The Lass Who Lost a Shoe Lee, Caroline (great novels .TXT) 📖

But after that kiss, she felt as if she knew the important things about Max.

Then why did he hand the shoe back to ye and leave?

Ah. A harder question.

Ember swallowed, her fingers twining through one another as she considered the kiss last night at Oliphant Engraving. Nay—it wasn’t the kiss, it was what came after.

It was when she was telling him about her shoes and asking for his help in presenting the idea to Mr. DeVille. He’d completely shut down, handed the shoe back to her, stammered out an excuse, then hurried up the stairs.

She’d been mortified. Had she acted too boldly or something? Should she be ashamed of her actions, of the way she’d thrown herself into his arms?

On the verge of tears, she had gathered up her tools, put the shoe in her bag, along with the three heels she’d already turned, then hurried out of the building. All night, she’d tossed and turned, torn between joy at his kisses—his touches—and confusion and hurt at his response to her project.

“Ember?” Bonnie prompted softly. “Do ye want to marry him?”

“I want…to be free to make my own choices.” Ember’s voice grew stronger as she realized the truth. “I want autonomy, not this life.”

A week ago, she’d known exactly what she wanted. She’d wanted to sell the new manager of Oliphant Engraving on her design and convince him to start production. That money would allow her to leave the inn guilt-free and start a simple life somewhere of her own choosing. She’d be leaving her father’s workshop, but his tools belonged to her, and she could create her art in another location if Mr. DeVille wouldn’t allow her to work in the engravers’ studio.

Aye, she’d known exactly what she’d wanted.

But then she’d danced at a ball with the guest of honor and had been the center of attention. She’d spoken with Max, had kissed Max, and more. He’d made her heart beat faster and made her reconsider her plans for the future, and now she wasn’t certain of anything.

“Could this man of yers be part of that autonomy?” Vanessa teased, winking.

Slowly, Ember nodded. She’d like Max to be a part of her future, but she wasn’t certain if he wanted that, not after the way he’d reacted the previous night.

“Good.” Vanessa nodded once, firmly, then spun around and offered her back to Ember. “Ye deserve happiness. Now button me.”

“Of course, Yer Majesty.”

As Ember focused on the buttons, her stepsister laughed. “Dinnae be silly. Roland is a Prince, no’ a king.”

“Actually, I think he’s a viscount,” Bonnie said distractedly, tapping her finger against her dressing table. “Yes, I read that somewhere.”

“Of course ye did,” muttered Vanessa.

“It was a special case, which is why the heir doesnae have a title. What was it?” Bonnie pursed her lips thoughtfully. “Oh, I remember. Yer Roland, and his younger brother Phineas, are sons of the laird’s second wife, aye? Her father was a Viscount, so the title passed to her eldest son.”

“A viscount…” sighed Vanessa.

“Aye, Viscount Something-or-other. Ye ken how ridiculous these titles are; they all sound the same.”

Ember had to agree with Bonnie. “Viscount Sandringtonshiresauce or Lord Meglandonkington or Earl of Pastyburgham. I dinnae ken how anyone can keep them straight.” She frowned as she reached the lower curve of her stepsister’s back and the buttons got more difficult. “Remember how ye tried to teach me all that nonsense yer mother made ye study? How to address an earl’s second daughter, or which person has to speak first when ye meet someone of a higher rank, or what have ye. How do ye keep that all straight?”

“Oh, I ken it!” Bonnie burst out with a chuckle. “And ye remember Mother explaining how, once we’re married, we needed to call our husbands by their titles, rather than their names? Can ye imagine yelling, ‘Oh, Pastyburgham!’ in bed?”

Ember straightened, laughing. “Ye could probably shorten it to ‘Oh, Pasty!’”

“That’s even worse!”

Vanessa waved her hands about. “Remember, she told us she always referred to Father by his title?”

“Which was ‘Oliphant!’ ” Bonnie clamped her palms over her mouth, to dampen her chortles.

“And she didnae see anything strange about calling him Oliphant,” Ember asked, “when everyone else around here was also named Oliphant?”

“Exactly!” Vanessa sighed in exasperation. “I have nae intention of calling my Roland ‘Viscount Blah-blah-blah’ in bed.”

“That’s good,” Ember said dryly, “because ye’d be Viscountess Blah-blah-blah then, and that’d be awkward.”

“A viscountess,” her sister sighed happily.

Ember shook her head as she checked Vanessa’s skirts. “I cannae believe ye’re already considering marrying the man. He hasnae even been here for tea yet!”

“Ye havenae kissed him yet,” Bonnie pointed out.

“I dinnae need to kiss him to ken we’ll be perfect together.” Vanessa lifted her chin proudly. “After all, I’m beautiful, and he’s a viscount.”

Ember pressed her lips together, refusing to point out—yet again—her sister’s pride would be her downfall. Besides, she did want Vanessa to be happy, and if that meant marrying Roland—a viscount—then good for her. Ember just knew she didn’t need that kind of title to be happy.

At the ball, she’d danced with the guest of honor, Mr. DeVille, who’d been nearly as fancy as one of the Princes. He’d certainly danced as though he’d belonged at the ball, and Laird Oliphant himself had introduced him.

Aye, he might not be titled, but he held a position of power and he was important, and she’d danced with him.

But it was Max who had captured her imagination and passion and interest. It was Max who made her daydream about a future in his little house while she dusted the upstairs parlor. It was Max she’d all-but-attacked last night, desperate to feel his hands on her skin and taste his lips.

Bonnie had taken up the gauntlet of arguing with Vanessa during Ember’s silence while she’d been lost in her thoughts. “Sister, being a viscountess is not the goal in life, remember.”

Vanessa hummed as she stepped away from Ember and in front of the mirror. “And what is then? Being a