A Charming Lady for the Intriguing Baronet: A Historical Regency Romance Book Read online

  “Oh, Miss. Yer a laugh, yer are. Get on with yer horses, now. Don’t let Prancer get into those papers of yers.”

  “I shall have them safely hidden away, Isaac. He will not chew another of my sketches.”

  Isaac tipped his hat off to her before disappearing into a horse pen. It didn’t take Selina long to feed the horses and whisper a plea not to relate anything of their meeting to the other horses. It was a silly thing to do, but neither could she resist it. Life would be boring if not for the scattered moments of silliness.

  Selina had also eaten her own apples, feeling satiated indeed. She was on her way, having a ready smile for the maids and farmhands she encountered to the Ha-ha. The low stone wall gave her a choice of grazing herds on one side, and gardeners on the other. Selina had yet to choose whether it would be human or mammal she would sketch, but as she settled on the wall, the weathered face of a gardener intrigued her.

  “Allan!” she called out.

  The gardener looked up, and upon seeing her, grinned.

  “Why, it be Miss Seymour. Out on yer walk again I see?”

  “Yes. I could not imagine sitting in the house for more than a few hours. Ophelia, however, is more than happy to do so. She is my sister, but we are certainly not two peas in a pod when it comes to our habits.”

  “That be true, Miss. I hardly seen Miss Ophelia out and about.”

  He wiped his brow, shifting his hat as he did so. He would be a perfect study for my last sketch of the day.

  “Allan, would you mind terribly if I sat here and sketched you?”

  He scratched his chin. “Sketch, Miss? Whatever for? I’m hardly a sight for sore eyes.”

  “Art is not dependent upon society’s standards of beauty, Allan. Well, at least mine is not. I wish to sketch you in this habitat, capturing the sweat on your brow, the strength in your hands. Do you permit me to?”

  Allan shrugged. “Far be it from me to deny ye, Miss. It seems harmless enough. I would like to see that there sketch once yer done.”

  “I shall surely show it to you, Allan. You may return to your work so that I might start.”

  The gardener nodded, resuming his activity once more. Selina soon became engrossed in the lines that started to take shape before her, glancing up at Allan every now and then as she strived to capture his essence. She wanted to do him justice and perhaps gift it to him. Between the bleats of the lambs behind her and the sturdy work of the gardener before her, Selina entered her own world of silence, colours, and peace.

  Selina noticed that the sky had suddenly darkened, but it did not deter her from her task at hand.

  “Miss Seymour, I do believe that it’s a storm coming this way. Those clouds look ready to burst.”

  “I am sure that it will hold off, Allan. It may only rain this evening.”

  She didn’t look up when she answered him, too concentrated on perfecting the tufts of hair that peeked out from under Allan’s hat.

  “I don’t know, Miss. I think it best ye return to the house. I’m leaving meself–the last rain I was in gave me a sorry head. I stayed abed for days.”

  Selina finally looked up. “Leave if you must, Allan. I will stay here and complete this sketch.”

  “Are ye sure, Miss?”

  She nodded. “Quite sure. If I start to feel little drops, I will make sure to take cover.”

  “As long as yer sure, Miss Seymour. Wouldn’t want ye to catch a nasty cold.”

  Selina smiled. “I shall not do anything of the kind. I am as healthy as an ox.”

  Allan left, uncertainty clear in his eyes. Selina was not bothered by a bit of rain, in fact, she loved it. She resumed her sketching, ignoring the sounds of the storm approaching her. Why run when it is still in the distance? A drop of water fell and landed with a tiny splash on her arm. Still, she chose to ignore it.

  “’Tis only but drizzle. Hardly anything to write home about.”

  When a drop of water landed on her sketch, she hunched forward–rather her hair catch any wayward droplets.

  “The thickness of my hair is a welcome cover today. One of the rare moments when it is more of a help than a bother. Mama refuses for me to cut it. What can I do with hair that I may very well sit on if not pulled up into a careful hairstyle? I daresay that people do not understand the weight of one’s hair on their necks. Quite the troublesome thing. ’Tis a chore to wash, what with the buckets of water and bending over a wash basin as Sophie lathers my hair. If I should have my own way, I would cut it and be done with it.”

