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Authors: Rosanne E. Lortz
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gold chain, their fire flickering over her smooth skin. Three sleek feathers nestled against her brown curls, and Haro found himself admiring her ankles again as he saw her dark blue satin slippers peeking out beneath the hem of her dress.
“Enchanted.” He took her hand. It was warm to the touch, and as Haro’s lips met her skin, he discovered that his greeting had more truth to it than just a mere pleasantry.
Eda entered at just that moment, and the enchantment fizzled away like a fire doused with a bucket of cold water.
“Are we ready to go in to dinner?” Her own dress—a simple black gown noting the fact that the family was still in mourning—stood in harsh relief to Arabella’s elegance.
“No, we are still waiting on Torin.”
The clock struck five, drawing a disapproving glance from Mr. Hastings. Haro suspected that he ran his household with the precision of a factory foreman. Going in late to dinner was as unacceptable as leaving early from a shift in the weaving room.
Arabella released Haro’s arm and made an exaggerated show of sitting down in one of the armchairs.
“Are you feeling all right?” Haro’s solicitude stemmed both from a genuine concern and from an eagerness to mollify Mr. Hastings.
“I confess I am feeling a little weak. It may be from the fall I took earlier, or perhaps because no one remembered to send tea up to my room.” She gave a wan smile to her betrothed.
Lady Anglesford started, her duties as a hostess having been called into question. “I am so sorry, my dear. I should have thought to have tea brought up.”
“Oh, it is of no consequence,” said Arabella, in a forlorn manner that belied the meaning of her words. “I am sure you have many things on your mind, Lady Anglesford, and I am glad that I will soon be able to spare you the running of the household after a certain happy event has been celebrated.”
It was Lady Anglesford’s turn to smile wanly. Up until a few days ago, she had not anticipated that her duties as Countess of Anglesford—duties which she usually enjoyed—would be terminated so abruptly.
“This is ridiculous!” said Mr. Hastings, as the clock hand winged its way to ten past the hour. He checked the accuracy of the house clock against the timepiece which he kept in his own waistcoat. “My daughter is famished, and this young dawdler will keep us waiting all night. Let us go in to dinner without him—it will serve him right.”
***
As might have been expected, Torin’s slim figure appeared as soon as the gentlemen had seated the ladies at table.
“I say! You could have waited a moment.” His voice sounded hurt.
“ You could have looked at your pocket watch,” said Mr. Hastings, his mouth full of ham, in a tone that was both jovial and unfeeling. Now that he had fork and knife in either hand, his mood had begun to improve.
“You’ll have to learn to keep better track of the time,” remarked Arabella primly, “if you’re going to be punctual to all your classes up at Oxford.”
“Who says I’m going up to Oxford?” Torin was instantly suspicious.
“Oh, your mother mentioned at breakfast that there was some thought of it.” Arabella dabbed her lips delicately with a napkin. “I think it an excellent notion, and so does Haro.”
Haro could not recall ever having spoken to his fiancée on this particular subject. He swallowed uncomfortably and forced a smile and a nod. He knew his brother’s contrary nature, however—the fact that Arabella considered Oxford an “excellent notion” would immediately tarnish the idea in Torin’s mind.
As Haro expected, Torin balked at the idea. “Hmm, well, I’ve done just fine on my own so far with my books and with a tutor—”
“Oh, if it’s some question of the fee, I’m sure my father could sort that out for you. Right away, I imagine.”
Mr. Hastings grunted affably, his mouth still absorbed with chewing.
Torin glanced from Eda, to Lady Anglesford, to Haro. Was this
“Enchanted.” He took her hand. It was warm to the touch, and as Haro’s lips met her skin, he discovered that his greeting had more truth to it than just a mere pleasantry.
Eda entered at just that moment, and the enchantment fizzled away like a fire doused with a bucket of cold water.
“Are we ready to go in to dinner?” Her own dress—a simple black gown noting the fact that the family was still in mourning—stood in harsh relief to Arabella’s elegance.
“No, we are still waiting on Torin.”
The clock struck five, drawing a disapproving glance from Mr. Hastings. Haro suspected that he ran his household with the precision of a factory foreman. Going in late to dinner was as unacceptable as leaving early from a shift in the weaving room.
Arabella released Haro’s arm and made an exaggerated show of sitting down in one of the armchairs.
“Are you feeling all right?” Haro’s solicitude stemmed both from a genuine concern and from an eagerness to mollify Mr. Hastings.
“I confess I am feeling a little weak. It may be from the fall I took earlier, or perhaps because no one remembered to send tea up to my room.” She gave a wan smile to her betrothed.
Lady Anglesford started, her duties as a hostess having been called into question. “I am so sorry, my dear. I should have thought to have tea brought up.”
“Oh, it is of no consequence,” said Arabella, in a forlorn manner that belied the meaning of her words. “I am sure you have many things on your mind, Lady Anglesford, and I am glad that I will soon be able to spare you the running of the household after a certain happy event has been celebrated.”
It was Lady Anglesford’s turn to smile wanly. Up until a few days ago, she had not anticipated that her duties as Countess of Anglesford—duties which she usually enjoyed—would be terminated so abruptly.
“This is ridiculous!” said Mr. Hastings, as the clock hand winged its way to ten past the hour. He checked the accuracy of the house clock against the timepiece which he kept in his own waistcoat. “My daughter is famished, and this young dawdler will keep us waiting all night. Let us go in to dinner without him—it will serve him right.”
***
As might have been expected, Torin’s slim figure appeared as soon as the gentlemen had seated the ladies at table.
“I say! You could have waited a moment.” His voice sounded hurt.
“ You could have looked at your pocket watch,” said Mr. Hastings, his mouth full of ham, in a tone that was both jovial and unfeeling. Now that he had fork and knife in either hand, his mood had begun to improve.
“You’ll have to learn to keep better track of the time,” remarked Arabella primly, “if you’re going to be punctual to all your classes up at Oxford.”
“Who says I’m going up to Oxford?” Torin was instantly suspicious.
“Oh, your mother mentioned at breakfast that there was some thought of it.” Arabella dabbed her lips delicately with a napkin. “I think it an excellent notion, and so does Haro.”
Haro could not recall ever having spoken to his fiancée on this particular subject. He swallowed uncomfortably and forced a smile and a nod. He knew his brother’s contrary nature, however—the fact that Arabella considered Oxford an “excellent notion” would immediately tarnish the idea in Torin’s mind.
As Haro expected, Torin balked at the idea. “Hmm, well, I’ve done just fine on my own so far with my books and with a tutor—”
“Oh, if it’s some question of the fee, I’m sure my father could sort that out for you. Right away, I imagine.”
Mr. Hastings grunted affably, his mouth still absorbed with chewing.
Torin glanced from Eda, to Lady Anglesford, to Haro. Was this
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