Read Online Once Upon a Tartan by Grace Burrowes - Free Book Online Page B

behalf.
    “You think you are destined for a life of obscurity, and that your great shame will follow you all your days. I am loathe to inform you, Miss Daniels, that your great shame has already been forgotten by every tabby and tattletale in London. At least four scandals have crowded in on the heels of your little contretemps, each juicier than the last. You are tormenting yourself for nothing. The man took advantage of you when you were grieving, pressed an expectation never legally his, and embarrassed you unforgivably in the process. Take a few turns around a few ballrooms next Season, and the matter will be at an end. I will be happy to stand up with you for this express purpose.”
    He fell silent because there was no disguising the anger in his tone. Was chivalry to die such an easy death at the hands of the men of England?
    The lady at least looked interested in his version of events, which was an odd relief. He much preferred her spewing hail and lightning on all in her path.
    Or possibly, he preferred to see what would happen if she permitted herself even one genuine smile aimed in his direction.
    “Did you know, Miss Daniels, that Henrietta Mortenson was caught out in a punt on the Cam when a downpour started, and though her escort offered his coat, she was drenched through to the skin before he could row her ashore? This occurred not two weeks past, and I was told repeatedly, whether I wished to hear it or not, that every stitch of the embroidery on her underlinen was visible through the wet fabric of her dress, and very nice stitch work it was, too.”
    “Oh, do be quiet. Fiona will overhear you.”
    “Good. Then she’ll know what to expect when she makes her bow. I also have it on good authority that to win a dare from her sister, Sally Higgambotham allowed Sir Neil Forthambly to kiss her, but her brothers overheard the dare and placed side bets on whether they could compromise the couple into marriage. The couple was caught, but I do not know if an announcement has yet been issued.”
    “But Sir Neil…”
    “Is eighty if he’s a day.”
    She tried to hide it. She made a good effort, a good stout firming of her mouth, but then her lips curved up, curved up higher, and parted to reveal two rows of white teeth. Her discipline crumbled apace as her cheeks lifted, her eyes lit, and merriment suffused her countenance.
    She smiled at him, and the grace and beauty of it, the sheer loveliness, was such that Tiberius Lamartine Flynn, for the first time in his nearly thirty years of life, felt as if a woman’s smile illuminated him from within.
    ***
    An hour by the stream, which should have been a simple, even tedious outing to humor Fiona’s need for activity, had presented Hester with three problems, each disturbing in its own way.
    First, there was the realization that Fiona was predisposed to love uncles—any uncles who came into her life. Because Fiona had been raised without a father, her three maternal uncles had showered her with the love and affection less easily shown to their sister, her mother. Any man sporting the title “uncle” would bear positive associations for Fiona.
    Second, Spathfoy was good at this uncle-ing business. His manner of doting was brusque, even imperious, but he neither hovered nor ignored Fiona, and because he was an older brother and an astute man, the role of uncle was not that great a leap for him.
    Well, so be it.
    Perhaps a wealthy, titled English uncle would be an asset to Fiona as she grew older, provided he kept to his wealthy, titled English world except for the occasional summer visit.
    But then there was Difficulty Number Three, which devolved to Hester personally: the man himself.
    A woman inured to the injustices of the world was in a sorry case indeed when she envied a gasping trout. Or salmon—whatever that poor fish had been.
    “This requires concentration… Stroke slowly, slowly along the belly… mustn’t rush it… like a lullaby… I’m close…