Page 11 of Too Scot to Handle
Miss Anwen listened to him as he prattled on, truly listened. One of her endowments was a keen mind, apparently, in addition to brilliant red hair, the airs and graces of a lady, and the heart of a lioness where her orphans were concerned.
Also skin so soft, Colin could recall the feel of it beneath his fingertips even as he waxed eloquent about the Rule of Seven.
* * *
“And here you are,” Lord Colin said, alighting from the phaeton. “Delivered to your very own doorstep.”
Anwen didn’t correct him, though this was not her doorstep. Did a lady ever have her very own doorstep, short of widowhood?
She wasn’t even alighting at her papa’s doorstep, for Mama and Papa were again off cavorting in the wilds of Wales, while Anwen and her sisters bided with Uncle Percival and Aunt Esther.
Lord Colin came around to assist her from the vehicle. Her descent was a precarious undertaking involving the use of several tiny metal footrests, and much gathering of skirts, until his lordship muttered something under his breath and swung her to the ground.
“My thanks,” Anwen said, stepping back. “Was that Gaelic?”
His smile was bashful and a bit naughty. “It wasn’t French. Allow me to see you inside.”
“What about the horses?” For he hadn’t a tiger to hold them or walk them.
“They will stand until the first snowfall.”
“Unless somebody comes along to steal them.” What was this propensity she’d developed for contradicting a gentleman?
He patted the offside beast. “They won’t budge for anybody but me or their grooms, not without creating a riot first. One learns a few useful skills in the army.”
Apparently, one did. Not even Devlin St. Just drove about without a tiger.
Lord Colin did the pretty for Anwen’s sisters, Charlotte and Elizabeth, then went on his way before they could inveigle him into staying for tea—thank goodness. Anwen needed to think, to work some figures, and to gather more information.
“Anwen Heather Gladys Windham, where have you been?” Elizabeth demanded, before his lordship had even climbed back into his conveyance. “Her Grace was about to send out the watch.”
The watch was Anwen’s three male cousins—Westhaven, St. Just, and Lord Valentine—all of whom were in Town for the season.
“I went to my meeting at the House of Urchins, exactly as I said I would,” Anwen replied as Charlotte led her by the wrist to the family parlor.
“That was three hours ago,” Elizabeth retorted, from Anwen’s other side. “We were afraid you’d been struck with a megrim, or a fever, or turned your ankle, or come to harm. Are you sure you’re all right?”
Any other time, Anwen might have admitted that a pot of peppermint tea would be welcome, because the day had been tiring. When peppermint tea became too much to bear, chamomile and lemon soothed the nerves. Ginger settled an upset belly. Lavender and valerian tisanes could quiet worry.
She had an entire apothecary of ploys with which to treat her family’s need to cosset her.
Anwen shook free of Charlotte’s grasp. “Do either of you understand compound interest?”
Charlotte and Elizabeth were both several inches taller than Anwen. They exchanged a dismayed look over her head that she nonetheless felt, and had been enduring intermittently since the age of seven.
“Were you out without your bonnet?” Elizabeth asked. “The sun was strong today, even though it’s not yet summer. Too much sun for yo—for a redhead is ill-advised.”
“I’ll take that for a no,” Anwen said, stopping outside the family parlor. If they got her in there, she’d be questioned until dinnertime, plied with tisanes, swaddled in three shawls, her feet up on a hassock.
“You don’t know how your settlements are invested,” Anwen said, continuing down the corridor, “and neither do I, but that’s about to change.”
“Anwen Windham, where are you going?” Charlotte nearly bellowed.
“I am going outside. It’s a beautiful day, and if you want to interrogate me about my afternoon, then you will have to come outside with me.”
The look bounced between them again. They pursed their mouths at the same moment and to the same degree.
“Those children at the orphanage are not healthy company,” Elizabeth said. “I know you think they can do no wrong, but their upbringing exposes them to all manner of foul miasmas, and without intending you any harm whatso—”
