Page 13 of The Scottish Duke Tames the Bluestocking
Despite himself, a smile appeared on Hugh's face. “Aye, that we did,” he admitted gruffly. “Nearly set the whole of Mayfair ablaze with the force of our clashin', I’d wager.”
Abigail positively glowed with delight at this. “Oh, Hugh,” she proclaimed with an empathic nod, “You must try again - only this time, mind your manners. Court her properly and ask her in a charming manner, befitting of a duke, and I know she will come round in no time at all.”
Hugh shook his head firmly at this. “I am nae as certain as ye are, imp,” he rumbled gravely. “This... lady... is unlike any I’ve ever encountered before. Willful and tempestuous, aye, but there... is an untamable quality to her spirit that is enough to make a man think twice about even attempting to rein her in.”
For a minute, Hugh considered telling his sister the truth - that his proposal was borne from the scandal caused by an utter misunderstanding. He was not, however, inclined at all to ruin his sister’s innocence. He would much rather let her believe that he had fallen in love and been spurned.
“Do not tame her, Hugh,” Abigail said suddenly - her eyes sparking with steely determination. “If she is as indomitable as you claim, the last thing you ought to do is smother that fire.”
Hugh looked at her gently and she leaned forward, taking his hands in hers. “Please, brother,” she pleaded. “I know that you would never allow a man to temper my spirit so do not do this to her. What you must do is meet her flames with your own. Stoke them higher until you both burn so bright that the whole of Britain will be in awe of the bonfire you’ve created together.”
Hugh did not know whether to laugh or shake his head in exasperated disbelief. Of course his fanciful sister would romanticize the entire debacle into a dramatic love affair for the ages. Still... there was a kernel of wisdom in her whimsy, a simple truth he could not deny.
“I suppose ye are nae wrong,” he admitted with a sigh. “I wouldnae allow any man to temper your fire.”
If he was to have any hope of winning Harriet Lourne’s hand and protecting his reputation, Hugh knew, he could not treat her as a quarry to be conquered through stubbornness alone. He glanced at his sister, whose open face was a mask of innocence. Had it been only him, he may have let it go entirely - but he would not allow his sister’s name to be tarnished through his actions.
Abigail was right - he would need to adapt his approach, find a way to parry her indomitable fire with his own rather than trying to smother the blaze entirely.
The thought should have vexed him - filled him with dread at the prospect of losing ground to this defiant woman. Yet, strangely, all Hugh felt was a slow simmering sense of intrigue and admiration beginning to unfurl within him.
Perhaps it would be prudent to try a new tactic with the Lady Harriet. He looked at Abigail’s eager face and sighed, giving a slow nod of acknowledgement - the faintest ghost of a smile tugging at the corners of his lips.
“I suppose it wouldnae be the worst thing in the world to listen to ye once,” he teased. “So perhaps ye could advise me on how best to court the lass properly.”
Abigail laughed delightedly and she pressed her head against his shoulder for a few seconds.
“Oh, Hugh,” she said, her voice filled with joy. “The possibilities are endless.”
CHAPTER7
Where she sat at her writing desk the following morning, a deep frown decorated Harriet’s brow. Her quill sat in her hand, poised over a fresh sheet of parchment as she searched for the right words. Apologizing was not something that came natural to her, especially when a part of her bristled at the memory of Hugh’s dismissive arrogance.
“Keep an open heart and mind,” her mother’s words echoed in her mind.
She breathed deeply before lowering the quill onto the parchment.
Your Grace,
I find myself compelled to address the unfortunate events of our previous encounter...
No. she decided quickly, grimacing at the formality of her phrasing. This would never do - Hugh was not the sort of man to appreciate niceties and pretense. She took a deep breath again and crumpled the piece of parchment, starting anew.
Sir,
Though our interactions thus far have been contentious, I will admit that your demeanor and lack of propriety in addressing such a delicate proposal ignited my temper in an unseemly manner. For that, I offer my sincere regrets...
Again, she crumpled the piece of parchment.
Sir. I cannot repent my actions. As an independent woman of strong convictions, I have grown accustomed to making my own choices. Still, I do admit that your proposal perhaps ignited my temper in an unseemly manner.
You are a man of the world and surely must understand my reluctance to be treated as a mere pawn to be strategically positioned as you and my brother see fit.
The words suddenly flowed more easily now, raw honesty replacing the artifice as she laid her truth bare upon the page. When at last she put her quill aside, Harriet felt a strange sense of lightness, as though a weighty burden had been lifted from her shoulders.
She exhaled steadily, folded the parchment, and dripped a stick of violet wax to seal it before ringing for a footman. As she handed off the fateful letter, a faint spark of possibility flickered to life within her.
Over the course of the day, Harriet found herself increasingly consumed with the anxious hope of receiving word from Hugh. She paced her bedchamber like a caged tiger, alternating between casting furtive glances towards the door and berating herself for such unbecoming impatience.
