Page 36 of Aurelia

“You row very well,” Aurelia said, pleased to sit back and let the girl do all the work.

“I suppose you are hoping that my father will fall madly in love with you and marry you,” Celsa said after a few moments of silence.

“What a remarkable thing to say,” Aurelia said, deliberately keeping her tone cool even though she would have liked to box the obnoxious brat’s ears.

“Not really. It is what the Hatchet hopes for. She has some books in her room from the Minerva Press and at least two of them are about governesses who marry their master and live happily ever after.” Celsa gave a spiteful laugh. “Although I daresay her hopes are dashed now that you are here.” She swept Aurelia with a scornful look. “You are much prettier than she is, but it still won’t be enough to tempt my father.” Her expression turned sly and unpleasant. “At least not to marry you, although he does keep several mistresses so perhaps you might suit that position.”

“What a pity you have such a low opinion of his lordship.”

Celsa’s arms stilled their rhythmic pulling. “What do you mean?”

“If you think he is the sort of master to impose on his servants, you can’t think too highly of him.”

The girl’s forehead furrowed and it was clear that she’d not considered her father’s raking in that light. She shrugged the thought aside and resumed her rowing.

Aurelia closed her eyes, tilted her head back, and allowed the sun to warm her face. It was a beautiful morning and warm even though it was still early.

“What is in the satchel?” Lady Celsa asked a few minutes later.

“My sketchpad.”

“What do you want to sketch?”

Aurelia opened her eyes and faced the girl rather than be rude. “Whatever catches my interest.”

“You had better not try drawing me.”

“Why not?”

“I don’t like seeing pictures of myself.”

“Perhaps you just haven’t seen the right one yet.”

The girl laughed, but there was little amusement in it. “I might like it if you make me look pretty.”

“You are pretty when you smile.” It was true; she looked like a different girl entirely when she forgot to be surly and obnoxious.

“Ha!”

But Aurelia could see the compliment had pleased her.

“I’m going to take you over to the pier,” Celsa said after a moment. “It is more of a dock, really, just big enough for boats to come with provisions for Old Walter.”

“Will he mind that we are visiting his island uninvited?”

“It is not his island,” Celsa scoffed. “It belongs to my father, just like everything else.”

“But Old Walter—” Aurelia made an exasperated noise. “What is his surname?” she asked, not wishing to call a stranger by his Christian name, especially not with old preceding it.

“I don’t know.” She laughed. “He probably doesn’t remember it, either.”

“We are calling uninvited and he lives here,” Aurelia pointed out.

“He likes it when I visit,” Celsa said with the confidence of youth.

The pier—or dock—in question was protected by two tiny jetties. A boat a little larger than Celsa’s sat atop the dock, both ends tied down.

“That is Walter’s skiff, so he is home,” Celsa said and then leapt nimbly from the boat and tied both ends before pausing and grudgingly offering Aurelia a hand.