Quarrels & Quills – by Olivia Huxley
QUARRELS & QUILLS
BY OLIVIA HUXLEY
Augusta Woodbury has pined for Knox for years, but he's treated her as a child her entire life, despite her now being a grown woman.
Knox St. Claire has long been attracted to Augusta, but she's the sister of his best friend and off limits.
When Augusta's mother hosts a house party to find her a suitable husband, Knox is consumed by jealousy at the thought of her marrying another.
For her part, Augusta can't get past the presence of Knox at the party as her brother’s guest. She writes a letter to him, never expecting anyone to see it.
When an anonymous person replies, a strange correspondence begins.
Will it lead to love before it's too late for the two of them?
The hallway was blessedly empty. Augusta listened for someone approaching.
Hearing nothing, she hurried into the library.
Easing the door shut behind herself, she blew out the breath she’d been holding.
This room was her sanctuary whenever she became overwhelmed by others.
Today, it was her refuge from the guests who descended upon their country estate for Mama’s house party.
The party had been going for a mere two days, and she was already weary.
The constant need for activities and interactions, the chatter of so many people, and the knowledge that the dozen single men in attendance were there for her perusal and, her mother hoped, her approval, were more than she could currently bear.
Augusta supposed there were worse situations in which she might be entangled. She did wish to marry and have a family of her own, and the men Mama had chosen were fine candidates for marriage.
The men were in their mid-twenties to early thirties, the eldest a dozen years older than her. All were of fine character, and they were polite, respectful, amiable men. Some were titled, some weren’t, and all were excellent marital prospects.
She even found some to be quite attractive. She might have been happy to encourage one or two, had it not been for one problem.
Mama had also encouraged her brother George to invite his longtime friend, Knox St. Claire, to join their party.
George and Knox met at boarding school and continued their friendship when they attended university together. Knox and George visited one another regularly ever since.
She supposed that, once Knox found a wife of his own, he would visit less often.
Good.
She was tired of the way he made her feel like a child. Knox might be four years older, but she was one and twenty now and left childhood behind long ago.
She was tired of his teasing, his cocky confidence, and the way people flocked to him with little effort on his part. Granted, he had an easy way with people. But they fawned over Knox, and it was revolting.
It had nothing to do with how many ladies were generally in those flocks.
Sadly, not only was he charming and genuine, he also had to be infuriatingly handsome, with thick dark hair, a ready smile, deep gray eyes the color of storm clouds, and a broad chest that challenged the buttons of his shirts.
Not that she’d noticed his chest, or anything else about him, other than as a mere observation of facts.
Augusta huffed out her annoyance and crossed to a shelf full of novels, looking for something familiar and comforting. Reading always quieted her brain when she was anxious or overtaxed.
Running her fingers across each title, she stopped at a green leather-bound volume and tapped the spine as she considered it. Yes, The Family Robinson Crusoe should suffice.
She pulled it down, carrying it to her favorite chair next to the large windows. This was a beautiful, sunny spring day and she wanted to enjoy it, even while hiding indoors.
After rereading one paragraph four times, Augusta gave up. The family’s trials and triumphs on their island were not enough to hold her attention. Perhaps it was too familiar to distract.
Returning the novel to its place on the shelf, she meandered to the non-fiction books, mostly titles regarding the running of an estate. There was, however, one book about the flora and fauna of the former American colonies that intrigued her.
Although it held her interest longer than the previous book, her mind still began to wander, and she set the volume down on the small table next to her.
She stood and walked to the window, peering down at the lawns below, spying a merry group playing croquet.
Of course Knox was among them, winning them over with his smile and his wit.
However, he wasn’t exerting effort to win the actual game, more concerned with keeping the attention on himself.
Augusta growled as she spun away from the window, stalking over to the desk in one corner. Perhaps she would catch up on some correspondence.
She took out a sheet of parchment, a quill, and the inkpot, but couldn’t find the sander. She opened drawer after drawer, finally finding it in the bottom drawer to her left.
She reached for it, her fingers brushing against something cool and smooth behind it. She pulled the drawer out further, her brows lifting at the bottle laying on its side.
