Page 47 of Too Scot to Handle
If old Plato had spoken, Charlotte and Elizabeth could not have looked more surprised.
“Not a word,” Anwen said. “You will listen to me, and you will hear me. I am well. I am probably in better health than either of you, because I go outside. I must, to escape your carping, and managing, and discussing me as if I were no more animate than he is.”
She slapped Plato on his marble crown.
Elizabeth looked over at Charlotte, who was staring at her slippers. Plain, comfy house mules that might once have been pink.
Elizabeth drew in a breath. “We mean only to safeguard—”
“Wennie’s right,” Charlotte murmured, toeing off her slippers. “We’re getting worse. If we clucked and fussed any more, we’d need beaks and feathers. This season feels longer than all the previous ones put together.”
For Charlotte, that was quite an admission—also, in Anwen’s opinion, the God’s honest truth. The quality of the next silence was both sad and thoughtful.
“I want my own household,” Elizabeth said. “I want to plan my own garden, my own menus, my own social calendar, not limit myself to choosing which bonnet I put on when Aunt drags us about on her endless social calls.”
Elizabeth had hinted, she’d implied, she’d occasionally alluded to this wish, but she’d never stated her preference so plainly.
“Then you go to Westhaven,” Anwen said. “You enlist Rosecroft’s support, and you consult Valentine, who is regarded by our lady cousins as the most sensible of their brothers. You stop treating our cousins as if they are simply handsome lads with a fine command of small talk, and enlist their aid dealing with our elders. That’s what I meant.”
“You’ll have to spell it out for us,” Charlotte said, going to the door to retrieve the cordial. She poured three generous servings. “Here’s to the rest of the season galloping by.”
They touched glasses. Charlotte resumed her place on the sofa, while Anwen stayed on her feet.
“You were saying?” Elizabeth prompted.
“We resent that to the gentlemen, we’re just pretty faces, pretty settlements, a connection to this title, or that landed family. The men don’t see us.”
“They touch us,” Charlotte said, taking another sip of her drink. “I hate that. ‘I beg your pardon, Miss Charlotte,’ when they stumble on the dance floor, and their hands accidentally slip before half of polite society. My knee has had to slip a time or two, despite my vast quantities of ladylike restraint.”
“Mine too,” Elizabeth said, “and I’ve learned the knack of stepping on my own hem. I’ve practiced this, in case I need to repair to the retiring room, which is unfortunate.”
“It’s ridiculous,” Anwen snapped. “Why don’t we simply tell the miserable blighters we don’t waltz with presuming bumpkins? We know who they are.”
“Because a lady doesn’t pick and choose between her partners. She stands up when invited to or sits out the evening,” Charlotte recited.
“Why?” Anwen asked.
“So as not to offend the gentleman’s sensibilities.” Elizabeth sounded unimpressed with her own answers.
“But they can offend us without limit, groping, stumbling, nearly drooling on our bodices. We aren’t people to them, and I could strut about in high dudgeon on the strength of that vast insult, except I’ve been guilty of it too.”
“One develops a certain detachment,” Charlotte said, draining her glass. “If it’s a cattle auction, and we’re the heifers, then we do our best to make them into bullocks.”
“Bulls,” Elizabeth said, saluting with her drink. “Every one of them regards himself as the most impressive champion bull ever to make a leg. I hate it.”
“But some of them aren’t like that,” Anwen said. “I have taken a fancy to Lord Colin, and even permitted him a small liberty or two. At the meeting earlier this week, we had a disagreement.”
“Have some more, Charlotte,” Elizabeth said, topping up her sister’s drink. “This cordial is quite good, and I want to hear all about your disagreement, Wennie—and these liberties you permitted. Every detail, please.”
Anwen took the hassock before the sofa. “His lordship and I came upon the oldest boys at the orphanage where they ought not to have been, and Lord Colin accused them of wrongdoing. I didn’t believe the evidence warranted those accusations, and we quarreled.”
“I hope he apologized,” Charlotte said, topping up Elizabeth’s drink. “A gentleman doesn’t argue with a lady.”
“But friends are protective of one another,” Anwen said. “Lord Colin was concerned not only for the four oldest boys, but for all the children, and for me, and even the Windham family reputation. He’s not simply a charming smile and a fine dancer.”
“He wears the kilt to perfection,” Elizabeth said.
Charlotte touched her glass to Anwen’s. “To kilted laddies.”
