Page 59 of Knight of Destiny

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She shrugged. “Perhaps we can open our own university. Of sorts. I can teach women how not to flirt, and you can teach men how to rein in their arrogance. Are those not our strongest abilities?”

Aaron could not stop himself from roaring with laughter. How had he not noticed her humor before today? And as he gazed down at her, he realized he had not looked past her beauty. “Miss Dunston, you’re as lovely as you are wise. I believe we can work well together using our… strengths.”

“Are you asking me?” she whispered as he took hold of her waist.

A strange nervousness filled Aaron, a feeling to which he was unaccustomed. Yet he pushed it aside. He had something more important to do this day.

“We do tend to argue—”

She snorted. “Tend to?” He gave her a mocking glare, to which she responded with her lips pressed together and her eyes wide with expectation.

“As I was saying, we do tend to argue, and that is because one of us is stubborn—”

She shook her head. “I’m willing to look past your stubbornness, Sir Aaron.”

“Will you not be quiet for a moment to allow me to say what I wish to say?”

Again, she pressed her lips together, this time nodding her agreement.

“Good. Now, I think we can both look past our faults.” Gone was the playfulness, replaced by a cloud of sobriety. “I wish to court you, Miss Dunston. If you’ll have me.”

He had expected a quick response, a sure affirmation, but he was met with a deafening silence. Did she not wish to court? Washerpride so great?

Miss Dunston dropped her gaze. “When you saved me that day in the alley, you said you cared for me. I must know if you truly do.”

“I do,” he replied without hesitation. “I do care for you. Perhaps even more than I care for myself.”

A moment later, she fell against his chest, causing him to draw in a deep breath. Although she had not given a verbal response, he found it unnecessary. Allowing him to hold her had been her answer.

The distant sound of voices ended their embrace. From down the road, he could make out Miss Lockhart walking with Claremont and a man on horseback beside them.

“We can discuss this more later,” Miss Dunston whispered. Then she grinned up at him. “And I’ll write to my parents to tell them the good news.”

Soon, the blacksmith was repairing the wheel, affixing a new lug, and oiling the axletree. It appeared Miss Lockhart had been correct in her assessment of the problem.

Aaron glanced at Miss Dunston. Although he was pleased with their newfound courtship, he could not help but worry about the days ahead. He had no doubt who would emerge victorious in the war for the theater. He made a solemn vow to be gentle when she lost. His victory could be what drove them apart once more.

ChapterTwenty-Six

Three days after the carriage mishap, Louisa found herself standing beside Sir Aaron outside Hawthorn Manor, the home of Mr. Lush. The two-story, gray-and-brown brick abode might have been impressive in its younger days, but it had a rundown feeling to it. Once lush gardens were now overgrown, and more than one of the dozen windows had been replaced by brick.

Given the expected payment for window taxes, it was no surprise. Many property owners either could not afford the fees or simply refused to pay them. Either way, removing windows meant paying less in taxes. The poorest removed every single window, leaving them wallowing in darkness. The cost of candles was beyond many families, some reading and sewing by firelight or rush lights once the sun had set.

Sir Aaron leaned close and whispered, “It’s my understanding that Mr. Lush enjoys a drink. Or four. That should make it easier to convince him that my idea for the theater is the better choice.”

Louisa laughed. Yesterday, she managed to sell eight tickets whilst Sir Aaron received not even a maybe. “I wish you luck,” she whispered back as they walked to the portico. “But I’ve a feeling it will be I who emerges victorious once again.”

They grinned at each other, and Ruth’s groan did not escape Louisa’s ear. She glanced over her shoulder at her friend. Ruth’s smile looked more like a scowl, making Louisa laugh again. Ruth had been quite vocal about how going from house to house was tedious. The last thing she wanted was to be seen as some sort of humanitarian. Or so she said. Louisa knew her grumbling was more an act than truth.

A cast tin bell hung from a hook beside the door, a frayed cord hanging from its clapper. The clang that came from it was more melodious—and much louder—than Louisa had expected.

The door opened to a butler whose livery had seen better days. He had wire gray hair and sallow skin, as if he had not seen the sun in decades.

“Sir Aaron Kirkwood and Miss Dunston to see Mr. Lush,” Sir Aaron said.

“This way, please,” the butler said, his voice quivering.

The trio stepped inside. The small foyer was gloomy with dark-stained walls and a low ceiling. A portrait of a stern-looking man hung from the wall above a side table. A yellowing vase held a bouquet of dried flowers. Above them, a medieval wooden chandelier held six candles, dried wax hanging from their stubs.


Tags: Jennifer Monroe Historical