Chapter 5 #2
It was clear, after tea last week, the man wanted nothing to do with her. Tiffany waved away her sister’s words, trying to sound breezy and uncaring, when she said, “I have changed my mind about him. Clearly we will not suit. Besides, I am beautiful enough to need no dowry, correct?”
“Those are Mother’s words, coming from your mouth,” Bonnie grumbled.
“Bonnie, pay attention! Once we have sold the manuscripts to Athena or the laird, you will have the money Mr. Grimm is asking for his publishing house! You can own it! You can publish not only your own works, but books and stories written by other women! You can publish books for women, as you have always dreamed. What will you call your business?”
To her surprise, Bonnie burst into laughter, tugging her down into a hug.
“A name? A name for my non-existent publishing house?” Still chuckling, she shook her head.
“Tell you what: if you can manage this, sister, I will not only allow you to name the publishing house, I will make you a full partner as well.”
“Oh, no!” Tiffany pushed herself upright, grinning at Bonnie’s enthusiasm. “I have no interest in books.” Her dream had always been more domestic in nature. “I will happily turn it over to you and know you are living your dream.”
“You really are remarkable, do you know that?” Bonnie whispered.
Before Tiffany could think of a way to answer without blushing, her sister continued.
“Now, I suspect Mother would absolutely forbid you to go on this journey, correct?”
“Of course. I have enough of my own money saved in my top drawer for two train tickets and accommodations, but I know she would still rant about wasting money.” Or maybe, if Mother knew about the potential to earn so much money, she wouldn’t object at all.
“Besides, I do not want her knowing of it, because surely she would object to my plans for the windfall.”
Bonnie chuckled dryly. “Of course she would. I have never fit her idea of what a perfect young lady should be. Can you imagine her reaction if we told her I wanted to buy a publishing house?”
“No.” Tiffany mock shuddered. “No, she cannot know of our plan.”
“And it cannot be our plan, sister, although I love you for thinking of it.” Bonnie squeezed her again to soften the sting of her admission.
“We cannot both go, because one of us has to stay and lie to Mother about the other’s absence.
And that will have to be me, because you are the one who remembers which shop and which collection to pursue. ”
It was Bonnie’s easy acceptance of the scheme which had Tiffany pushing herself upright once more, almost bouncing with excitement. “Do you really think it will work?”
“I think it is worth the cost of a train ticket. But, Tiffany, surely you are not considering traveling alone! Is there anyone we could ask? Mrs. Oliphant, the cook, perhaps?”
“No, Mother would surely notice her absence.” Tiffany frowned thoughtfully. “The vicar’s sister might be willing to accompany me—”
“She rarely leaves the house, you cannot expect her to go to York. You need to find someone adventurous who will not be missed here in the village…but someone who would not cause scandal if you are seen together.”
Tiffany gasped and grabbed her sister’s hand. “I could wear a disguise—maybe borrow some clothing from Annie or one of the other maids?”
“You are far too beautiful to go unnoticed, even in homespun.”
“Well then, I will—will rub dirt on my face or something! And I will find a companion to travel south with me who will not draw attention! We will be just two travelers, booking passage to York, then a stay in a hotel. It should not require more than a few hours to visit the shop and see if they still have the antiquities. Or, if they have been sold, to find the name of the buyer to contact him.” Tiffany considered the timeline.
“Perhaps I will allot an extra night in the hotel, then return. Surely you can cover my absence for three days, no more. Claim I am indisposed with my courses, perhaps. You remember how bad they used to be?”
In her excitement, as she spoke, Tiffany had swung her legs off Bonnie’s bed, stood, and scampered across to her slippers, which she could now see in the dawn light. As she pushed her arms into her dressing robe, she turned back to her nodding sister.
“I can do this.”
“You certainly can.” Bonnie pulled her legs up and wrapped her arms around them. “You can organize and plan like a general.”
“It was what Mother raised me to do: be a lady in a grand household.” Do not think of Lysander. “And besides, it is not so hard.”
“Well, you know I will not object to you traveling. I think it is a wonderful idea, and I do not know how I will contain my curiosity, waiting to hear if you are successful! Just imagine…having enough money to buy my own publishing house!”
It was the wonder in her sister’s voice which had Tiffany beaming. “I will do everything in my power to help you achieve your dream, Bonnie.”
Bonnie nodded smartly. “And I will love you all the more for it. Now, I will help you plan and pack, sister, but you must be the one to find a traveling companion.”
