If she were special, her father and brother wouldn’t have left her here. If she were special, she wouldn’t have been kept sheltered. If she were special, she wouldn’t have been forgotten. Because special things weren’t hidden away to collect dust while life continued on without them. They were polished, and proudly displayed, and talked about.
One day, she told herself. One day, she’d escape Hawkridge, and she would never–ever–come back. She’d be the toast of London, and everyone would want to be her friend, and she’d be invited to so many balls and soirees that she would lose track of them all.
But until that day came, she was stuck here. In the middle of the countryside. Like a princess in an ivory tower waiting for her prince to swoop in and rescue her. Except instead of a prince, she’d gotten Lachlan the Lion.
She swallowed a giggle.
They’d both come up with their own monikers for each other, it seemed.
Although she thought hers was far cleverer.
“Who did you fight with that you were suspended?” she asked as she led the way into the manor. They entered the foyer first, a massive rectangular room with a grand staircase in the middle and parlors off to either side. Further down the hall there was a drawing room, and a music room, and a library. The kitchen had its own wing, which attached directly to the servants’ quarters. There was the solarium, a more recent addition, and a scattering of terraces and balconies. Upstairs held no less than twenty-seven bedchambers spread across two stories and half a dozen washrooms, three of which had recently been renovated with pipes that carried hot water! A form of magic, as far as Brynne was concerned.
“Lord Archie Wheeler. The dunce.” Handing his jacket and gloves to a footman, Lachlan turned in a slow circle, his gaze drawn to the gold chandelier dangling above their heads. “Are those real crystals?”
“Yes. What makes Lord Wheeler a…you know.” Unable to say the word allowed, she gestured with her hand.
“Dunce?”
She nodded.
“He’s a blowhard and a bully.” Lachlan dropped his chin and raised his brow. “Goes after the smaller boys who canna defend themselves. Ye would have boxed his ears, tae, I wager. Ye strike me as the sort who wouldna stand for the antics of a tyrant.”
To date, it was the finest compliment that Brynne had ever received.
“Is that what you did?” she asked, fascinated despite the fact that a young lady should never condone any form of violence. Particularly of the common schoolyard brawling variety. “You boxed his ears?”
“Aye. Twice.”
“Twice,” she breathed, her eyes widening. “Then what happened?”
“He fell tae the ground and cried for his mother. Bullies are tough until they’re the ones being picked on. Would have given him a shiner, tae, for what he did tae Tommy Helms. If his friends hadna pulled me off, that is. Cowards, the lot of them.”
“What did Lord Wheeler do to Tommy Helms?” she asked.
“Cornered him in the middle of the courtyard and yanked down his trousers for the whole school tae see, then made fun of the size of his dobber.”
Brynne’s brow furrowed. “Dobber?”
“Pecker. Ye know what a pecker is, don’t ye?”
She shook her head uncertainly.
“Lobcock. Plug tail. Thomas.” He looked at her in exasperation. “Penis?”
“Oh.” Her cheeks heated. “Oh.”
Yes, she knew what a penis was. The library at Hawkridge was enormous, covering a variety of topics from edible herbs and plants to the rise and subsequent fall of the Roman Empire. Naturally curious, and bored with her embroidery, Brynne had tasked herself with reading through the vast collection of books whenever she could manage to sneak away from her studies. She’d started in alphabetical order, and after making her way throughA Study on the Principles of Sufficient Reasonhad stumbled uponAnatomy, Physiology, and Hygieneby Benjamin Mussey.
She hadn’t understood a lot of the words, having never heard them before, but there had been pictures. Diagrams. Of the femaleandthe male body. Which was how she knew what–and where–that particular part of the male anatomy resided.
“I…I didn’t realize it had so many different names,” she said.
“Do ye want tae hear more?” Lachlan asked with some enthusiasm.
“No,” she said hastily. “I think I’ve heard quite enough, thank you. But if Lord Wheeler did that to Tommy, why wereyoususpended? That doesn’t seem very fair.”
“Because Wheeler’s father has deep pockets. Probably why his son is such a little shite. If it were left tae him, I would have been booted out of Eton on the spot. The headmaster thought a two week holiday was a more fitting punishment.” Grinning, Lachlan spread his arms apart. “And here I am.”
