The Scholar and the Scot Read online

  The Scholar and the Scot

  Caroline Lee

  Contents

  Copyright

  About this Book

  Other Books by Caroline Lee

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Epilogue

  AUTHOR’S NOTE

  Other Books by Caroline Lee

  About the Author

  Copyright

  Copyright © 2021, Caroline Lee

  [email protected]

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. This book contains material protected under International and Federal Copyright Laws and Treaties. Any unauthorized reprint or use of this material is prohibited. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without express written permission from the author.

  First edition: 2021

  Printing/manufacturing information for this book may be found on the last page

  Cover: EDHGraphics

  About this Book

  Olive L'arbre has a brilliant mind but poor vision, mostly of herself. While at Fangfoss Manor with her dearest friends, and a batch of eligible, if not entirely desirable, gentlemen, Olive believes none of them could ever be as interested in her, or her recent paper on Roman architecture, as she is in the latest edition of Journal of the Society of Archaeology. Certainly, none of them could possibly hold her attention better than the daring exploits of her favorite, and likely fictitious, explorer.

  But then she meets a man who seems much too interesting, and even more interested in her, to be true.

  Phineas Prince is an adventurer with a fascination for exploring history in far-flung locales. When his sister insists he accompany her to Fangfoss Manor for the summer, his only hope for excitement is the possibility of finding the match to the artifact previously obtained from the Roman ruins located there…or so he thinks.

  But just as he’s prepared to entertain himself for the season, he meets a beautiful scholar, one who just might be his perfect match.

  Beware: This Victorian RomCom is full of plenty of naughty bits and laugh-out-loud moments! You’re going to love revisiting the house party of the summer at Fangfoss Manor!

  Other Books by Caroline Lee

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  Steamy Scottish Historicals:

  The Sinclair Jewels (4 books)

  The Highland Angels (5 books)

  The Hots for Scots (8 books)

  Highlander Ever After (3 books)

  Bad in Plaid (6 books)

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  Black Aces (3 books)

  Sunset Valley (3 books)

  Everland Ever After (10 books)

  The Sweet Cheyenne Quartet (6 books)

  Sweet Contemporary Westerns

  Quinn Valley Ranch (5 books)

  River’s End Ranch (14 books)

  The Cowboys of Cauldron Valley (7 books)

  The Calendar Girls’ Ranch (6 books)

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  Chapter 1

  Slowly, her friends’ conversation pierced Olive L’arbre’s concentration, enough to draw her away from the stunning exploits of Aberdeen Jones. She huffed slightly in irritation then lowered the journal to peer over the top of it at the rest of the gathered ladies.

  What were they discussing?

  “Don’t your tongues get tangled when you do that?”

  “Well of course! That’s the point. See, when his tongue does this…’oo ung us is.”

  “Angeline, we can’t understand you when your tongue is in that posit— Oh, I see what you’re doing now.”

  The rest of the group of gathered women burst into laughter at the antics of Lady Angeline O’Shea, who was not-quite-engaged-but-surely-any-moment-now to the Marquess of Rothbury. Olive had to admit the demonstration—complete with dear Angeline holding her hands at an approximation of where Rothbury’s shoulders would be—was really quite amusing.

  Interesting enough, at least, to compel her to lower the journal further.

  “The best part isnae his tongue in yer mouth, ladies, but the other things he can do with it.” Lady Raina Prince, who was so delightfully free since being thoroughly ruined all those years ago, winked at the rest of them. “Remember those books Olive used to find for us?”

  As Lady Clementine Hammond nudged a giggling Lady Charity Manners hard enough for the later to topple sideways on the settee, Olive rolled her eyes.

  Kissing? Is that what they were discussing? Well, what was so interesting about kissing? She’d been kissed dozens—hundreds—of times and hadn’t felt anything remotely intriguing enough to put down her book.

  The part of her mind which was always watching and analyzing pointed out that perhaps she shouldn’t be basing the comparison on kisses she’d shared with her friends, her sisters, her parents, or even her brothers.

  Oh, and a particularly slobbery beagle name King George.

  Nonsense. Kisses are kisses.

  But from what she could recall, only King George’s kisses had involved a tongue.

  Hmm.

  “Uh-oh. Olive’s got that look on her face again.”

  Snapping from her contemplation, Olive raised a brow at Melanie Pennypacker, their brash American friend. “What look?”

  “The look that says you are not paying attention to whatever we are talking about,” Charity explained, “because you are thinking about much more important things.”

  “More important than kissing?” huffed Angeline, as Clementine—who’d become engaged to the dashing Marquess of Dorset at the onset of this house party—laughingly called out “Impossible!”

  Olive lifted her chin. “I was contemplating the nature of kissing if you must know.”

