Chapter 12
Long ago, Fiona had discovered the importance of appreciating the small things—a tree with ripening pears when her belly started to rumble, the ever-present light from the forge as she made her way through the factory at night, and now, Edward’s open front door when she hadn’t the energy to push it.
“Thank ye, Simmons.”
“May I take your coat, Miss McTavish?” He truly was an exceptional butler. Nothing in his expression or tone gave any indication that he thought her appearance odd, despite the fact that she was dressed once more in breeches, morning coat, and wig. He must have some opinion; he seemed even more traditional than the duke.
What didhethink of Edward’s visit to her rooms last night? He must have known. Downstairs knew everything. Always.
“No, thank ye. I can put it away myself.” Standing in the middle of the foyer, she had a choice—to take the stairs to the right to the guest wing and her rooms, or to go left and see Edward.
She should go right, take a long, hot bath, and wash the day off her. That’s what her reasonable brain knew was the correct decision, especially given she’d kissed him yesterday and wanted to kiss him again last night. That desire had left her rattled all day—so much so that she’d barely uttered a coherent sentence at any of her meetings. Thus, she’d made it past the gatekeepers, but still it had been a “no” at every turn.
But the guest wing felt like a mausoleum—immaculately kept, but clearly not lived in. After a day of relentless disappointment, experiencing one rejection after another, she felt like company.
Perhaps it was foolish to want to see him. His attention last night could mean anything. She was, after all, a guest in his house suffering a head injury. Reading to her may have been nothing more than a host doing what he could to prevent a death from occurring under his roof.
Even if his interest had been romantic, nothing could ever come of it. Completely beside the fact that he’d already left her twice and she could never trust him, they were ill-suited. She had no interest in becoming a duchess and he had no interest in making her one.
So the stairs to the right it would be. Except somehow, she found herself veering to the left, climbing the steps with an imprudent eagerness.
In the west wing, she found more life than existed near her rooms. A footman stood at each end of the corridor and she could hear a piano coming from one of the rooms. She recognized the song. Edward had played it for her on the rickety church piano the night they had broken in.
She opened the door.
And stopped dead.
“Wilde!” aloud voice called. “You should hear—” The man speaking trailed off as he turned to face her. The music stumbled to a halt.
It was not Edward standing in front of her. It was his brother, William. Beside him, fingers still resting on the keys, was his seldom-seen sister, Charlotte-Rose.
“You’re not Edward,” William said. “Who are you?”
Fiona had no idea what to do other than cross her fingers and hope they didn’t recognize her. There was no reason why they should. She’d never actually met them. She’d simply seen them on rare occasions at church where they sat in the first pew, reserved for the major church donors. And when at church, she wore a dress.
“I…uh…Finley McTavish. A friend of yer brother’s. A pleasure to meet ye.” She sketched a quick bow, praying they didn’t notice the ungainliness of the movement.
“William Stirling. This is my sister, Lady Charlotte-Rose.”
The resemblance between the siblings was uncanny. They both had thick, midnight-black hair, just like their brother. All three shared the same stubborn set to their jaw.Their poor nanny.
Their eyes were the same shade of cerulean blue ringed with dark sapphire. Unlike their brother, though, their features were softer, lending a welcoming cheeriness to their expressions.
“My lady, ye perform beautifully,” Fiona said. Charlotte’s playing had eclipsed Edward’s, and Edward played very well.
Charlotte blushed. “Thank you, Mr. McTavish. How very kind.” She stood and held out her hand, clearly expecting Fiona,Finley, to take it.
Good God. What do I do now?She’d not interacted with women when she was masquerading as a man. Only men.
Tentatively, she accepted Charlotte’s hand and pressed it to her lips. It was a nice hand…Paler and softer than her own. The kind of hand that only proper young ladies who never undertook menial tasks managed to achieve.
Kissing it felt awkward.
Not to Charlotte, apparently. Her cheeks flushed prettily, and she looked up at Fiona through fluttering dark lashes.
Is she flirting?
Why the hell didn’t Edward warn her that his siblings were coming to stay? This added a whole new level of complication. Should she reveal her true identity? Should she keep it secret? The staff had seen her in both guises, but she’d also heard Edward asking for their discretion.
