My Heart Stood Still Lynn Kurland (some good books to read TXT) 📖

Unless Thomas had returned.

Which she knew by the lack of his automobile in the front he hadn't.

But that wasn't to say he wouldn't.

And that would leave her explaining her cowardice in the face of his invitation, which if she'd had any sense should have sent her back up to the keep to hide in her garden. But her cowardly ways she had put behind her once and for all. How better to show it than to go inside and mingle with those of his ilk, such as Mrs. Pruitt? It would keep her occupied until Thomas returned.

Iolanthe took a deep breath, then walked through the door. The woman in question was cleaning her stove with a fierceness that even Iolanthe had to admire. She pitied any speck of dirt that tried to hide from Mrs. Pruitt's seeking cloth. Indeed, the woman's concentration looked to be such that Iolanthe couldn't bring herself to interrupt her, so she made herself at home on the boot bench near the door and waited.

She tried not to think about the reasons she hadn't gone with Thomas, which included a fear of automobiles and an even greater fear that he'd get her to a large city and she would embarrass him in some way.

By being a ghost, for instance.

"Eeeek!"

Iolanthe blinked, then realized that Mrs. Pruitt was staring at her, her hand clutched to her throat.

Iolanthe tried to smile in a friendly fashion. "Good e'en to you."

"Ah ..." Mrs. Pruitt began, then she got hold of herself. "Ah, well, the same to ye, miss."

"I've no mind to disturb your work," Iolanthe said, lest the woman think she had an untoward purpose in mind.

Mrs. Pruitt felt for a chair and sank down into it with apparent gratitude. "Not a'tall," she said weakly. "I was merely startled. I'm finished with me business here."

Iolanthe nodded and smiled companionably. "You've a fine kitchen here, Mrs. Pruitt."

"Thank ye, miss."

"Your guests are put to bed for the night?"

"Aye," Mrs. Pruitt managed. "All but young Thomas. I expected him to arrive in time to eat me stew, but 'twasn't to be."

"Will he return tomorrow?" Iolanthe asked, trying to sound as if she couldn't have cared less.

"I should think so."

"Hmmm," Iolanthe said.

A silence fell.

Iolanthe leaned back against the wall and folded her hands in her lap. She had no doubt Mrs. Pruitt was bursting with questions.

"Did you come to see your grandsire?" Mrs. Pruitt asked at length.

"Laird Ambrose?" Iolanthe asked.

"Aye," Mrs. Pruitt said reverently.

It was almost out of her mouth that the man was her nephew a time or two removed and not her grandsire, but that would have entailed explaining several things she wasn't sure Mrs. Pruitt could stomach, so she merely shook her head and let the misinterpretation stand.

"I think he's out for the evening," Iolanthe said. "Actually, I was just hungering for a little talk, and I thought perhaps you might be amenable."

Mrs. Pruitt looked as if St. George himself had come down and asked her to come with him on a quest. Iolanthe had a hard time not feeling ridiculously pleased over Mrs. Pruitt's obvious delight.

And then she had a hard time keeping up with the woman's conversation.

Mrs. Pruitt talked the way she cleaned: vigorously and with a thoroughness that left nothing to chance. Iolanthe nodded and agreed and mostly listened while the woman rattled on as if she hadn't had a good talk in years. By the time Iolanthe found herself peppered with questions about Ambrose, she was too overwhelmed to deny Mrs. Pruitt any answers.

"I think the laird Ambrose's marriage was arranged," Iolanthe managed when an answer to that was required. "I think the girl bore him a son or two, then passed on. I daresay it wasn't a love match."

"What a pity," Mrs. Pruitt said, sounding as if it wasn't. At all. "And he never wed again?"

"I daresay he was consumed with leading our clan. 'Tis a heavy responsibility, you know."

"Oh, aye," Mrs. Pruitt said, nodding vigorously. "I can just imagine. Poor man. I daresay he could do with a bit of pampering, wouldn't ye say?"

"Oh, aye," Iolanthe agreed, doing her best to hide her smile. "He's had a lonely afterlife."

Mrs. Pruitt was on her feet and bustling about so quickly, it almost made Iolanthe dizzy.

"That can be seen to," Mrs. Pruitt said firmly.

The dining chamber door swung open, and Iolanthe wondered if the reckoning of her enjoyment at Ambrose's expense would come sooner than she expected. But it wasn't Ambrose.

It was Thomas.

"Mrs. Pruitt," he said politely. Then he looked to his left.

And he smiled.

Iolanthe thought she might perish from the sweetness of his look.

"My lady," he said.

She could only swallow in reply.

"Miss MacLeod has been telling me of the laird," Mrs. Pruitt said, her excitement barely contained. "You'll have to fend for yourself. I'm off to tidy up me hair for when he comes back, the poor, lonely man."

And with that, she was off.

Thomas came across the kitchen and sat down next to Iolanthe on the bench.

"You've been making trouble," he noted.

"Trouble?" she asked innocently. "I would never make trouble."

"He won't appreciate it."

" 'Twill be good for him. He's always making matches for others. Perhaps 'tis time someone made a match for him."

Thomas leaned back against the wall. "And what matches has he been making of late?"

"I daren't ask."

"Hmmm," he said. "Yes, maybe it's better not to know." He pulled a book from under his arm and laid it on his lap. "I brought you something."

She looked at it and frowned. "What is it?"

"A book on costumes. Different kinds of dresses worn by different women through the ages. I thought it might help you decide what to wear for your portrait. I'll turn the pages for you, if you like."

"I can do it," she said, feeling ashamed all of a sudden. She could do it, aye, but 'twould cost her dearly.

"But if I do it," Thomas said, "then I get to sit with you for as long as it takes to look at all the dresses.