  True enough, she felt nary a cold droplet as it hit her hair. Assuming that it did hit her hair. Selina shaded in the contours of Allan’s face, showing each dip and curve that brought his face to life. It was like magic: a few lines, melded together to create a picture that captured the spirit of a person, animal, insect, or even plant or tree. The only other medium that Selina could accredit such magic to was the art of sculpting. Selina used her fingers to smudge certain areas, not caring that she was streaking her brow with the charcoal. A loud thunderclap had her jerking, losing her piece of charcoal in the process. She bent down, gasping when the rain clouds burst open, sending a heavy downpour of cold rain.

  “My heavens!” she exclaimed.

  Selina stuffed what she could down the front of her dress and took off at a sprint, heading towards the house. She laughed as she slipped on the wet grass, landing on her bottom. Selina was back on her feet again, this time more careful with her footing. Many of the servants were scrambling to find shelter, laughing harder as they were slipping and sliding, landing in puddles.

  “For goodness sake, avoid the puddles!” she called out.

  Selina doubted that they heard her because the rain and boom of the thunder were deafening. She found it all somewhat exhilarating, not minding the fact that she was soaked through. The only regret was going to be her sketchbook. She was probably going to have to start again, but she had enough art supplies in her trunk, so she wasn’t in the slightest bit bothered by it. Having the opportunity to begin her sketches again just meant more time to herself and being immersed in nature. Selina still had several weeks of stay on the country estate, so she welcomed the opportunity to get out of the house. She arrived at the front door and thought better of it.

  “What would Mama say? She would have my head once I was all clean and warm.”

  Getting in through the servants’ quarters was her safest option, so she snuck around, taking care to lay low. There was no telling if anyone should happen to look out of the windows and spot her dishevelled form. Selina burst through the kitchen door, laughing and breathless.

  “Selina! Child! What were you doing out in that weather?”

  She nearly groaned. Selina had forgotten that Mrs Albermale, the cook, was almost as bad as her mother when it came to mothering.

  “I was sketching when the clouds decided to burst open and wet me good and proper.”

  “You look like a wet dog with all that hair stuck to your scalp and shoulders!”

  Selina narrowed her eyes at her sister, planting her hands on her hips.

  “Is that so, oh sister dear?”

  Ophelia giggled. “You should see yourself, Selina! If Mama were to see you ...”

  “Then perhaps it’s best that you get wet along with me.”

  Her sister furrowed her brow, her nose scrunched up.

  “I shall not enter into that storm, so I hardly know what you could mean.”

  When Selina stretched her arms out and went running towards her, Ophelia screeched and rounded the table.

  “Don’t you dare, Selina! This is a new dress, and I shall not get it wet.”

  Selina stopped and held her palms out, her face serious.

  “Oh, alright, little sister. You win.”

  Ophelia’s shoulders went down, and she breathed a sigh of relief. It seems that my sister does not know me well enough, or I am a great actress. I choose the latter. Selina ambled toward her sister, and when she was near enoug
h, she grabbed her sister and hugged her tight.

  “Selina!” Ophelia gasped. “How could you do such a thing? My dress!”

  Selina gave her sister a sound kiss on her cheek before releasing her. She had made a visible wet print on her sister’s dress, but it was still nowhere as wet as she was.

  “We do everything together, right? Might as well get wet together too. Do you not think so? You look mighty fetching in that partially wet-dog look.”

  Ophelia looked at her dress and grimaced. Her laughter was unexpected and infectious. Soon Selina and Mrs Albermale joined in, their bodies shaking.

  “Whoooo, you two will be the death of me,” said Mrs Albermale. “If it is not Ophelia trying to convince me to part with sweets, it’s Selina being a basket case. What will I do with the two of you?”

  “Give us sweets?” Ophelia hopefully asked.

  “Not tell Mama about my wet state?” Selina added.

  “Ha! I see now. You wish me to dole out sweets meant for dinner, and lie to your mama?”

  Both the girls nodded, their eyes pleading.

  “You are always telling me that I should eat more to make myself plumper,” said Ophelia. “Do you not think that sweets would do the trick?”

  Selina laughed. “You are hardly a stick figure, Phee. However, I doubt that a few sweets will make much difference.”

  Ophelia shot her a withering look, sticking out her tongue before returning her sweet gaze to the cook.

  “Do not mind my sister, Mrs Albermale. Selina is just jealous that she cannot consume your sweet treats with the same gusto that I can.”

  Selina picked a potato peel off the table and aimed it at her sister, hitting her on her head. Ophelia gasped, her hand going to her head.

  “Selina! I just had my hair washed!”

  She laughed. “As did I. Only I had Mother Nature do the honours of washing my red locks.”