Smiling, Tiffany gave a happy little twirl, knowing she was making the right choice. “I will.”
When the rear door of the inn opened into the little garden, Lysander found himself sinking back into the shadows, which felt strange to him. But he didn’t want to be caught out here by anyone other than—
Ah!
Tiffany practically skipped down the steps, wearing a blue dress which complemented her eyes so beautifully. Eagerly—and just why the hell was he so eager to see her? He’d have to examine that later—Lysander stepped forward.
“Oh!” She stopped short when she saw him and held up a finger.
“I was wondering if I would see you today!” On that cryptic remark, she spun back around and ducked into the kitchen, emerging a moment later carrying a plate.
“Here you are. It is not much, but I had Mrs. Oliphant put aside some buns from this morning, just in case. Did Annie bring out some food yesterday as I directed?”
Dear Lord, she was like a little ray of sunshine, wasn’t she?
Lysander had to swallow twice to make his throat work. “Aye, milady,” he croaked, although, truthfully, he’d already gone before any food may or may not have been delivered. “Thank ye.”
He hobbled forward—pleased with himself for remembering to do so—and took the plate from her hands. When he did, his fingers brushed against hers, and that spark traveled up his arm and settled into his chest.
He smiled.
Easy lad. Ye dinnae like her, remember?
Nay, it was getting harder and harder to recall, when she smiled and acted completely opposite of how he thought she should.
But now she was studying him, her hands on her hip and her head cocked to one side. “You took my suggestion and bathed, I see.”
Lysander, figuring he’d be a fool to pass up one of Mrs. Oliphant’s buns, even if he had only eaten breakfast not two hours before, already had the pastry in his mouth, and hummed in question. When she gestured at his face, he felt himself blushing.
Blushing! Like a lad in leading strings!
Ye’re wearing a kilt, ye idiot.
Aye, kilts were likely worse than leading strings, weren’t they?
He managed to swallow and tried for a nonchalant shrug. “Nae use being dirtier than ye have to be, aye, milady?”
“I do not know. I do not have to be dirty at all.”
Ah, there was the haughtiness he’d been expecting. But she was smiling when she said it, which seemed to take the sting out of her words.
Before he could decide if he should be offended by her words, she’d nodded politely and slipped past him.
“Enjoy your buns,” she called over her shoulder, “then please leave. I do not have time to banter with you today, and as I will soon be leaving as well, I cannot be in charge of feeding you each day.”
The last was almost hard to hear, as she was hurrying away so quickly, obviously intent on her mission. Lysander glanced down at the plate of buns beside him and rubbed at his jaw for a moment.
The beard felt strange, but he assumed it did a good enough job masking his true appearance, along with the eyepatch he wore over his right eye. She hadn’t seemed to guess who he really was, and he hadn’t had to rub dirt and horse shite all over himself.
Although the kilt was still quite drafty.
Well, he hadn’t worn the damn thing to just sit around her garden and eat buns, had he?
Making up his mind, he tugged his tam down and hurried after her.
“Wait, milady!” he called.
When she slowed and turned an exasperated look on him, he remembered to limp pitifully.
“Aye, Sir Interloper? Mr. Trespasser? The buns were not enough?”
“How could they be, milady, when all I was hungry for was the opportunity to bask in yer presence?”
To his surprise, she rolled her eyes, apparently not appreciating the compliment. “Oh, not you as well?” she muttered, as she turned back on her path and picked up her pace.
Lysander hobbled after her. “Where are ye going in such a hurry, milady?”
“To the vicar’s cottage. I must speak to his sister, Willa. I am going to ask her to accompany me on my journey and— Why am I telling you this?”
Knowing he was safe as long as she wasn’t looking at him, Lysander’s smile flashed. “Because I’m easy to talk to?”
They’d reached the village square, and suddenly there were a dozen new distractions, but Tiffany didn’t slow. Instead, she hurried on, and Lysander slammed into a horse.
Well, not a full horse, just the horse’s flank. But still, it was deuced embarrassing.
“Damned depth perception!” he muttered, as he rebounded and bumped into a merchant of some sort.
“Och! Terribly sorry, sir.” He doffed his cap as he managed to stay upright, but then a dog—they just allow dogs to wander around the square, shiteing as they went, these days?
What were they, barbarians?—brushed up against his knee, and Lysander spun around to catch himself once more.
And then she was there.