  “Excellent! That is a much more satisfactory topic of contemplation than whatever boring old tome it is you are reading.” Charity’s eyes were twinkling as she teased, while lounging along the arm of the settee as if her bones were made of pudding. Perhaps they were—the woman had the ability to seem at home wherever she went. “And more satisfying as well!”

  “Charity!” gasped Melanie, clutching at the neckline of her gown. “Never say you’ve had experience with kissing!”

  It was the overly shocked tone which had them all giggling, and even Olive chuckled, remembering some of the antics they’d all gotten into.

  As Melanie gasped again, theatrically, Clementine burst out, asking, “What are you doing?”

  “I’m attempting to clutch my pearls, only I seem to have left them in my room. Drat that maid, to have left off the most important piece of my affronted-society-matron costume!”

  Since they all knew Melanie was as far from a society matron as possible—and not just because she was an American dollar princess, sent to London for schooling and to snag a titled husband—her friends dissolved into giggles once again.

  “You forgot your pearls tonight of all nights?” Charity called out, still chuckling. “When you may have the chance to dance with the duke?”

  “Oh, does the duke like
pearl necklaces?” Melanie quipped back.

  Clementine called out, “Most men do!” and then dissolved into laughter again, along with the rest, leaving Olive to wonder what she’d missed.

  Oh. This was a reference to one of those illustrated how-to books about sex, wasn’t it?

  Pearl necklace, pearl necklace…

  Drat it all, why couldn’t she recall what a pearl necklace was when it came to double-entendres?

  See? This is much more interesting than the latest copy of the Journal of the Society of Archaeology, isn’t it?

  It had been years since all her friends were together, and here was Olive, holding a bundle of paper.

  Yes, well, I only get a new adventure from Aberdeen Jones every quarter, don’t I?

  Still, despite the edge-of-her-seat archaeological adventures the man always seemed involved with, she could afford to put off reading this edition for a while. After all, this was a special time with her friends, wasn’t it?

  As the conversation swirled around her, centering on tongues and lips, and occasionally, other bits Olive wasn’t so certain about, she closed the journal and lowered it to her lap, exhaling slightly. There. That wasn’t so hard, and it was definitely worth it.

  They were gathered in Melanie’s room to finish their last-minute toilette before going downstairs for dinner and the dancing Miss Julia—I’m sorry, the newly minted Countess of Fangfoss—had arranged. It had become a bit of a tradition to gather before the weekly Friday evening parties and try to determine which one of them would be the unlucky lady the countess would thrust at the Duke of Cashingham that evening.

  It was worth it to hear her dear friends’ laughter once more.

  Olive, like her sisters and the women gathered in this room, had been sent to Twittingham Academy, one of society’s elite finishing schools.

  But it hadn’t quite worked.

  Oh, her time at school had been enlightening and interesting since Miss Julia Twittingham had believed in allowing young girls the chance to expand their minds, as well as their marriage prospects. Olive had been granted access to more books—about all sorts of topics—than even her father’s library contained and had only been mocked slightly for her perhaps-unhealthy interest in history, art, and ancient artifacts.

  And then she’d met Clementine, Angeline, Charity, Melanie, and Raina and had learned that school could be about more than just learning. Or rather, she could learn about all sorts of things which hadn’t been written in a book.

  Learning which didn’t come from a book?

  That concept had been…wonderfully eye-opening.

  Olive had learned about loyalty and friendship, and the kind of devotion which meant open doors and welcoming hugs. She’d learned what it meant to care about someone so strongly you wept over their heartaches—even if they were delivered via letter—and rejoiced in their successes. Even after they graduated from Miss Twittingham’s finishing school, they remained in touch weekly, and Olive cherished those letters.

  When Clementine had lost her Walter so soon after falling in love with him, Olive had convinced her parents to allow her to visit her dear friend so she could hold Clementine’s hand and weep with her. When Angeline had written of her father’s illness, and her plans to nurse him through the remaining months of his life, Olive had gathered volumes of medical research on his ailments and shipped them to Ireland, in the hopes of providing her friend some optimism. And when Raina—

  Well, the best any of them could do was to not turn their backs on Raina as the rest of Society had done.

  The point was, these were her closest friends. Even her sisters, accomplished over-achievers that they were, didn’t love and accept Olive’s quirks as easily as these five friends did. They hadn’t all been together in the same place since graduation until now.

  When the invitation had come from Miss Julia—Lady Fangfoss—to spend the summer at Fangfoss Manor, Olive had recognized the attempt at finding them all husbands. After all, weren’t all house parties thinly veiled excuses for matchmaking? Or perhaps, according to her more experienced friends, naughty shenanigans?

  Was there such a thing as non-naughty shenanigans?