  To prove her point, Selina swung her hair, releasing some wetness onto the occupants of the kitchen. Mrs Albermale, having seen her intent, had used her apron to block her face, but Ophelia had caught it full in the face.

  “Selina! This the last straw!”

  Ophelia ran towards her sister, pushing herself away from the table as she took a corner. Selina had already started running with a squeal, occupying the space her sister had just vacated. She was shorter than her younger sister, but she more than made up for that in speed.

  “You come right back here, Selina!”

  “And admit surrender? Never!”

  Ophelia grabbed a handful of potato peels and pulled her arm back. Selina eyed them, her body ready to duck.

  “You wouldn’t dare.”

  “I take after you, oh big sister of mine. I dare much.”

  Mrs Albermale held her hands out. “Girls, girls! My kitchen is not a place for a food fight.”

  Ophelia paid that no heed and hurled the handful of peels at Selina, who managed to duck from most of them, but a couple still got her. She landed on her knees and crawled under the table, meaning to grab her sister’s legs, but Ophelia was not to be caught in such a manner. She lifted herself onto the table and peered down, waiting for her sister to emerge.

  “Selina! Ophelia! This is hardly proper, girls. Get away from that table at once.”

  Selina ignored the cook, as she knew that Ophelia would as well. This was a customary thing for them to do, and they both understood the rules: whoever surrenders first will be the other one’s servant for one week. This was a game that they had played from their younger years in an effort to amuse themselves during stormy weather. It was as serious as it was playful. Selina gathered the peels on the floor into a pile and listened carefully to the telling creaks of the table above her. She would know exactly where her sister was as she shifted her weight across the table. There was silence. Oh, I see that she is learning. Smart girl.

  “Girls! I shall call your mother if you do not stop this foolishness!”

  “Oh, Mrs Albermale!” they both whined.

  “We are merely playing, we truly are,” said Selina.

  “Yes!” added Ophelia. “Selina and I often do this at home. Do not call our Mama, please. She would surely scold us until our ears rang with her disapproval.”

  “Then you best come away from that table–I have a dinner to prepare.”

  Selina hesitated. To come out would mean defeat, but neither did she want to earn her mother’s ire. She slowly crawled to the end of the table and looked up. To her surprise, Ophelia grinned down at her before dropping a pile of peels onto her face.

  “I won!” She laughed. “You have to do what I say for the week now!

  Ophelia jumped off the table, clearly pleased with herself. Selina hated to admit it, but her sister won fair and square. Gone were the days when Ophelia would constantly be caught by Selina; now she was the victor. Selina smiled.

  “You are the victor, and I am at your service for the week. However, I shall not be doing anything that is untoward or wholly out of character for me.”

  Ophelia held her hands out. “Agreed. But I do believe that I have earned the bragging rights to declare to whosoever I wish that I have conquered my sister.”

  Selina took her sister’s hands, standing up and away from the table.

  “Let us not become too enamoured with the idea, Phee. There are yet other games to play while we are here.”

  “My dear sister, you are ever the sore loser.”

  Selina had to admit that she loved to win, and often did, whether it was chess with her father or charades with her cousins–sans Susan and Martha. They never cared to take part in any games, believing themselves above such frivolous ventures. Although what was so silly about their games, Selina could never understand. If anything, she believed that the cousins were not adept at playing games, and, not wishing to disclose such information that would inevitably taint their supposed perfect charms, they ridiculed those that would partake in games.

  Selina laughed. “You may have your victory, and I shall be your servant, but this is far from over.”

  “You both speak as though you may have an all-out war of some kind,” commented Mrs Albermale. “Why can you not be as the other girls? Mind you, this house would not be as entertaining had you girls been any different.”

  “It is far too boring to be anyone else but ourselves. Besides, Ophelia is lady enough for both of us. I have never met a more poised and sophisticated young woman in my life. I would be jealous if I did not adore my sister. Furthermore, becoming a proper lady has passed me, Mrs Albermale. I am now the age of twenty, a marrying age for many. Ophelia will likely marry before I do, and it would not bother me.”

  Ophelia came to her sister and put an arm around her waist, leaning her head against hers.

  “You are the most precious sister, around. I dare anyone to try and surpass your intelligence.”

  Selina returned the side embrace, her manner thoughtful.

  “Poor Mama had wished to find me a suitor in London this past Season, but perhaps she was consoled by the attention you garnered from a certain gentleman and yet you were not yet introduced!”