Page 19 of Her Magnificent Mistake
And who would have told him about it? Bull, who had visited Tostinham twice with Hawk when they were in school? Or Marcia, who’d listened to Hawk wax poetic about it often enough?
The woman beside him took a deep breath—which did interesting things to her bosom which he tried not to notice—and glanced around. “I have to say, Cowal is just as beautiful as I always imagined.”
“I’ll show ye around.” It wasn’t until she beamed and gave his arm a squeeze that he realized what he’d offered.
Fook.
But now that it was out there, he wasn’t going to take it back.
Becauseaye, he was proud that he was now Baron, and that Tostinham washis. He was proud of this place, he wanted to share it with her.
He’d always wanted to share it with her, truth be told.
Oh hell and all its inhabitants.
Marcia dropped her chin just slightly and peered up at him through her lashes in a coy move he’d seen from debutantes before…but always aimed at a titled nincompoop and never him, and never fromher. “I would like that very much,” she murmured, still holding onto his arm. “Perhaps after we get settled in?”
Hmm, the choice between sitting alone in his study with books or parading around Tostinham with Marcia holding onto him?
No choice at all.
His gaze dropped from her coy smirk, the pendant she wore catching his attention. He didn’t recall her wearing it before, but it was a lovely, sparkly sort of blue that caught the sun and matched her eyes.
It was only when she took a deep breath—her bosom did the wholeinteresting movementthing and moved the pendant—that he realized he was staring at her tits, and snapped his attention back up to her eyes.
“Certainly,” he croaked. “Let’s head inside before Artrip’s scowl freezes oil.” The butler was standing at the door waiting with some of the staff. “He can show ye both—and yer maid—to yer rooms.” Even ifHawkwas the one who wanted to show Marcia to her room.Hisroom.
Nay.Just because she is here doesnae mean she wants to pick up where ye left off. Doesnae mean ye could even if she wanted it.
But she’d startled at the mention of her maid. “Oh, yes!” She cleared her throat and gestured to the other woman, wearing a dull gray gown, hands clasped in front of her, head bowed. “This is my maid, Smith— Smythe, I mean!”
The woman bobbed a small curtsey. “Smith-Smythe, milord.” Was that the slighted twitch of her lips? It was difficult to tell, because her gaze was locked on Hawk’s boots. “At your service, milord.”
“Being a proper lady, I must travel with a maid.” Was it his imagination, or did Marcia sound a little…panicked? “And Smythe-Smith comes with me everywhere.”
Hawk glanced at the forgettable other woman. “I thought ye were Smith-Smythe?”
The maid curtseyed again, without raising her head. “Smythe-Smith-Smythe, milord. My mother married thrice. Terribly confusing.”
“Um…yes.” Hawk cleared his throat, returning his dazed attention to Marcia. “And a valet for Rupert?”
“I couldnae be bothered—” the younger man began, and was interrupted by a new voice.
“Och, well, we’ll take care of that, laddie!” exclaimed the wee housekeeper as she came bustling forward, bumping into Rupert, wrapping her arm around Smythe-Smith-Smythe’s elbow—the highest she could reach—and beaming at all of them. “I’m McGillicuddy, the housekeeper, and I’ll take bonnie good care of ye all, dinnae fash.”
The poor maid seemed dazed, but Rupert frowned down at the short, plump woman. “I dinnae want a valet, madam.”
“Ye cannae be expected to shine yer own boots, or pull on yer own drawers!” McGillicuddy cackled. “McMackinacker!”
Rupert, still holding his lapels, drew himself up. “I beg yer pardon, madam,whatdid ye call me?”
A mortified Hawk was surprised to see Marcia pressing her lips together, presumably to hold in laughter. She was so much more refined than he was, and he was afraid a Society lady like her would find Tostinham primitive…but at least she was amused by his housekeeper.
“This is McMackinacker!” McGillicuddy announced proudly as the gangliest of Tostinham’s footmen stumbled to a stop beside them. “McMackinacker, ye’ve shaved a man before, aye?”
The young man swallowed—his adam’s apple was as pimply as the rest of him—and bleated, “I’ve helped with the sheep shearing on my da’s farm, ma’am!”
“Good enough, eh?” the housekeeper declared, slapping a dazed Smythe-Smith-Smythe on the back. “Get the bags, McMackinacker, afore Artrip has a conniption over my puir manners. Welcome to Tostinham!” she announced, cheerfully shooing the maid and Rupert toward the house, where the butler glared down at them all.
