James laughed aloud at that, the picture of Prim smacking their knuckles like an incensed school marm. “Expressing your displeasure? Mrs. Eames, you might think by being stern and somber you’re somehow making your point, but I hate to be the one to tell you, men aren’t that subtle. If you want something, you need to tell them…flat out.”
“I have tried that.”
“Perhaps you need to add a touch of volume to the lecture then,” he said. “You think you have it bad? My only sister has ten older brothers, but she never fails to let us know—quite vocally—that she’s knowledgeable enough to form her own opinions.”
“So, she screeches like a harpy and you let her have her way?” she asked, surprise clear in her voice.
“Absolutely not,” he chuckled. The children were again trudging up the hill, their laughter mixing with that of the dozen other boys and girls as one sled after another skated down the hill. “We fight her tooth and nail every step of the way. She’s our helpless baby sister, after all.”
Prim groaned theatrically. “You offer me no hope for the future.”
His chuckle turned to an outright laugh. “But I am. My sister is a force of nature. The Marchioness of Aylesbury and the head of the Ladies Golf League of Wimbledon. She does exactly as she pleases at all times. Despite our brotherly domineering.”
A thoughtful moue turned down her lips. “Is she married? Does her husband allow this?”
“Aylesburyallowsnothing. It pleases him to see her stand up for herself.” Just as it pleased James to see Prim in her rare moments of self-confidence and conviction. He shook off the comparison. “He likes to see her set trends rather than follow them. By all accounts, he’s quite proud of her.
Prim sighed with a sorrowful shake of her head. “She’s a fortunate woman. My husband might have given me due credit for my intelligence in the end, but he considered my involvement with the National American Women Suffrage Association little more than a source of embarrassment.”
“He knew?”
“Yes, but he was forever finding reasons for me to not attend meetings or rallies,” she said. “He believed political thoughts would cause me to neglect my home, lessen my devotion to our children, forget to mend his stockings. He’d probably blame me for burnt biscuits as well.”
“He sounds like a fair arse,” James said succinctly.
“He could be,” she allowed.
“I hope you didn’t believe him. I can see you’re a doting mother.”
But he could tell by the way she cast her eyes down at the ground that she did. At least, to some extent.
So, he had been an arse. James led Prim farther down the path, certain they had a while before the children’s enthusiasm began to flag.
“Let me tell you something, Mrs. Eames.” The words grated in his throat, strangled by the anger he experienced on her behalf. “There is not a lady in my family—and there are many—who isn’t an admirable mother, but nor is there one of them who hasn’t forged a life of achievement for herself outside the home. They run charities and missions. One of my sisters-in-law will one day be a countess and marchioness in her own right. Two of them run vast estates and business concerns in their children’s interest. Never let anyone tell you that you can’t do the same.”
Prim blinked up at him, her eyes held wide at the vehemence in his words. She looked gratified by his declaration of faith. It shouldn’t be so easy to please her like that. Truly, had no one ever given her fair credit before?
“Perhaps I should relocate to Scotland then,” she quipped, though the jest fell flat.
James shook his head, a trifle disgusted with the society that suppressed such a lively spirit. He pulled her to a stop, glowering down at her.
“Perhaps you should, lass. Scottish lads have enough confidence in their manhood to enjoy women with spirit without taking independence and intelligence as a threat.”
“Even if that show of independence and intelligence proves to be a social embarrassment?” she asked.
“Ah, but there would be no embarrassment, you see?” he said. “In truth, we consider it a rather attractive quality. We don’t subdue our women but take satisfaction in meeting our match. And find such a challenge arousing, as well…”
Though already pink with the cold, Prim’s cheeks reddened even more. “What a thing to say.”
“What?” James found himself amused by her discomfiture. “That a man might find arousal in a woman of spirit? Or that implication that I might be experiencing the same with you?”
Her gaze fled him. The red of her cheeks engulfing her whole face. Her throat worked as if she were swallowing back words, though whether they were in retort or admonishment, he couldn’t be sure.
“You couldn’t possibly,” she croaked out at last.
James raised her chin with one finger, forcing her to look at him. “Oh, couldn’t I?”
CHAPTER 11
