Quarrels & Quills – by Olivia Huxley #3
She anticipated the subject would be tedious, yet there was nothing for it except to dig in.
With a sigh, she set her candle down on the table next to her fireplace, curling up on her favorite chair and tucking her feet beneath her wrapper, her head beginning to bob with exhaustion after only a few minutes.
The next morning, Augusta slipped into the library to search for the book containing her letter. It must be somewhere within the room. Perhaps it was reshelved by a maid tidying up.
She gave a cursory glance at the table where she’d last seen the volume. She stopped dead in her tracks at the sight of the book laying right where she’d left it.
It had not been there the night before. Whoever had taken the book must have put it back where they’d found it.
If it were Knox, he would have mentioned it. There was absolutely no chance he would have found the book, and her letter within, and missed the opportunity to mock her mercilessly.
She hurried over, whispering a prayer as she reached for the cover and opened it. Her letter was still inside!
Augusta withdrew the sheet. Before stuffing it into her skirt pocket, something told her to look at the paper. She unfolded it and gasped.
It was indeed a letter, but not the one she had left there.
Dear Madam, or perhaps Miss or Lady (for I am quite certain a female must have written the vitriolic missive I found, as a man would not so criticize another gentleman for pursuing a wealthy, attractive young woman for marriage since one may as well enjoy the connubial state if they must enter it),
Although I do not know whom has provoked your wrath, he is an unlucky soul indeed. I would suggest you deliver the letter to him directly, but I’m not sure he would survive such an annihilation and wouldn’t want his blood to be upon your hands.
Although annoyed by the salutation, she could not help but laugh now.
I also fear that your warning would go unheeded. You see, love, men are simple creatures, drawn to beauty and a soft body and, yes, a generous dowry is beneficial.
A soft body? Augusta fanned herself with the sheet for a moment. Never had a man spoken to her so brazenly before. For she was quite certain the correspondent was male, just as he concluded she was female.
And yet he also admitted to the vacuous nature of most men—at least the ones she had encountered over her three years out in society—and their refusal to listen to common sense. So he could not be entirely dreadful, could he?
I suggest that, instead of dwelling upon this barbarian who clearly deserves such censure, you set your mind on more worthy targets for what I presume is your own matrimonial ambition.
You couldn’t bear marrying a dullard, nor someone who would be threatened by your intelligence.
I advise you to show yourself to your best advantage by your dress, your hair, and your engaging conversation to the man or men you are considering.
A failure to do so will likely only end in misery once you wed.
Please take my counsel in the benevolent manner with which it is intended. I wish you happy husband hunting.
Sincerely,
A Gentleman who wishes never to incur such outrage
Augusta crumpled the paper and shoved it into her pocket, leaving the book behind as she sailed out of the library toward the breakfast room.
The cheek of this man! How dare he instruct her on how to attract the proper husband? As if she hadn’t already received those messages time and time again.
Men were simpletons at times, and even the most intelligent among them often were distracted by a pretty face. Some were so distracted that they were waylaid by wily mamas into marriages with dimwits, or worse, by cunning brides who would make their husbands’ lives wretched.
The poor idiots.
Would Knox be one of them? If so, it was what he deserved.
Wasn’t it? He could be vexing, but he’d been kind to her on the whole, and she’d never known him to mistreat anyone. He was a decent man, his friendship with George unwavering.
No, he deserved better than such a fate. Marriage was not a topic she and Knox had ever discussed. She could only hope that he chose well. She felt a hollow pang at the thought of Knox marrying, and she shoved it down.
As for the man who wrote this letter, however, she had a few things to say to him. Her fingers itched to pick up a quill; however, that must wait until after she breakfasted.
Knox was probably waiting to interrogate her on farming methods, and she must not disappoint him. Her stomach gave an odd little flip as she hurried to the breakfast room. It was hunger, nothing more.
Knox turned the page of his newspaper, giving no indication he knew Augusta was in the breakfast room, though he’d been aware of her presence from the moment she’d entered. He lifted his coffee cup and took a sip, peering over the top of the paper to see Augusta filling her plate at the sideboard.
She was not one to choose a small pastry and a few pieces of fruit. Augusta had a healthy appetite and was unafraid to sate it, regardless of who was near. She was unabashedly herself, unlike so many people in society.
