The Lyon's Laird - Hildie McQueen Page 0,2

book club that met at The Tattered Page, a local bookshop two blocks from Hyde Park. The gatherings were a weekly highlight for Evangeline, who rarely ventured out.

Jarod Tuttle, the owner of The Tattered Page, was a rather awkward man in his late thirties. He was another reason she and the other ladies looked forward to the meetings. Despite his shyness, he was attractive and attentive to their group. He never criticized their choice of books, which made him acceptably forward-thinking in their eyes. They’d all harbored light crushes on Jarod over time.

“It’s sad that I am grateful when my sister leaves,” her mother said later that day after the three women left. “I must admit to secretly wishing she would move to the country like they’ve been considering.”

Evangeline laughed. “My aunt considers you not only a sister, but a friend. The poor thing doesn’t realize she has none.”

Her mother’s lips twitched. “I know.” She let out a sigh. “My trembling gets worse whenever she’s around, which seems to give her glee.”

“The doctor does advise that you avoid stressful situations.” Evangeline studied her mother’s hands, which were still at the moment.

Evangeline stood and went to the doorway. “I will oversee dinner preparations. Let’s pray that Father’s business associate who is joining us is pleasant.” She met her mother’s warm gaze. “Remain here and rest.”

Her mother reclined against the pale-yellow upholstery of the sofa and lifted the teacup to her mouth. “Thank you, darling.”

Through the windowpanes, sunlight filled the room, giving it a beautiful glow. Evangeline fought the urge to go to the tall windows and peer out. Prone to daydreaming, she could stand at the doorway to their garden for hours and not realize the passage of time.

Down the short corridor and past the dining room, Evangeline made her way to the kitchen. Just as she entered, Martha, the cook and head housekeeper, hurried from the table in the center of the room to look into a pot.

“It smells delicious,” Evangeline proclaimed.

“If it doesn’t burn first,” Martha replied, giving the young maid, Fran, a stern look. “See about chopping the rest of the carrots,” she instructed.

Fran gave Evangeline a bright smile. “Miss Genie, did you go out to the garden yet? It’s a beautiful day.”

“Not yet,” Evangeline replied. “You’re welcome to come with me when I do go.”

Martha cleared her throat. “Fran most certainly will not go about the garden. She has much to do. Remember your place, Fran.”

“I’m sure it’s fine for us to…” Evangeline started.

“No, it is not, Miss Genie,” the older woman said, also using her family nickname, which made Evangeline want to laugh. “Your mother has corrected both of you on plenty of occasions about all this frolicking.”

Evangeline winked at Fran before looking to Martha. “Mother is resting, so I came to ensure you are made aware we will have a guest tonight. A gentleman.”

“Very well, Miss. I will ensure everything is just right.” When Martha turned her attention back to the meal preparation and Fran began chopping, Evangeline strolled back out of the room.

The dining room was not as ornate as other homes she’d visited, as her mother preferred understated décor. The walls were a soft gray with square off-white inlayed wainscoting around the room. Centered in the space was a rectangle mahogany table with four chairs on each side and two on the ends. The only décor on the table was an oversized vase that spilled over with flowers and thin branches that had been expertly arranged by her mother.

Perfectly centered over the table was a sparkling crystal chandelier.

Evangeline walked around the perimeter of the room with a critical eye. She inspected the surfaces of the sideboards and the two red upholstered settees that were positioned across from each other against walls. Everything was acceptable for company. The only tasks left were to instruct the table be set with the blue china and the new set of crystal goblets her father had acquired during a brief trip to Austria.

Just then, Fran walked in carrying a tray upon which were folded napkins and silverware.

“Perfect timing,” Evangeline said and continued on with instructions to Fran as to which items were to be used. Once she was assured the young maid understood what was expected, she decided a walk alone in the garden was warranted.

As if her cat had some sort of mind reading ability, Lucille raced past and stood next to the set of French doors. She meowed softly and rubbed against the door to make