she’d never remember them all. Besides, she wouldn’t be here long enough for it to matter.

“I’m Bronwen, or rather Miss Holmes,” she said, raising her chin a notch to play the part of a governess.

“’Tis lovely to meet ye, Miss Holmes,” Maggie said. Her hands were folded neatly in front of her. Very proper-like, so Bronwen did the same. “We’d like to invite ye down to the parlor for tea and a chat once ye’ve had a chance to rest.”

Rest? From what? Bronwen had not done anything today but lounge on a boat and then in a carriage, and she’d not even carried her valise up the stairs. Then she’d proceeded to roll around on a carpet, so clearly, she did not need rest. Her stomach growled. “Oh, dear,” she said. “I do apologize for that. I seem to have missed my breakfast.”

“Shall we have a plate sent up?” Maggie asked, then frowned. “Euan really should have asked.”

“Well, I suppose that is why I’m here, is it no’? I shall help him understand it all.” Bronwen felt rather stupid for the way she was speaking and wished she could relax. But her throat was tight, and her spine was so rigid, she thought it might snap.

“Indeed. He is going to need a lot of help. He much prefers the company of his friends over the society misses, and yet he needs a wife.” Maggie shrugged. “But to be perfectly honest, I find most of the society misses to be boorish and annoying. He’s going to have a verra hard time with it.”

Maggie’s sisters giggled—all save one who simply watched Bronwen. Her stare was a bit unnerving. Bronwen met it, holding steady until the other lass glanced away.

“Aye,” said a younger sister with brown hair. “Euan is going to need every minute of every lesson if he’s to succeed.”

“I was at a house party last year with those society misses that made me want to scream. Alas, that is a story for another time,” Maggie added.

Bronwen nodded, not exactly sure how she should respond. Though Bronwen had never been to a house party and likely never would, she imagined it was its own hellish place. The pressure on the man to find a bride was so intense that Bronwen almost felt sorry for him. Of course, she remembered that she also had a lot of pressure—to live.

But then she had an idea. Perhaps if she could convince Maggie to tell her some of the tidbits about the party, she’d glean some facts about manners she could use in her lessons with the captain.

“I should like to hear it now,” Bronwen said, reaching for a biscuit. “I’m no’ too tired.”

Maggie beamed. “All right.” She walked over to a rope hanging from the corner and tugged.

Bronwen looked up, half expecting the ceiling to collapse and for them all to shout that they knew what she was up to. But nothing happened. The sisters settled on the chaise, the chairs, the window seat and one on the floor, taking up so much space in the room that Bronwen was amazed at how they made it feel small. If they’d been in her flat in Tanner’s Close, they’d have had to pile on top of each other.

With a little shake of her head and a silent reminder to remain on alert, Bronwen sat back in the chair she’d collapsed in earlier, watching Maggie arrange her skirts so they wouldn’t wrinkle and copying the movement.

“Well, I’m no’ even certain it can be called a house party, more like a backward cattle auction, where the groom—who did no’ want a wife—was being forced to pick from a horde of nasty cows.” Maggie leaned forward, then dropped her half-eaten biscuit for the hound. “Please do no’ repeat that I said that. It is most unladylike.”

Bronwen nodded and proceeded to listen to all the details of the house party, growing more and more perplexed and deciding this was not teaching her society manners. However, it was very entertaining. The story was interrupted by a servant bringing tea and sandwiches, which Bronwen watched Maggie serve. Even sipping her tea the exact way as Maggie, pinky raised. And nibbling on the sandwich one minuscule bite at a time, in a ring-like pattern. So strange. A glance at the sisters showed they all did so in the same manner, so it had to be correct.

“And that is how Alec—Lord Errol—and his wife Giselle ended up together,” Maggie finished a story that Bronwen had hardly heard, so intent was she on studying the mannerisms of the six sisters.

“Fascinating,” Bronwen said, hoping her smile did not belie her true feelings or lack thereof.

“It was all verra romantic,” one of the younger sisters, perhaps twenty or so in years, said with a massive sigh and a tilt of her coquettish blond head.

“Oh, Lillie, ye think everything is romantic,” another piped in with a roll of her eyes.

“Well.” Maggie popped up from her perch. “We’ll be out of your hair now. I’ll send for a maid to clean up our mess. I do apologize again for having invaded your space, but we could no’ wait to meet ye. And I suppose we’ll have to deal with Euan’s wrath, as he had wanted us to partake of tea in the parlor with him.” Maggie shrugged as if she didn’t care. “I’ll send him your regards and let him know we’ll all be at dinner.”

“Aye, dinner.” Bronwen nodded, standing in hopes that would help usher them more quickly from the room because if they stayed, they’d see her panic about the idea of eating with them all in a dining room. She’d never partaken a meal in a dining room and had no idea what she was supposed to be doing there.

The lasses left, and Maggie snapped her fingers for the hound to follow, which he did dutifully. When he was gone, Bronwen found she missed his company.

She fretted for hours, pacing, chewing her nails, plaiting and unplaiting her hair a thousand times.

When the dinner hour came around, and a maid arrived to help her dress—even though she was already dressed, making her wonder how many outfits a lady wore in a day—Bronwen declined.

“I’ve a…headache.” She paused. Did ladies say headache? “Aye, a megrim,” she added for good measure. “Please tell the captain I shall see him in the parlor after breakfast for his first lesson. And do please have my dinner sent up.” There, that sounded very ladylike and bossy enough.

The maid barely flinched at all. She simply nodded. “Aye, miss.”

Well, that was indeed much easier than she’d imagined it would be. Bronwen had managed to pass the first day without anyone the wiser to her true self. She prayed tomorrow would be the same.