It was a bottle of Papa’s best port. What was it doing there? Moving the sander to the top of the desk, she took hold of the bottle and pulled it out. It was half full.
Augusta often wondered how port would taste. She’d asked if she might try it, but Mama said it was too strong for a proper lady and insisted she drink sherry or claret instead.
Twisting the cap off, Augusta took a hesitant sniff, smelling berries and something spicy.
There was no glass nearby, but curiosity overtook her.
Lifting the bottle to her lips, she took a delicate sip.
Her nose wrinkled at the strong bite beneath the berry and cinnamon flavor.
A second experimental sip was an improvement, and the drink began to warm and relax her.
Half a dozen sips later, she felt pliant and carefree.
She glanced at the window, wondering if the croquet game was still in progress. She would not join them, she decided, having no desire to join Knox’s circle of admirers. He was already too full of himself.
Someone should tell him so.
She should tell him so, but she lacked the courage to say it to Knox’s face. Her eyes fell to the sheet of parchment on the desktop.
Perhaps if she got the thoughts out of her head, she would stop dwelling upon them.
Half an hour later, she was about to sign her name with a flourish when she heard whistling in the hallway.
Her eyes shifted in panic to the bottle of port still on top of the desk.
Shoving it back in the open drawer, she shook the sander across the surface of her letter before picking it up, racing to the chair by the window, and sliding it inside the book she’d been reading.
She whirled around, putting a bright smile on her face as the door opened. “Oh, it’s only you.”
George grabbed his chest as he took a step back. “Only me, Gus? I’m wounded.”
She sighed with fond exasperation. “I need not put on airs with y-,” she began, before a hiccup interrupted. Her hand flew to cover her mouth.
George drew closer, his eyes narrowing. “Are you well?”
She nodded her head hurriedly, anxious to reassure him and trying not to speak more than necessary.
“Augusta, what have you been doing in here?” George was only a few feet away now, peering at her intently.
She gestured to the book by her side. “What else would I be doing in the library besides reading?” She tried to avoid his gaze. He took hold of her chin and gently lifted so he could see her eyes.
“Little sister, I do believe you’re foxed.” He tried to sound stern, but Augusta saw his mouth twitching as he fought off a smile.
“I am not (hic)—,” she said, although her denial was likely undercut by the hiccup. “Not incoxitated.”
“I can smell port on your breath.”
“Perhaps I’m the slightest bit tipsy,” she conceded.
“If Mama finds you like this, in the middle of this house party, you’ll never hear the end of it. Worse yet, neither will I.” George shook his head, losing the battle as he grinned. “Go upstairs and sleep it off.”
“It’s the middle of the afternoon! What would Mama say if I disappeared for so long?”
“I’ll tell her you have a megrim.”
“No! She’ll send up one of Cook’s horrid tisanes and insist Hawkins ensure I drink it.” She abhorred those tisanes—they tasted as if Cook was trying to punish her for having the temerity to become ill.
“You should have thought of that before you drank port.” He grinned unabashedly. “However, as I’m feeling benevolent, I’ll help you up the servant stairs so you don’t take a tumble and crack your thick skull.”
She whacked at his shoulder. George merely laughed and went to ensure the coast was clear.
Knox wandered into the library late that evening, not yet tired enough for sleep. It had been a mistake attending this house party, knowing he would be around Augusta Woodbury for a full sennight with little reprieve.
He’d delighted in teasing Augusta over the years, treating her as he did his younger sisters back home in Derbyshire.
It had been easy to view her that way when he and George had been in boarding school and they’d gone to Woodbury Manor whenever a holiday was too short for him to travel home. She’d still been a child.
Things changed while they were at university.
One moment, Augusta was a girl with dark blonde braids and a face with the roundness of youth.
Then, seemingly overnight, she transformed into a beautiful young woman with a figure that haunted his dreams. The top of her head still only reached his collarbone.
But what she lacked in height, she made up with lush curves, and he’d had an increasingly difficult time keeping his eyes off them.