Once Upon a Tower

“I trust that we can avoid that sort of overwrought emotion,” Gowan said.

Edie laughed. “You’re quoting from my first letter to you!”

“Paraphrasing,” Gowan said. “I’m afraid that I do not remember your exact words.”

“I cannot imagine the two of us in that sort of tangle.”

Gowan began guiding Edie toward the door, the crowd parting before a duke like minnows before a shark. “Do you have a temper?” he asked her. “I don’t mean to be rude, but your father looked a trifle irritable.”

“I’ve spent a good part of my life playing peacemaker,” Edie said. “The household couldn’t have survived if I’d begun indulging in fits of temper, too. What about you?”

“Regrettably, I do have a temper.” They reached the entryway and he sent a footman for his carriage. “In fact, your father and I might have more in common than I thought.” He didn’t look entirely pleased at that idea.

“But you appear so composed!” Edie exclaimed. “In fact, I was slightly worried at first that you might never put aside your ducal calm.”

“I think it’s more worrisome that you have never been given free rein to lose your temper.”

Edie laughed. “I did tell Layla that I would knock you over the head with my cello if you took a mistress.”

Gowan gave her a wry grin. “I lose my head and say things that I don’t actually mean. It has taken me twenty-two years to admit it, but I can be a hotheaded dunce.”

“I would rather like to see you in a passion, I think.”

“You will.” His voice stroked her skin like a velvet kiss.

“I didn’t mean that!”

“When I lose my temper, I shout like a madman.”

Edie felt a prickle of unease. “That doesn’t sound very pleasant.”

“It’s not. I’ve had to train my household to bear with me. They never obey me when I speak in a complete rage.”

“What exactly does such a lack of obedience entail?”

Gowan grimaced. “Very occasionally, I throw people out of my household. And then regret it. But I can assure you that this has happened only three or four times since I inherited my title.”

“Should I anticipate being tossed on the doorstep?” Edie didn’t know what to think about that. Her father certainly had a temper, but he’d never threatened to disown or dismiss anyone. He just shot out some angry sentences and disappeared from the house.

The butler appeared, holding her cloak. Gowan took it from him and put it around her shoulders himself. “Never. Though I can’t promise not to banish a man who ogles my bride.”

Edie looked up at him, feeling a distinctly female thrill as she met his eyes. Still . . . much though his deep male possessiveness felt delightful, it wouldn’t be so in reality. “Please don’t turn into my father . . . you’ve seen how jealous he is. Though I should add that you’ve just seen my family at its worst. Most of the time we are both sober and sane.”

“Unlike my family, then,” Gowan stated.

Edie waited until they were seated opposite each other in the quiet luxury of his carriage before asking, “You have told me of inebriation, but what of madness?”

There was that glimmer of a smile again. “It takes a mild form. I have three aunts, each of whom is obsessed by her dog. The dogs have birthdays, jeweled leashes, and more coats than I.”

“More coats?”

“Velvet for winter; oiled linen for summer. Their own fur is apparently inadequate for weathering Scottish winds. Various other animals periodically join their household. My aunts—the ladies Sarah, Letty, and Doris—are convinced that any animal can be trained like a dog, if only one applies oneself to the task.”

“Any animal? What are they expected to learn? Can a rabbit be trained to bark?”

“A dog is not trained to bark,” Gowan pointed out. “Training, with respect to animals, might be summed up as an ability to answer to a given name, control the bladder, confine any droppings to a chosen arena (not the drawing room carpet), and in general respond to commands.”

“I suppose you might train a cat,” Edie said, though she was doubtful. She had never had close contact with animals of any sort. “Though from what I understand, they do not respond readily.”

Gowan shook his head. “Cats lie in the distant past. My aunts have proceeded through several species of bird, a vole, a hedgehog, three squirrels, and a whole family of rabbits. At the moment they are working with pigs. Piglets, actually.”

“They’re training piglets?”

“They prefer to have it be known that they are ‘domesticating’ them.” His tone was so dry that Edie broke into giggles. “When I last paid them a visit, the piglets had learned their names—which are, by the way, Petal, Cherry, and Marigold. By now, I have to assume that the triplets have probably become mothers. Or bacon.” He stretched out his long legs and his boot brushed Edie’s slipper. Even that fleeting touch made her shiver, which was absurd. Absurd.

“For my part,” she said, collecting herself, “I would think personal hygiene considerably more pressing than names.”

“All three piglets were making excellent progress,” Gowan said gravely. “They were paraded in front of me at dinner, looking quite pink and scrubbed and adorned with matching ribbons. Reportedly, there had been a few regrettable incidents, but far fewer than you might suppose.”

“I shall be quite delighted to meet them,” Edie said, with equal solemnity. And then she laughed again. “Do you know, I’ve never been close to any sort of animal except a horse. I do know how to ride.”

Gowan waved his hand dismissively. “Horses are in the dark ages of the history of domestication.”

“Where did your aunts come up with the idea?”

“Letty posited the notion as a girl, and all three picked up the challenge.” His foot touched Edie’s again. But his face didn’t change. Perhaps his move was inadvertent? It made her toes curl.

“But what makes them think that they will succeed?”

He looked surprised at that. “Why shouldn’t they? If anyone can domesticate a pig, I would put my money on Aunt Sarah, in particular. She had a squirrel eating from her hand last year.”

His certainty made Edie smile. She had grown up knowing that she was a member of the peerage, and as such, had a claim to blue blood and the rest of it. But the truth was that her father only truly cared about music, and so did she. That fact had diluted the effect of upper-class breeding. In Gowan, and presumably his aunts, there had been no dilution. Hundreds of years of self-assurance had been drilled into him with the same rigor as had her musical scales.

His raised eyebrow let it be known that his aunts could certainly train a pig, if a pig was to be trained, and probably even if it wasn’t. “It’s something of a scientific experiment, you understand. Curiosity runs in my family. In the last few generations most of us have been obsessed with one investigation or another. Even my father’s death could be put down to an unfortunate attempt to prove a point.”

“And you?” Edie asked.

Gowan shrugged. “I take some interest in wheat. I am cultivating a new variety at the moment.”