  Wait, what was the opposite of naughty?

  Hmm.

  Olive had almost begged off the invitation. After all, her parents long ago told her she didn’t have to marry if she didn’t wish it, and that there would always been a place at home for her if she wanted to spend the rest of her life with her father’s books.

  Books are wonderful, but what would it be like to actually experience some of these adventures? To see Paris by moonlight, or ride a gondola, or stand in a ruined temple in India and imagine the sights and sounds and smells as they must have been?

  Olive was cursed with an active imagination, but only enough self-confidence to fill a thimble. How would she ever make her dreams happen?

  So no, she’d had no intention of traveling to Fangfoss Manor. But when Olive had learned her friends were also invited and would be coming together for the first time after so many years apart, she’d quickly changed her mind.

  The other five misfits from Twittingham Academy—MisTwits?—were also unmarried, although Clementine and Angeline were moving quickly in that direction. And judging from the laughter around her, more than a few of her friends didn’t mind being thrust together with eligible young bachelors and had taken advantage of the situation.

  Tongues and lips and more, oh my.

  Perhaps—and Olive was only beginning to admit this might be a truth to consider—there was more to life than books?

  Things like travel and writing and adventure, and yes, even tongues.

  “She’s doing it again,” whispered Melanie loudly, offering Charity her hand. As she pulled Charity upright, she smirked. “Olive’s looking thoughtful again.”

  “Oh!” Clementine slapped her hand to her mouth; her eyes twinkling. “Do you remember when we were all forced to take watercolor classes?”

  “I remember Angeline was the only one of us any good at it,” Raina drawled as she rose to her feet. Like the previous Fridays, she wasn’t dressed for the entertainment, and Olive knew their friend would likely spend the evening in her room, seeing no need to mingle with Society. “She was the only one who had any artistic talent.”

  Melanie was busy brushing wrinkles from her gown as Charity adjusted her necklace. She was the one who pointed out, “I wasn’t terrible.”

  “No, no,” Clementine’s fingers were resting on her lips, as if she couldn’t contain her glee. “I was thinking of the duck. Remember? We had to paint a duck in a pond.”

  Melanie’s eyes went wide as a throaty chuckle burst from Charity.

  “And Olive informed the entire class that the male duck has a corkscrew penis!” Melanie blurted.

  “Aye!” Raina was chortling now. “And when I asked why, she told me it was because the female duck had evolved a corkscrew vagina, except—”

  “—it corkscrews the other way!” both Melanie and Clementine finished for her amid peals of laughter, as if it were a story told multiple times.

  Olive rolled her eyes.

  “Honestly, you’ll never let me live that down, will you?” she muttered. “It’s only logical that they corkscrew in opposite directions—”

  Still giggling, Angeline skipped to Olive’s side. “Oh stop teasing her, girls. We all owe much to Olive’s love of obscure facts.”

  “Even if they did get us sent to bed without supper for giggling most indelicately for the rest of that class,” murmured Clementine to Melanie.

  On her way to the door, Raina called out, “Olive got me through my literature studies, I ken that well.”

  “Yes, we owe her thanks, not to laugh at her!” Angeline was patting Olive’s hand now, attempting to comfort her in that over-zealous way of hers.

  Gently, Olive extradited herself. “It’s not a problem, Angeline. Really. I know I tend to speak whatever I’m thinking, and I know I tend to think a
bout rather inappropriate things at inappropriate times.” Like duck penises and the uses for men’s tongues. “But I don’t have any intention of stopping any time soon.”

  “Excellent!” called Raina. “I told my brother that, as he’s finally been granted the honor of escorting you to dinner tonight!”

  For the first time she could remember, Olive’s mind went blank.

  “You see her expression, Melanie?” Raina was smirking as she pulled open the door. “Just what I was hoping for.”

  “I… What?” mumbled Olive.

  “Phineas has been nagging me to find a way to pair the two of ye.” Raina winked. “Miss Julia was finally obliging.”

  “Lady Fangfoss,” corrected Olive absentmindedly, to a chorus of the same reminders from her friends.

  Phineas Prince.

  Tonight she’d be sitting with Phineas Prince?

  As in, beside him? Discussing things with him? Trying not to make a fool of herself in front of him?

  Touching him?

  It was a good thing she was still sitting down, or Olive’s knees would’ve given out.

  She’d been introduced to Raina’s older brother when she’d arrived of course and had been willing to admit the man had been handsome. And charming. And had actually seemed interested in what she’d said.

  But surely being handsome and charming was no excuse for the way the man hadn’t been far from her thoughts all these weeks? When they’d practiced archery, he was there, being helpful. When they’d ventured into the hedge maze, he’d teasingly offered a string ala Perseus and the Labyrinth.