He had always admired that about her. She was genuine and, although she sometimes spoke sharply, she was never cruel or untruthful. It amused him to poke at her with the reply he’d left in her book.
Augusta approached the table and, as their eyes met and her cheeks pinkened, he realized he was staring. He gave his head a small shake.
“Are you well?” he asked.
“I am. Do I not appear well?” she asked briskly.
He suppressed his chuckle. “You appear quite well. Fetching, in fact, in that lovely green gown.”
To his great satisfaction, her blush deepened, and she was silent for a few moments as one hand smoothed her skirts.
“Thank you.” She sat hastily across the table and focused on her meal.
“I trust your trip to the library served its purpose?”
Her eyes shot to his. “I beg your pardon?”
“Did you enjoy your book?”
Her shoulders lowered and she focused again on her plate. “It was very enlightening.”
“I’m glad to hear it,” he said, glancing at his paper contemplatively. Augusta seemed nervous, but she’d never been nervous around him before. He should stop tormenting her and allow her to begin her day in peace.
After several minutes, she broke their silence. “Aren’t you going to ask me about cow dung, or something equally inappropriate for mealtime?” He couldn’t keep from grinning at her agitated tone.
He schooled his features before lowering the paper. “Do you wish to speak of cow dung, or something equally inappropriate for mealtime?”
Her frown was adorable. “Of course I don’t! You were the one who brought it up last night.”
“Ah, but we were not at mealtime then. You are the only one being inappropriate presently.” He grinned unrepentantly.
Her eyes narrowed, and she growled softly before she lifted a forkful of eggs to her mouth. He wondered if he ought to leave and allow her an irritation-free breakfast. It felt rude to abandon her.
His quandary was solved when Augusta’s mother entered. He stood to his feet, giving her a friendly nod. “Good morning, Mrs. Woodbury.”
“Oh, she gets a ‘good morning,’ does she?” Augusta muttered.
“What’s that, dear?” her mother asked.
She pasted on a smile. “Nothing, Mama. Good morning.”
“Good morning, Augusta.” She turned to Knox. “Good morning, Mr. St. Claire. Is George not with you?”
“He retired rather late last night, I’m afraid. My guess is he’ll not be waking for several hours.”
Mrs. Woodbury shook her head in fond exasperation. “He knows better than to be such a sluggard when we have guests.”
“In his defense, I believe he viewed the guests as yours and Miss Woodbury’s.”
“That’s no excuse, and you know it,” she chided. “I taught that boy to have better manners than that.”
Knox considered pointing out that most of the guests had not yet risen either before deciding he’d prefer to keep in Mrs. Woodbury’s good graces. George could fend for himself.
Now that Augusta had other company, he could quit the breakfast room with a clear conscience. He nodded his head at both women. “Ladies, if you’ll excuse me.”
“Of course, dear,” Mrs. Woodbury answered. “Wherever you’re going, if you wish to go by way of the kitchen, there’s one slice of lemon almond tart left. Just ask Cook.”
Lemon almond tart was George’s favorite, and everyone in this room well knew it. “Shouldn’t we save that for George?”
Mrs. Woodbury harrumphed. “The early bird gets the worm, or in this case, the tart. If George wanted it for himself, he should have been more judicious.”
Knox grinned at her. “You make a fine argument. I believe I’ll be visiting the kitchen after all.”
He glanced at Augusta and found her watching him, a smile tugging at her mouth. She immediately dropped her eyes to her plate. “Until later, ladies,” he said, departing the room and mulling over Augusta’s behavior for the rest of the morning.
Afternoon found Knox engaged in a spirited game of archery on the front lawn. He was actually quite proficient at archery, although he didn’t normally allow his cutthroat side to emerge.
But Augusta was among the ladies participating, and he could not keep from displaying his best skill in front of her. She would never let him hear the end of it otherwise. It had nothing to do with a desire to impress her and show up the other men.
However, he had not factored in Augusta’s own facility with a bow and arrow. She had been good at archery when he’d seen her in the past; now she was masterful.
A number of the young men grumbled in defeat, discarding their bows and conversing with the ladies who were watching. Augusta remained focused, nocking her arrows and letting them fly, hitting the bullseye more often than not.
He was both impressed and aroused.
When the opportunity to pester her arose, he couldn’t resist. A strand of her hair had come loose and was dancing over the smooth skin of one cheek.