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

Roland’s brow twitched, but Max didn’t see anything wrong with the request. Likely had something to do with propriety or some such nonsense, but he just nodded to the butler—whom he assumed was the Oliphant she spoke of—and followed the older man.

After depositing them in an out-of-the-way parlor Max had never been in before, the butler bowed and backed out of the doorway, leaving it open.

Max dropped into one of the large chairs, his legs stretched out in front of him. “You do get the fancy treatment, huh?”

Roland was pacing, and it was almost amusing to see him so agitated.

“Dinnae think I dinnae notice how often ye get called ‘milord’ when ye’re with me.”

Max snorted. What would all the people who’d made that mistake think if they’d known he’d been born a slave?

“Look, Roland, I can’t even keep your fancy titles straight, much less anyone else’s. I’m happy being just me.”

“Aye, but being the guest of honor at that ball didnae hurt either.” Roland stopped pacing and planted his hands on his hips. “Ye’re a prize now as well. Maybe ye’ll enjoy meeting Vanessa’s sister.”

“Don’t forget, I’ve met them both already. When Baroness Oliphant found out ‘the Prince’s guest of honor’ was staying at her inn, she was overjoyed. I had dinner with them a few weeks back.”

“And?” Roland asked eagerly.

Not interested in popping his friend’s bubble of excitement when it came to Vanessa, Max just shrugged.

But before he could push for more, Roland’s head suddenly swung toward the door. “They’re coming!” he hissed, as he threw himself into the chair beside Max’s. “How do I look?”

Max’s brows rose, amused at his friend’s flustered actions. “Like a man anxious to meet a woman.”

Roland’s chuckle sounded rueful. “That about sums up humanity, eh?”

From the corridor, two different voices drifted into the room. “Oh, do stop fussing, Vanessa. Ye look lovely.”

“But do I look lovely enough for him? He’s here!”

Max watched his friend’s lips curl upward proudly.

“Ye look lovely enough for an earl.” That must be Bonnie, the other daughter.

Vanessa’s chuckle was throaty and low. Neither of them likely realized the door was open and they could be heard. “Oh, Bonnie, I’m no’ interested in the laird.”

“Then ye look lovely enough for an earl’s heir.” This sounded teasing.

“Goodness, no’ him! Did ye see him at the ball, Bonnie?” Vanessa chuckled again. “All scarred and broken and brutal. He was wearing a kilt, Bonnie, like some kind of—of—”

“Barbarian?”

“Aye, a barbarian! Can ye imagine having to sit across the table from—from that at meals?” Vanessa’s tone had hardened. “Or worse, listen to him talk. Hmm, do ye think he can talk, or does he just shout cold commands? And letting those hands touch ye—”

“That’s enough, Vanessa,” came Bonnie’s hushed voice, sounding hollow. Max wondered what her expression must look like.

But he didn’t have to guess about Roland’s because he was looking right at the man. His friend had paled as Vanessa had spoken, and now Roland’s lips were pressed together in anger. His pale eyes cut toward Max, who shrugged apologetically.

Okay, so he could’ve told Roland that Vanessa’s beauty made her prideful, but even he hadn’t realized how cruel she could be.

“She needs to be taught a lesson,” Roland hissed.

Max’s brow twitched in question. “What do you have in mind?”

“I dinnae ken, but I’ll think of something. A taste of her own medicine perhaps.”

Max nodded. “Do you want to make excuses and leave?”

Roland’s gaze darted to the door. “Too late.”

“There ye are, my beauties!” Baroness Oliphant crooned from the corridor. “Come along, we must no’ keep our honored guests waiting!” As she swept into the room first, Max saw Roland school his expression into polite interest and tried to mirror him. “Are ye ready for tea, milords?”

Both men had stood as they’d entered, and as the three ladies settled themselves—Bonnie looking embarrassed, and Vanessa preening as she tried to catch Roland’s eye—they sank stiffly back down.

Roland cleared his throat. “Tea would be excellent, thank ye.”

“Wonderful. My Vanessa is skilled at pouring and will do the honors as soon as it arrives.” How much skill did it take to pour tea? “I had to fetch a servant myself to bring it, if ye can believe it.”

“Good help is so hard to find these days,” Roland agreed stiffly.

Baroness Oliphant turned to include her daughters in the conversation. “She was in her father’s workshop of course. I told her to stand by in case we needed anything, but ye ken Ember.”

Ember…was a serving lass then?

Max cleared his throat. “Her father’s workshop? The inn’s servants also work in workshops?”

Baroness Oliphant waved her hand dismissively. “Ember is a…special case. When I married her father—he was quite wealthy, despite being common, ye understand—and since he revitalized the inn, I allowed him a small room near the kitchens for his workshop. Ember tries to escape her duties there.”

Roland didn’t seem impressed. “So this lass is yer daughter?”

Vanessa leaned forward, her fingers rising to rest delicately against her neck, likely to draw attention to her bare skin. “Stepdaughter, milord. She’s always worked as a servant at the inn.”

“Except she gets paid less,” murmured Bonnie.

Max sat back in his chair, trying to process this new information. Not only was Ember actually the serving lass he’d always believed her to be, but she was also the stepdaughter of a lady? Did that not make her a lady herself?

Is that why she’d gone to the ball?

You were at the ball, and you’re no lord. Maybe she just wanted an evening of fun like you did. It was a masquerade.

Max’s thoughts were interrupted by her arrival. Ember stepped into the parlor, her bright hair tucked under that silly cap, and her hands still bearing traces of the oil the engravers used. She was carrying a large tray with a silver tea service and a plate of what looked like small cakes.

“Tea, milady,” she intoned in a hollow voice. “Where would ye like it?”

As Max leaned forward, trying to catch her eye, her stepmother waved airily. “Set