“I’m flattered. Really.”
There should have been abutin there somewhere. In this, as in everything, she held fast to her mantra. A little pain now is worth a victory later. Suffering Captain would be worth it when her father cared about her.
A silent scream clawed at Sam’s throat, desperate to get out. She bit her lip to keep it contained.
“Good.” Captain clapped his hands together. “I’ll send a car for you at seven.”
More instructions froze on his lips as Mrs. Long entered the living room, her face obscured by a wine bottle stuffed with wildflowers. The bouquet wasn’t anywhere close to a professional arrangement, something crafted by florists or even someone with an eye for color, but it was so thoughtfully constructed Sam wanted to buy a house of her own to fill them with bouquets like it.
Her rushing blood shuddered. Flowers… For her?
“Miss Dubarry. I’m sorry to bother you again, but this has come for you.”
Sam reached for the wine bottle. Tied to the glass with a thick ribbon of twine was a note, scribbled in hasty script. She scanned the scrawl, her nose buried in the fresh hillside scents of the flowers.
“What is that?” Captain sneered.
He reached for the card, but Sam ducked out of his reach.
Dear Sam,
Tolstoy (See? I’m well read for a kid who went to state school!) once said, “We are asleep until we fall in love.” If he’s right, it would explain why I’ve felt like I’m on caffeine pills since meeting you. Even better, if I’m finally awake, it means last night wasn’t a dream.
Yours,
Daniel.
P.S.- My band is playing at my bookshop’s open mic night on Sunday… There’s this agent coming and I’m nervous and…anyway, I’d love to look out into the crowd and see you there.
P.P.S.- I haven’t ever read Tolstoy. My mother has the quote cross-stitched onto a pillow. I didn’t want to lie to you.
Before she knew it, Sam pocketed the letter and took another deep breath of wildflowers. Captain couldn’t keep her out of the Animos for refusing to date him. Well, hecould, but then he’d make an enemy of her father.
“I’m sorry, Captain. I have other plans tomorrow.”
Chapter Thirteen
Sam had only been invited into her father’s office once. When she first arrived at Ashbrooke over two years ago, he’d called her into his chamber to “discuss the practicalities” of her new life. It was clear, from the tense set of his shoulders to the terse, clipped sentences he directed at her, that he’d not been as eager as his son to welcome her into their home. He spoke of family, honor, and her new duty to her station before dismissing her without an invitation to ever return.
But when she woke up on the morning of Daniel’s open mic night, she also woke up to a small card under her door that read:
From the Desk of Lord Thomas Dubarry.
My office. Ten thirty.
Direct. Blunt. Not necessarily the flowery cards she expected other children got from their parents, but it was something. A chance to talk to him one-on-one, something he hadn’t voluntarily done since her first week home. So, at ten thirty a.m., with her hair set in a perfect bun and her reliable blazer-trousers combination pressed, she knocked on her father’s door, hoping he couldn’t hear the nervous gurgle of her stomach through the thick wall separating them.
“Come in.” She did so, revealing the room behind. Lord Dubarry’s office reflected the man it belonged to, though he surely had inherited the interior design rather than selected it. Dark stains on the oak paneling glinted from the fireplace’s light. The rich brown and maroon decor soaked up all of the heat. His hand-carved desk was stacked high with papers and a brand-new computer. A china teacup steamed the air. A painting of the man in his younger years and a hunting dog Sam had never seen before hung over the mantel, reigning above his domain. Despite having invited her and despite the fact that he’d set the appointment, he didn’t glance up from his computer, nor did he greet her or offer her a chair.
“You wanted to see me?”
“Yes. I received a telephone call from Reginald Wavell’s father.”
A good moment passed before Sam remembered that Captain wasn’t his real name. Reginald was. She stepped closer to the fire to warm the sudden chill from her bones.
“Oh? And what did he have to say?”
“He was rather concerned, actually. Said something about your dating our mechanic even though Reginald’s made his interest in you clear.” With his thin, gold-rimmed reading glasses firmly at the end of his nose, he delivered a brutally invested stare. Brutal because he’d never been this invested in her before. His voice dropped from lightly distracted to pointed and low. “I don’t mind anything you do with the help, but stories like this can’t be getting out, do you understand?”
