Chapter 20 #2
He sat on the sofa, withdrew a sheaf of papers from the case, and began to arrange them into stacks. In no time at all, he had created three stacks, one larger than the other two. From the leather case, he extracted a set of quills, a small vial of sand, and a curious cubic object.
She walked to the table, curious despite herself. She picked up the small ivory square and examined it from all angles. Although it was a lovely thing, heavily incised with flowers and birds, she couldn’t see its purpose.
“What is it?”
He reached out and took the ivory cube from her, set it down on the table, and pressed two spots at once. The top slid back to reveal a cork-topped bottle, cunningly concealed.
“It’s a traveling inkwell,” she said, delighted.
“I’ve tried more than one apparatus for carrying ink, and this is the best I’ve found.”
“Do you always work when you travel?”
He glanced up at her again. “I don’t like wasting time.”
“And this journey is a waste of time?”
“I think you’re deliberately misinterpreting what I said, Sarah.” He pulled one stack of paper toward him. “I can’t help but wonder why.”
She didn’t answer, annoyed at him. True, she wanted to know what he examined so assiduously, but to do so would be to advance a curiosity that probably wasn’t wise.
Yet, they had few common bonds between them: a shared afternoon in her father’s study, her mother’s death, a knowledge of Chavensworth, perhaps.
She abruptly sat down on the sofa.
“Tell me about your businesses,” she said.
He glanced over at her.
“Are you commanding me, Lady Sarah? I don’t deal well with commands, especially uttered in that tone of voice.”
“You can be very irritating, Douglas. There, is that tone better?”
“Not appreciably,” he said. “Perhaps if you work on it, I’m sure you can manage to sound somewhat amiable.”
He turned back to his work, evidently finished with the discussion.
She stared at him for several long minutes.
“Do you always dismiss people when they question you?”
“When they treat me as if I’m their footman, yes.” He glanced over at her. “You’re not angry at me, Sarah. You’re angry at your grandfather.”
What an absurd time to want to cry, she thought.
“I truly am interested,” she said. “Forgive me if I sounded imperious.”
“No doubt it comes from being a duke’s daughter,” he said, not turning his attention from his papers.
“I think it comes from being the Duke of Herridge’s daughter,” she confessed.
“You dare not show an ounce of weakness with my father. I think he would have been a great military genius had he been so inclined. I do believe that he sees conversations with people as battles to be fought and confrontations as wars to be won. I think he has a tally in his mind of winners and losers, and he is determined not to lose.”
Her attention was directed to the hills and valleys of the fabric of her skirt, and when she looked up it was to find that he was looking at her.
“How old were you when you realized this?” he asked.
“I think I was nine,” she said.
“Was it a confrontation with your father, or did you witness a battle between him and your mother?”
“My mother was always submissive to him,” she said, again feeling that awful urge to weep. “Once, she said it was keeping peace, that a wife had to acknowledge her husband as the head of the household.”
She looked over at him again. “I have no problem with allowing someone to be the head of the household other than myself,” she said. “But I don’t see why my spirit has to be dulled in doing it.”
“It doesn’t,” he said.
“Other than being a creator of diamonds, what business do you have?”
A knock on the door interrupted Douglas’s answer. When Douglas opened it, two young men entered, carrying her trunks. Florie trailed behind, with a small valise in hand, directing them where to put them, and adding for good measure, “See that you don’t scratch them. That’s fine Florentine leather.”
Where had the frightened girl gone? In the last hour, Florie had gained her composure. Evidently, the continuing storm held no terror for her as long as she was out of the carriage.
Florie looked around the room, took in the bedchamber, and stood in the doorway of the bedroom.
“I’ll be doing your hair now, Lady Sarah,” she said, in a no-nonsense tone Sarah had never heard from her.
She’d come to Scotland, and the world had gone mad.
Alano knocked on the door of the housekeeper’s room. He waited patiently, which was a surprise given that he was not a patient man.
When she finally opened the door, he smiled at her, undeterred when she frowned back.
“You can be very off-putting,” he said. “I imagine that serves you quite well being the housekeeper. However, I am a guest at Chavensworth, and such behavior doesn’t put me off. I could even mention to Lady Sarah that you’ve been brusque with me.”
She looked unimpressed at his threat.
His smile broadened. In addition to being incredibly lovely, she was also intelligent.
“Is there anything I can do for you, Mr. McDonough?” Her look dared him to say something improper.
“I would like some tea,” he said.
“There is a bellpull in your room, sir. If you will but ring it, the maid will serve you anything that you desire.”
“I’m afraid that will not do, Mrs. Williams,” he said. “I am desirous of your company. Besides, you owe me an explanation.”
She folded her arms in front of her, and he could almost hear her toe tapping.
“I have no intention of partaking of tea with you, sir. And what explanation do I owe you?”
“How do you know Spanish?” he asked.
A flush transformed her face, rendering it younger.
“Let us just say I have some knowledge of Spanish, Mr. McDonough.”
She moved to close the door, and he inserted his foot between it and the frame.
“Mrs. Williams, I am here on behalf of Mr. Eston, who is my friend. Mr. Eston is married to Lady Sarah, who is responsible for everything at Chavensworth. Do you not think that the two of us have significant interests in common that we could become cordial acquaintances?”
He held up his hand before she could speak, and added, “I’m not saying friends, Mrs. Williams. I am merely saying that it is a very large house, and I have no one with whom to speak. Your Thomas is a very nice young man, but I do not feel that he is as schooled as you in certain matters.”
“Perhaps, Mr. McDonough. I shall think about it.”
He removed his foot from the door, and she immediately closed it in his face.
He really shouldn’t have felt like laughing.