real, which she suspected it was, considering she had seen her father fall to his death with her own eyes. Something good had to come out of all the darkness that surrounded her. She just wasn’t sure that the something she referred to was named Stefan. Maybe her curse was to be pursued by a man she could never truly have.
With one final glance around her, she sighed, trimmed the candles, and made her way to her bedroom. Tomorrow Stefan would begin his courting. She wondered if he even knew the meaning of the word. For although he had been home from India for months now, he still had the manners of a savage.
Chapter Five
How much do I love thee? Let me count the ways.
—Elizabeth Browning
Stefan marched down the long poorly lit hallway to his room and pulled open the door with more force than necessary. The girl wanted wooing? He smirked as he took a seat next to the roaring fire. Stefan rubbed his eyes with his hand and bit his lip in thought. It wasn’t the idea, more the principal of the matter. Why spend time wooing when in the end they had to marry regardless of circumstances?
He sat in silence, as the options lay before him. He could either one, force her hand; or two, woo and hope she would come to her senses. What did he know about wooing anyway? It had never been necessary, and since his return from India, he had more trouble hiding from women then trying to pursue them. The trouble, it seemed, had begun when he made a complete spectacle of himself at the Season’s last ball. Only to be glorified in the society papers the very next day by Mrs. Peabody—whoever she was, she obviously held him in high regard, for every single article mentioned him in some way or another.
His favorite meal always included boiled potatoes, which made every woman within his vicinity strike up a conversation about the stupid vegetable . He preferred a certain bay over every other horse which always led to women trying to talk with him about horseflesh, never a good idea when the women hadn’t a clue as to what they were talking about. At one point a woman confused a Grey with the actual color and then proceeded to ask him why he preferred such a bland color instead of yellow or pink. Needless to say, he walked away quite frustrated. But the worst of Mrs. Peabody’s crimes also happened to be a personal favorite. What his choice hair color would be on a woman. That very piece of information seemed harmless at the time, that is until he went to a small dinner gathering and noticed quite a few of women trying to powder their hair in order to gain the blonde hair color he so obviously adored. Never mind that women had stopped wearing hair powder years prior. Apparently it was to make a come back. Not only did he sneeze each time a woman came near him that night, but one of the young ladies had an unfortunate accident leading to her hair being set on fire.
Whoever that deuced Mrs. Peabody was, his life had been absolute torture in the months following his return to polite society. It was no wonder his patience was wearing thin. Two beacons of society had fallen because of the curse, and now he was in the middle of nowhere trying to woo a woman who danced alone in meadows! Not that he should be casting disparagement upon her sanity, since only hours ago he had asked his horse for help.
By his weak calculations, he hadn’t any time to lose. The girl wanted him to try and so he would, but if he failed…
“Blast,” he said aloud. He could not fail— would not fail. It wasn’t an option for him to even consider.
Stefan heard his valet enter and rose from his seat. “Alfred?”
“Your Grace?” He made quick work pulling out Stefan’s dressing gown and robe.
“Have you any expertise with women?”
Alfred paused his fingers on the soft silk of the dressing gown, seemingly frozen in place. “If this is about that godmother, my apologies for not warning you of her manner, sir. It is rumored that she’s taken a
With one final glance around her, she sighed, trimmed the candles, and made her way to her bedroom. Tomorrow Stefan would begin his courting. She wondered if he even knew the meaning of the word. For although he had been home from India for months now, he still had the manners of a savage.
Chapter Five
How much do I love thee? Let me count the ways.
—Elizabeth Browning
Stefan marched down the long poorly lit hallway to his room and pulled open the door with more force than necessary. The girl wanted wooing? He smirked as he took a seat next to the roaring fire. Stefan rubbed his eyes with his hand and bit his lip in thought. It wasn’t the idea, more the principal of the matter. Why spend time wooing when in the end they had to marry regardless of circumstances?
He sat in silence, as the options lay before him. He could either one, force her hand; or two, woo and hope she would come to her senses. What did he know about wooing anyway? It had never been necessary, and since his return from India, he had more trouble hiding from women then trying to pursue them. The trouble, it seemed, had begun when he made a complete spectacle of himself at the Season’s last ball. Only to be glorified in the society papers the very next day by Mrs. Peabody—whoever she was, she obviously held him in high regard, for every single article mentioned him in some way or another.
His favorite meal always included boiled potatoes, which made every woman within his vicinity strike up a conversation about the stupid vegetable . He preferred a certain bay over every other horse which always led to women trying to talk with him about horseflesh, never a good idea when the women hadn’t a clue as to what they were talking about. At one point a woman confused a Grey with the actual color and then proceeded to ask him why he preferred such a bland color instead of yellow or pink. Needless to say, he walked away quite frustrated. But the worst of Mrs. Peabody’s crimes also happened to be a personal favorite. What his choice hair color would be on a woman. That very piece of information seemed harmless at the time, that is until he went to a small dinner gathering and noticed quite a few of women trying to powder their hair in order to gain the blonde hair color he so obviously adored. Never mind that women had stopped wearing hair powder years prior. Apparently it was to make a come back. Not only did he sneeze each time a woman came near him that night, but one of the young ladies had an unfortunate accident leading to her hair being set on fire.
Whoever that deuced Mrs. Peabody was, his life had been absolute torture in the months following his return to polite society. It was no wonder his patience was wearing thin. Two beacons of society had fallen because of the curse, and now he was in the middle of nowhere trying to woo a woman who danced alone in meadows! Not that he should be casting disparagement upon her sanity, since only hours ago he had asked his horse for help.
By his weak calculations, he hadn’t any time to lose. The girl wanted him to try and so he would, but if he failed…
“Blast,” he said aloud. He could not fail— would not fail. It wasn’t an option for him to even consider.
Stefan heard his valet enter and rose from his seat. “Alfred?”
“Your Grace?” He made quick work pulling out Stefan’s dressing gown and robe.
“Have you any expertise with women?”
Alfred paused his fingers on the soft silk of the dressing gown, seemingly frozen in place. “If this is about that godmother, my apologies for not warning you of her manner, sir. It is rumored that she’s taken a
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