Page 1 of His Revelation
CHAPTER 1
“Tiffany, my darling, my angel, you look just stunning.” Mother’s hand gently covered Tiffany’s. “You have no need to fret.”
She hadn’t exactly been fretting, but Tiffanyhadbeen absently plucking one of the ribbons on her gown’s skirts. With her mother, Lady Machara Oliphant, patting her hand so comfortingly, Tiffany dragged her anxious gaze from where it had rested—Dumpkins Estate, visible through the carriage’s window—and sent the baroness a smile.
“I know, Mother. I am not fretting. Honestly.”
“Your habits say otherwise. I have often told you; a lady must always appear calm and confident in public.”
“Yes, Mother,” Tiffany’s smile froze, and she wriggled her hand out from under the other woman’s to smooth down the imaginary wrinkles in her skirts. “I will try harder.”
“You have no need to be anxious about meeting with your lord again, Tiffany. You look absolutely stunning.”
Well, that was true at least. Tiffany felt herself sitting taller under her mother’s praise. After all, her beauty was what had attracted Lysander Oliphant, Viscount Blabloblal, and therefore, surely it was to be lauded.
She didn’t consider herself to be vain; she was just acknowledging a truth. Tiffanywasthe most beautiful lass born to the Oliphants in a generation, so whyshouldn’tshe be worthy of a lord?
Yes, you are worth a viscount. Mother has often said as much.
Actually, Mother wanted Tiffany to marry the heir—Lysander’s older brother—but she had no desire to yoke herself to such a hard man. Not only was he hideously scarred, but he spent his days skulking around the ruined old Oliphant Castle, barking and growling at his servants. She didn’t know anyone who’d actuallyspokento the barbaric man, much less carried on a civilized conversation with him. But he just seemed so…cruel.
She would much rather marry his brother, Viscount Blabloblal, and enjoy the comforts of his estate.
Her chin rose.And you will. Youwillmarry himbecause… “Who else could the most beautiful woman in the land marry, other than the most handsome lord?”
On the opposite bench, her sister snorted indelicately.
“Bonnibelle! What sort of ghastly noise wasthat?”
Doing a wonderful impression of having not been paying attention, Bonnie lowered her book and blinked at their mother. “I am sorry, Mother? I was?—”
“Reading, yes, Iknowit! As always!” Mother scowled at her younger daughter. “You will ruin your eyes, I have told you a hundred times!”
Seeming not to be affected by their mother’s scolding, Bonnie placed the book upside down on her lap, then reached for her notebook and pencil. “Yes, Mother. A hundred times at least,” she murmured, making a notation.
“And have I told you many times that a man will never want a woman who spends her days with her nose in a book? Oh, Bonnie, if only you had taken to embroidery or music, or even flower arranging, the way you obsess over those silly old books!”
“This is neither silly nor old, Mother,” murmured Bonnie in return, still writing. “This is a history of the Highlands, published by Mr. Grimm in Inverness. Quite recent and utterly fascinating.” Before Mother could say anything else, Bonnie sent her and her sister a tight smile. “Books teach us things flower arranging cannot.”
Brava! Tiffany wanted to cry but knew from her mother’s sour look it would be unappreciated. Instead, she dipped her chin just slightly in her sister’s direction; her only acknowledgement of the superior volley.
Attempting to change the subject, Tiffany asked, “Is this research, Bonnie? I thought your book was complete?” She should know; she helped edit the thing.
As they trotted into the courtyard of Dumpkins Estate, Bonnie finished her notation and closed the notebook with a flourish. “That book is complete, yes, but I am compiling notes for the next one. I believe a series of vignettes about Oliphant history would be well-regarded in certain circles?—”
“Oh,Bonnibelle,” their mother tittered, rolling her eyes. “A female author? Do you honestly believe anyone will be purchasing these books from you?”
“No, Mother,” Bonnie said stiffly, as the carriage rocked to a stop. “I believe apublisherwill purchase the rights to the books from me, then print my stories to share with the world.”
Mother waved her hand dismissively. “It is hardly a proper sort of plan for a young lady. You will ruin your eyesight and your posture, hunched over those books, and no respectable publisher will agree to print?—”
“Mary Shelley, Jane Austen, the Bronte sisters? There are dozens of women who have been writing and publishing books for the last century, Mother,” Bonnie was quick to argue.
“Oh, those arenovels,” Mother sniffed. “Novels hardly count. Men run the publishing business, my dear deluded darling daughter, and it is best to just accept the chances of success in that field are very slim. Ah,finally!” she called, as the footman opened the door and offered his hand. “Coming, dears?”
As Mother stood quickly to be the first to alight from the carriage, Tiffany glanced at Bonnie, who was scribbling something yet again in her notebook. When Bonnie caught her looking, she sent a wink.
“Dear deluded darling daughter,” Bonnie whispered. “It was too good not to record.”
